The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rim o' theWorld, by B. M. Bower

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Title: Rim o' the World

Author: B. M. Bower

Illustrator: Anton Otto Fischer

Release Date: August 3, 2009 [EBook#29580]

Language: English

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“Put up your hands a little higher, Mr. Man!”

RIM O’ THE WORLDBY

B. M. BOWER

AUTHOR OFCHIP OF THE FLYING U,

THE THUNDER BIRD,SKYRIDER, Etc.

FRONTISPIECE BYANTON OTTO FISCHER

GROSSET & DUNLAPPUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Made in the United States of America

Copyright, 1919,By Little, Brown, and Company.

All rights reserved

CONTENTS

IThe Rim andWhat LayBeneath It

1

IIThe LorriganTree GrowsThriftily

16

IIIMary HopeDouglasAppears

30

IV A Matter ofBrands 44

VThey Ride andThey Do NotTell Where

57

Belle Meets an

VI Emergency inHer Own Way

67

VII The Name 82VIII The Game 90

IX A Little Scotch 102

X The LorriganWay 118

XI Lance RidesAhead 133

XII She Will, andShe Won’t 145

XIII A Way He HadWith Him 156

XIVIn Which LanceFinishes OneJob

172

XV He TacklesAnother 180

XVI About a Piano 192

XVII The LorriganViewpoint 204

XVIII Peddled Rumors 219

XIX Mary Hope HasMuch Trouble 232

XX As He Lived, SoHe Died 250

XXI Lance Trails aMystery 258

XXII Lance RidesAnother Trail 272

XXIII Lance Plays theGame 283

XXIV When a LorriganLoves 297

Belle Lorrigan

XXV Wins 312XVI The Dope 323

XXVIIHow One TrailEnded 336

XXVIII The Making ofNew Trails 345

RIM O’ THE WORLD

CHAPTER ONE

THE RIM AND WHAT LAY BENEATHIT

Not all of the West is tamed and trained torun smoothly on pneumatic tires and totalk more enthusiastically of the different“makes” of cars than of bits and saddles.There are still wide stretches unknown oftourists and movie men hunting locationsfor Western melodrama where men live inthe full flavor of adventure and romanceand never know it, because they havenever known any other way to live.

In the Black Rim country there is such a

place,––a wide, rough, sage-grownexpanse where cattle and horses andsheep scarce know the look of barbedwire, and where brands are still the solemark of ownership. Set down betweenhigh mountain ranges, remote, sufficientunto itself, rudely prosperous, the BlackRim country has yet to be tamed.

Black Rim country is called bad. The menfrom Black Rim are eyed askance whenthey burr their spur rowels down the planksidewalks of whatever little town theymay choose to visit. A town dweller willnot quarrel with one of them. He will treathim politely, straightway seek someacquaintance whom he wishes to impress,and jerk a thumb toward the departingBlack Rim man, and say importantly: “See

that feller I was talking with just now?That’s one of them boys from the BlackRim. Man, he’d kill yuh quick as look atyuh! He’s bad. Yep. You want to walk’way round them birds from the Rimcountry. They’re a hard-boiled bunch upthat way.” And he would be as nearlycorrect in his estimate as such men usuallyare.

Tom Lorrigan’s father used to carry a rifleacross his thighs when he rode up the trailpast Devil’s Tooth Ridge to the benchlandbeyond, where his cattle fed on the sweetbunch grass. He never would sit close to acamp-fire at night save when his back wasagainst a huge boulder and he could keepthe glare of the fire from his eyes. Indianshe killed as he killed rattlers, on the range

theory that if they did not get him then theymight some other time, and that every deadIndian counted one less to beware of. TomLorrigan’s father was called a bad maneven in Black Rim country,––which meanta good deal. Hard-bitted men of the BlackRim chose their words wisely when theyspoke to Tom’s father; chose wisely theirwords when they spoke of him, unless theyhad full faith in the listener’s loyalty anddiscretion.

Tom Lorrigan’s father lived to be sixty,––chiefly because he was “quick on thedraw” and because he never missedanything that he shot at. But at sixty, whenhe was still hated by many, loved by avery few and feared by every one, hedied,––crushed under his horse when it

fell on the Devil’s Tooth trail one sleetyday in midwinter.

