Placing the sheets in an envelope, he wrote the address with trembling hand.
While Mr.Howitt was writing his letter at the ranch, and Old Matt was tossing sleeplessly on his bed in the big log house, a horseman rode slowly down from the Compton Ridge road.

Stopping at the creek to water, he pushed on up the mountain toward the Lane cabin.

The horse walked with low hung head and lagging feet; the man slouched half asleep in the saddle.

It was Jim Lane..