“Reckon for runnin’ off when I told you to stay home,” was the stern rejoinder.

Then followed sundry slaps and cracks, and shuffling sounds, pierced by Marvie’s wail: “I’ll never—do it—no more!”

Chapter Nine

INA’S father left for Klamath Falls and was absent four days, during which period Mr. Setter did not show himself, at least away from the ranch.

Marvie took his whipping more as a disgrace than a punishment, and appeared more rebellious than ever. He coaxed Ina to ride with him over to Forlorn River, and never guessed that her calm refusal hid a tremendous tumult of temptation. Ina yearned to see Ben Ide, but she could not yet bring herself to go to him, though she knew he was not likely to approach her without invitation.

Mr. Blaine returned from his trip accompanied by Sheriff Strobel of Hammell. Ina was filled with consternation and alarm. Her father proved evasive and stern; perhaps something untoward had happened in Klamath or Hammell. Ina determined to find out. Sheriff Strobel was a tall rangy man with a big sandy mustache and keen gray eyes. He wore a huge black sombrero and did not appear to own a coat. Ina took his measure in one intuitive survey, and watching her chance, she contrived to meet him alone, in her father’s office.

“Mr. Strobel, will you talk to me a little?” she asked, earnestly, with her most appealing smile.

“Now, Miss Ina, I’d be de–lighted,” he replied, in kindly interest and humor. “I’d like to make these young buck cowboys jealous.”

“I’m terribly serious. Your coming here—frightens me,” she said, gravely looking up into his clear gray eyes. “Did my father fetch you here?”

“No. Reckon I come on my own invitation,” he returned.

“Father told you of that—that terrible fight?” she went on, hurriedly.

“Yes, but not till we were on the way out.”

“Oh—that relieves me…. Please tell me why you came.”

“Wal, Miss Ina, the ranchers round Hammell, your dad an’ Amos Ide in particular, want this cattle–stealin’ band broke up. I sent deputies roundabout through the hills, an’ I’m goin’ on to Silver Meadow. There’s one gang of rustlers operatin’ up that way.”

“Silver Meadow. Is that near the lava beds?”

“No. Silver Meadow is straight up Forlorn River forty miles, I reckon. The lava beds are west of Tule Lake.”

His searching eyes inspired Ina with trust. He seemed curious, respectful, sympathetic.

“Mr. Strobel,” she began, eloquently, “Ben Ide and I were once schoolmate friends. I have come home after four years’ absence to find him an outcast. Lying tongues have made him out a—a thief. It’s criminal. Ben loves wild life—the chasing of horses, particularly. But he’s honest. I know, Mr. Strobel. This is no silly girl sentiment…. I’ve talked with Ben and I’m going to stand by him.”

“Wal, wal, Miss Ina, ’pears like Ben ain’t so bad off for friends,” replied Strobel, his penetrating gaze on her. He spoke constrainedly, but there seemed to be something behind his speech.