Young Tom Lorrigan learned to shootwhen he learned to ride, and he was ridingpitching horses before he could be certainwhich was p and which was q in his dad’sold spelling book. Which does not by anymeans prove that young Tom was anignoramus. Tom once had three brothers,but these were somehow unlucky and oneby one they dropped out of the game oflife. The oldest brother died with thesmell of burnt black powder in hisnostrils, and Tom’s father stood over thebody and called his dead son a fool forwearing his gun so it could stick in theholster. “If I ever ketch yuh doin’ a tricklike that, I’ll thrash yuh till yuh can’t

stand,” he admonished young Tom sternly.Young Tom always remembered how hisdad had looked when brother Bill wasshot.

The second brother was overtaken whileriding a big sorrel horse that did nothappen to carry the Lorrigan brand. So hetoo died with the smell of powder smokein his nostrils, taking three of his pursuerswith him into the Dark Land. Him Tom’sfather cursed for being caught.

So young Tom learned early two lessonsof the Black Rim book of wisdom: Hisgun must never stick in the holster; he mustnever get caught by the law.

He was twenty when Brother Jim wasdrowned while trying to swim his horseacross the Snake in flood time on a dare.

Young Tom raced along the bank,frantically trying to cast his forty-foot ropeacross sixty feet of rushing current thatrolled Jim and his horse along to the boilof rapids below. Young Tom was a long,long while forgetting the terror in Jim’seyes, the helplessness of Jim’s glovedhand which he threw up to catch at therope that never came within twenty feet ofhim, and at the last, the hopeless good-bywave he sent Tom when he whirled intothe moil that pulled him under and neverlet him go. Tom learned on the bank of theSnake another lesson: He must never be soweak as to let another man badger himinto doing something against his owndesires or judgment.

Jim’s pitiful going left Tom in full

possession of the Devil’s Tooth ranch andthe cattle and horses that fed on the openrange of the Black Rim country,––and theywere many. Young Tom was lonely, buthis loneliness was smothered under aconsuming desire to add to hispossessions and to avoid the mistakes ofhis brothers and of his father who hadcarelessly ridden where he should havewalked.

Men of the Rim country frequentlypredicted that young Tom Lorrigan woulddie with his boots on; preferably in mid-air. They said he was going to be like hisdad in more than looks, and that timeswere changing and a man couldn’t stealcattle and kill off anybody that arguedwith him, and get away with it as Tom’s

father had done. They complained that thecountry was getting too damn Sundayschool, and young Tom had better tamedown a little before he got into trouble.

As Black Rim defines the word, Tom wasquite as bad as they called him. Ahandsome young dare-devil he was,slanting his glance downward when helooked into the eyes of a six-foot man,––and every inch of him good healthy boneand muscle. Women eyed him pleasantly,wistful for his smile. Men spoke to himfriendlywise and consciously side-stepped his wrath. On the Black Rimrange his word was law, his law wasmade for himself and the wealth hehankered for. That wealth he named amillion dollars, and he named it often

because he liked the sound of the word.Without any ifs he declared it. There wasa million to be had in Idaho, was therenot? Very well, he would have hismillion, and he would have it in cattle andhorses and land. He would not go muckingin the gold mines for it; his million shouldgraze on the bunch grass. He wanted, hesaid, to see a million dollars walkingaround. And since old Tom Lorrigan hadleft him a mere forty thousand––accordingto the appraisers of the Devil’s Toothestate––young Tom had a long way to goto see his dream a reality.

Men of the Black Rim hinted that youngTom rode with a long rope; meaning thathis rope would reach the cattle of hisneighbor cowmen if they came in his way.

But they only hinted, for unless they couldprove beyond the doubt of any twelve menin the county that his brand was burned onany cattle save his own, they had no wishto offend. For young Tom had learnedwell his three lessons from the fate of histhree brothers; his gun never stuck in itsholster; he was wily and not to be caught;he could neither be harried nor coaxedinto setting aside his own judgment whileit seemed to him good.

