The smoke of Murray’s camp-fire rolled about the poplar bluff in the park country. Behind the camp, dark branches tossed, and the moon was on the trees. In front, the blue smoke-trail wavered and melted, and dim red lilies dotted the grass. Murray, in order to keep off the mosquitoes, used green wood, but sometimes a flame leaped up and the reflections touched his face. Not far off, his horse and Fothergill’s, indistinct in the smoke, moved restlessly about.
Fothergill had joined Murray not long before dark, and narrated his adventure at the Sutton ranch. He doubted if Murray approved the line he took; but now they had pitched camp and got supper he knew they must talk. Murray’s look was sternly thoughtful.
“When ye stopped by the creek, ye saw the ranch windows shine?” he said.
“That i