You would think that young Tom wouldspeedily find himself a mate amongst thegirls of the Black Rim country,––thoughthey were as scarce as princesses of theroyal blood and choice was of necessityrestricted to a half-dozen or so. None ofthe girls he knew pleased his fancy,

untrained though that fancy might be.Instinct told him that they were too tame,too commonplace to hold his interest forlong. A breathless dance or two, a kissstolen in a shadowy corner, and blushesand giggles and inane remonstrances thatbored him because he knew they wouldcome. Tom had reached the sere age oftwenty-two when he began to wonder if hemust go beyond the Black Rim world forhis wife, or resign himself to the fate of anold bachelor. None of the Black Rim girls,he told himself grimly, should ever have ashare in that million.

Then that purple-lidded, putty-face jadewe call Fate whimsically sent him a mate;curious, I suppose, to see what wouldhappen when the two whose trails had lain

so far apart should meet.

A girl from some far city she was; a smallstar that had twinkled behind the footlightsand had fled––or had fallen––to the BlackRim country. Like many another, she hadgone as far as her money would take her.That it took her to the end of the littlebranch railroad that stopped abruptly withits nose against a mountain twenty milesfrom the Devil’s Tooth ranch was acoincidence,––or the whim of Fate. Thereshe was, as strange to the outland as youngTom would have been to the city whenceshe had come; thinking perhaps to start lifeafresh in some little Western town; withno money to carry her back to the outskirtsof civilization, and no town wherein shemight win fresh successes. The train that

had brought her panted upon a siding,deserted, its boiler cooling, its engineer,fireman, conductor and brakeman leaningover a bar in the shack that called itself asaloon. To-morrow it would rattle back tothe junction, if all went well and the railsheld fast to the ties, which was not certain.

The station’s name was Jumpoff. Thetrain’s conductor, who had the misfortuneto be considered a humorist, liked to saythat Jumpoff was a knot at the end of theroad to keep the track from unraveling. Hehad told the girl that, on the long, joltyride from the junction. The girl repliedthat at any rate she liked the name.

What really held Jumpoff on the time-tablein those days before it became a real townwere the stockyards, where the Black Rim

cattle came to start their journey to market.The trail over the mountains to the mainline was rough, with a two-day drivewithout water. Yet the Black Rim countryhad many cattle, and a matter of a fewtunnels and a trestle or two let the railroadin by a short cut which minimized thedistance to the main line. The branch linepaid a fair interest on the investment,––butnot with its passenger service.

The girl found herself stranded in asettlement whose business wasrepresented by one saloon, one sectionhouse, one stable, one twelve-by-twelvedepot and a store that was no more than anaddition to the saloon, with the bartenderofficiating in both places as customersrequired his services. Times when cattle

were being shipped, the store was closedand the saloon had no rival.

It was while the girl was hesitating half-way between the store-saloon and thesection house, wondering which shewould choose, that young Tom Lorrigangalloped up to the hitch rail, stopped hishorse in two stiff-legged jumps, swungdown and came toward her. Like a pictureon a wall calendar she looked to youngTom, who had never seen her like in fleshand blood. He lifted his big, range hat, andshe smiled at him,––though it must havebeen a stage smile, she had so little heartfor smiling then.

Tom blinked as though he had looked atthe sun. Such a smile he had never seen inhis life; nor such hair, like real, gold-

colored silk all in curls around her face;nor such eyes, which were blue as the skyat twilight when the stars first begin toshow.

“Jumpoff is not much of a town,” said thegirl and laughed to hide how close shewas to tears.

Young Tom caught his breath. He hadthought that women had only two forms oflaughter, the giggle of youth or the cackleof age. He had never dreamed that awoman could laugh like a mountain streamgurgling down over the rocks.Immediately he visioned young fernsdripping diamonds into a shadowed pool,though he did not attempt to formulate thevision in words. His answer was obviousand had nothing to do with gurgling

brooks, or with ferns and shadowedpools.

“It sure ain’t, Miss. Might you be lookingfor somebody in particular?”

“No-o––I’m just here. It would be a poorplace to look for anybody, wouldn’t it?”

“Sure would.” Young Tom found hiscourage and smiled, and the girl looked athim again, as though she liked that white-toothed smile of Tom’s.

“Well, I started out to find the jumping-offplace, and this sounded like it on therailroad map. I guess it’s It, all right;there’s nothing to do but jump.”

Young Tom pulled his black eyebrowstogether, studying her. By her speech shewas human; therefore, in spite of her

beauty that dazzled him, she was not to befeared.

“You mean you ain’t got any particularplace to go from here?”

The girl tilted her head and stared up themountain’s steep, pine-covered slope. Sheswung her head a little and looked at Tom.She smiled bravely still, but he thought hereyes looked sorry for something.

“Is there any particular place to go fromhere?” she asked him wistfully, keepingthe smile on her lips as the world hadtaught her to do.

“Not unless you went back.”

She shook her head. “No,” she said,firmly, “I’ll climb that mountain and jumpoff the top before I’ll go back.”

Young Tom felt that she spoke in soberearnest in spite of her smile; which wasstrange. He had seen men smile in deadlyearnest,––his dad had smiled when hereached for his gun to kill BuckSanderson. But women cried.

“Don’t you know anybody at all, aroundhere?”

“Not a soul––except you, and I don’tknow whether your name is Tom or Bill.”

“My name’s Tom––Tom Lorrigan. Say! Ifyou ain’t got any place to go––why––I’vegot a ranch and about twenty-five hundredhead of cattle and some horses. If youdidn’t mind marrying me, I could take youout there and give yuh a home. I’d beplumb good to you, if you’re willing totake a chance.”

The girl stood back and looked him over.Tall as Tom was she came almost to hischin. He saw her eyes darken like the skyat dusk, and it seemed to him quitepossible that stars could shine in them.

“You’d be taking as great a chance as Iwould. I haven’t any ranch or any cattle,or anything at all but myself and twotrunks full of clothes and some things inmy life I want to forget. And I have sixtycents in my purse. I can’t cook anythingexcept to toast marshmallows––”

“I’ve got a cook,” put in young Tomquickly.

“And the clothes I’ve got would be a jokeout here. And the things I came out here toforget I shall never tell you––”

“I ain’t interested enough to ask, or tolisten if you told me,” said Tom.

“And myself can sing to you and dance toyou, and I’m twenty years old by thefamily Bible––”

“I’m twenty-two––makes it about right,”said Tom.

“And if you should count fifty and ask meagain––”

“Ten, twenty, thirty, forty-fifty, will youmarry me?” obeyed Tom with muchalacrity.

“You might call me Belle. Belle Delavan.Well, I came to Jumpoff because––I meantto jump. Yes, I’ll marry you––and theLord have mercy on you, Tom Lorrigan, ifI live to regret it.”

“Amen. Same to you,” grinned Tom. “It’san even break, anyway. They don’t claimI’m sprouting wings. They say I’ve gotsplit hoofs in my boots instead of feet, andwear my ears pointed at the top. But––butno girl has got any loop on me. I’ve beenstraight, as far as women goes. That’s myrecord up to the present. If you can standfor a little drinkin’ and gamblin’ andshootin’––”

Belle waved aside his self-depreciation.Young Tom was a handsome devil, andhis eyes were keen and clear and lookedright into her own, which was sufficientevidence of good faith for any womanwith warm blood in her body.

“Tom Lorrigan, I’ve eaten just three sodacrackers, six marshmallows and one

orange since yesterday noon,” said sheirrelevantly. “I can’t be emotional whenI’m half starved. Is there any place whereI can get a piece of bread or something?”

“My Lord! Think of me standing here andnot thinkin’ whether you’d had dinner ornot! Sure, you can have something to eat.”

He took her by the arm, too penitent to bediffident over the unaccustomed gallantry,and hustled her toward the section house.His mind registered the fact that thebartender, the fireman, the brakeman andthe conductor would shortly apologizeabjectly for standing outside the saloongawping at a lady, or they would need theimmediate ministrations of a doctor. Hehoped the girl had not noticed them.

“They’ll throw some grub together quick,

over here,” he explained to the girl.“Everybody eats at the section house. Itain’t much of a place, but there ain’t anyother place. And while you’re havingdinner I’ll have the operator wire down toLava for a marriage license to be sent upon the next train. The saloon man is ajustice of the peace, and he’ll marry usright away, soon as you eat. And––”

“Without a license? I know it’s alwaysdone that way on the stage, but––but thisisn’t going to be any stage marriage.”

“Well, but the license will be all made outand on the way, and he’ll take my wordfor it and go ahead with the ceremony. If Itell him to, he will. It will be all right; I’llmake it all right. And then I can get a teamfrom a ranch back here a ways, and take

you right out to Devil’s Tooth. It’s the bestway. This ain’t any place for a lady tostay. You’ll be comfortable out at theDevil’s Tooth––it’s clean, anyway.” Helooked at her honest-eyed, and smiledagain. “Yuh needn’t be afraid uh me.We’re rough enough and tough enough,and we maybe shoot up each other nowand again, but we ain’t like city folks; wedon’t double-cross women. Not ever.”

She said nothing, and when they hadwalked four steps farther he added with asincere wish to set her at ease: “I couldtake you to some ranch and leave you tillthe license comes, if you think it wouldn’tbe all right to get married now. But thewomenfolks would talk your arm off, andyou wouldn’t like it. And they’d talk about

you when your back was turned. But ifScotty goes ahead and married us, I don’tsee why––”

“Oh, I’m not worrying about that. It’s justcutting a corner instead of walking around.I was thinking,” said Belle Delavan, whileshe dabbed at her lashes as though theywere beaded with paint instead of tearsand she must be careful not to smear them,“I was just thinking how––how good youare. My God, I never knew they grew menlike you, outside of plays and poetry.”

“Good!” echoed young Tom Lorrigan,feared of his kind for his badness. Histone was hushed with amazement, allaglow with pleasure. “Good!––my Lord!”

CHAPTER TWO

THE LORRIGAN TREE GROWSTHRIFTILY

Young Tom Lorrigan had found his mate.Had he known more about life in the bigworld beyond the Rim, he must have beenamazed at his luck. Once a man droppeddead in a poker game when he had stakedhis last blue chip and drawn a royal flush.In the great game of hearts Tom had drawna royal flush, but he did not drop dead.Instead, he went right on living, moredetermined than ever to own a milliondollars’ worth of cattle and horses before

he died, considerably before he died,because he wanted to enjoy that millionwith Belle. And because of her he wantedthat million to be honest money.

Everything he did now, he did for Bellemore than for himself. As a matter ofcourse she became his real reason forliving. She was like the sun. He took herfor granted, never questioning the blessedwarmth of her presence, never stopping towonder what life would be like if he losther. She was beautiful, with a beauty thatnever palled and never paled. She laugheda great deal, and he never could keeplaughter from his own lips while helistened. When she sang she put themeadow larks to shame, and afterwardswhen he rode the range alone Tom would

whistle strange, new melodies that theBlack Rim country never had heardbefore,––melodies which Belle had taughthim unconsciously with her singing. Hedid not know that it would haveastonished a city dweller to hear the badman of Black Rim Country whistlingSchubert’s “Serenade” while he rode aftercattle, or Wagner’s “Prize Song,” or“Creole Sue,” perhaps, since Belle, withabsolute impartiality, sang everything thatshe had ever heard sung. On billboardsbefore eastern theatres Belle Delavan hadbeen called “The Girl with a ThousandSongs.” Audiences had been invited by thestage manager to name any selection theymight choose, assured that Belle wouldsing it from memory. No wonder that hersinging never grew stale to Tom Lorrigan!

But mostly she busied herself with littledomesticities that somehow neverincluded cooking, and with driving helter-skelter over the range with two horseshitched to a buckboard, following Tomwhen he rode after cattle. Do you think sheshould logically have learned to ride? Shedid try it once on the gentlest horse thatTom owned, which was not too gentle torun away with Belle. She rode that horsejust two hundred yards before she joltedso far from the saddle that she could notfind it again until some time after, whenthey had caught the horse and led him tothe corral.

“Not any more for me, Tom Lorrigan!” shegasped, flapping her two pretty hands ineloquent disgust when Tom rode up to her.

“I wouldn’t get on a horse’s back again tostar for the Queen of England! I’ll take thatteam of he-devils you’ve been breaking todrive, and I’ll drive ’em or break everybone in their bodies. I’m willing to getbehind any horse you’ve got; but to get ontheir backs––excuse me!” She limpedpainfully to the house with her yellow hairblowing around her shoulders and acrossher lips that would smile in spite of hermishap.

After that Belle drove the “he-devils” andothers quite as devilish, and risked herbones with perfect equanimity. She drovehorses that had to be thrown before thecollar could be buckled on, and“forefooted” before they would submit tothe harness. Indeed, Belle seemed to

prefer that kind of horses. She wanted ateam that could keep pace with Tom,––and she had it. Her buckboard lasted ayear, with luck. She strewed the Devil’sTooth range with wheels and doubletreesand splinters and hairpins, and scatteredsunshiny smiles and cuss-words andsnatches of song wherever she went. Andsince she went wherever eight bronco feetcould take her, Black Rim country came toknow Belle Lorrigan as it knew Tom.Came to fear Belle Lorrigan’s wrath,which bettered the lightning for searing,lashing sword-thrusts of venom; came toknow her songs well enough to humsnatches of them; came to laugh when shelaughed,––and to hope that the next laughwould not be aimed at them; came torecognize her as a better shot than any one

save Tom, who taught her.

At the country dances on the variousranches, Belle never missed quadrille,two-step, waltz or schottische, and shedanced by herself or sang songs during theintervals, while the women of the rangesat stiffly along the walls on benches,stared at Belle and whispered behind theirweather-reddened hands, and tittered. Shetaught big-jointed, bashful boys how towaltz, and she slapped a half-drunkenminer who squeezed her too tightly in asquare dance. Slapped Tom also when hecame hurrying up to kill the miner, andtold him to keep to his own quarrels andsave his powder for something worthwhile. She didn’t need help to step on aworm, she added, and took a youth by the

arm and led him off to dance. The miner, Imay say to the curious, was next seen inHailey, heading south. He left a very goodprospect up in the hills and never wentback to work out his assessments.

As you have probably guessed, BelleLorrigan and the women of the Black Rimcountry did not get on very well together.Black Rim women thought that a womanwho wore her hair in curls down herback––yellow hair at that!––could not beany too good if the truth were known.They declared to one another that awoman who did not talk about her pastlife, who never so much as mentioned pastillnesses, even, must have a great deal tocover up. How did Tom Lorrigan getacquainted with her, anyway? Through

some marriage agency, they were willingto bet. And how did a decent womanhappen to have all the fancy clothes whichBelle Lorrigan possessed? And jewelryenough to stock a store with! Three ringson one finger at one time and the sametime was going it pretty strong, in theopinion of the Black Rim ladies. Theyalso believed that she used paint andpowder, which damned her beyond allhope of redemption.

Poor Belle Lorrigan (Black Rim countryspoke of her always as Belle Lorriganwithout in the least understanding why sheremained an individual personality tothem instead of becoming merely Mrs.Lorrigan––Mrs. Tom, even, since many ofthe Black Rim women were designated by

the nicknames of their husbands)! Shewould have been glad to be friendly,simply because friendliness was in herblood and would out. She would havebeen glad to receive them at the Devil’sTooth ranch for one of those all-day visitswhich were the custom of the country. Butfor a long while they did not come.Sometimes she would meet a familybundled to the eyes against the chill windsof Idaho, bumping over the rough roads ontheir way to visit some near neighbor wholived only ten or fifteen miles away. Shewould flash them a smile while she pulledup her bronco team out of the trail to makea generous room for their passing, and shewould shout something pleasant as theywent by. And after they had gone on shewould shrug her fine, broad shoulders and

call them cats, going out to a scratching,with all the kittens mewing along. Shewould flap a hand––providing the broncoteam left her a hand free to flap––andshake her head, and say, “Not for mine,thank you!” And would be hurt down deepin her heart where it did not show,because they never stopped at her door.

But when the boys began to come, thencame the neighbor women, making formaltwo-hour calls upon the new mother, eagerto see and to hear and to go away andcompare notes afterward. They talkedmuch of the names that Belle Lorrigancalled her children. The first one shenamed for the hero in her first play;wanting, I suppose, a souvenir of the timewhen she was fifteen and had her first

speaking part on the stage. She called herfirst-born Algernon Adelbert. AlgernonAdelbert Lorrigan, grandson of old TomLorrigan! Think of that!

But Algernon Adelbert no sooner outgrewhis cradle than he was known to all andsundry as Al Lorrigan, so that no harmwas done him in giving him such a name.He grew up lusty and arrogant, a gooddeal of a bully, six feet tall, a goodrider––though, not so good a rider as hisdad––a good shot, willing to help gatherthat million together on the chance that hemight have a share in the spending.

Al was a youth who hunted trouble for thethrill of meeting it more than half-way, butsince Tom Lorrigan happened to be hisfather, Al rode off the Devil’s Tooth ranch

before he became the rampant youngtrouble-hunter. Belle had some anxioushours during the time Al was gone, but shenever once betrayed her anxiety; which isdoing pretty well for a mother.

The second was Marmaduke LeRoy, andthe third and last she recklessly christenedLancelot Montgomery. Marmaduke neverlearned to spell his name correctly, andsometimes complained that Belle had goneand named him after a mess ofpreserves,––meaning marmalade, Isuppose. But as he grew older he forgothis grievance. Belle was the only personwho could remember offhand his fullname, and she never called him by itexcept when she was very angry; whenshe usually attached so many adjectives

that Marmaduke LeRoy was quitesubmerged. Commonly he was calledDuke, which did well enough.

Tom used to study Duke through half-closed lids and the smoke of a cigarette,and wonder which side of the family had ayellow streak; not the Lorrigan side, so faras Tom could judge. Nor the Delavan sideeither, if Belle lived true to type. To besure, Belle refused to ride a horse; butthen Belle was a woman and women hadwhims. There was no yellow about Belle,except her hair which was pure golden.

Duke would invariably lie to dodgepunishment. According to his own theory,Duke was always blameless, always theinjured party, the boy who does right andnever is given credit for his virtues. Even

Belle, who would fight for her boys as atigress fights for its young, looked askanceat Duke while she tried, motherlike, tocover his faults from the keen eyes ofTom.

“I’d just like to know how you come byit,” she once exclaimed exasperatedly,when Duke was ten and Lance eight. “I’dsure chop one limb off the family tree, if Iknew which one gave you the gall to lie tome and Tom. Duke, for heaven’s sake takea licking just once without trying to lay theblame on Al or Lance––and see howproud you’ll feel afterwards!”

“Aw––lickins hur-rt!” Duke hadprotested, rubbing the arm Belle hadgripped none too gently, and sidled awayfrom her.

With her hands to her hips––gracefullyposed there, as became an actress––Belleregarded him fixedly. “My Gawd!” shewhispered, owning defeat before thatinvulnerable selfishness of Duke’s.

Her tone stung even his young crocodile-hided sensibility. “You’re always blamin’me. You’n Tom think I do everything meanon this ranch! You think Lance is an angel!He’s your pet and you let him pick on mean’ you never say a word. Lance can doany darn thing he pleases, an’ so can Al.I’m goin’ to run away, first thing youknow. You can have your sweet littleangel pet of a doggone ole cowardly-calfLance!” Then he whined, “Aw––youlemme go! I never done it, I tell yuh! Itwas Lance!”

Belle gritted her teeth while she shookhim. “You yellow-hearted little whelp. Isaw you chasing that colt around thecorral till he broke the fence! If Tom wasto know about it he’d lick you good! Duke,w hy can’t you be a man and take theblame yourself, just once? I’d be––I’d beso proud o’ you if you only told the truthabout things. Don’t you know––it’s only acoward that will lie to save his ownskin?”

“Lance is a bigger coward than I am, an’you never say a word to him. You thinkLance is perfect.”

“I guess you’re hopeless all right,” Belleretorted. “It’s just a yellow streak in yousomewhere. Living with the Lorrigans,I’m hoping you’ll outgrow it. The

Lorrigans sure ain’t yellow!”

“I chased Blackie some, Belle,” Lancevolunteered, peering down over the stableeave at his irate mother. “Duke started inand got him going good, and when hecome fogging over to this side I floppedmy arms at him. Gee, but he did stopquick! I guess if you’re going to lick Duke,you better give me about four good licksfor that, Belle. And take ’em off Duke’slicking. No use licking us both for thesame thing.”

Belle tilted her yellow head and lookedup at her beloved youngest, grinning downat her cheerfully from the hay roof wherehe sprawled head downward, flat on hisstomach.

“Well, thank the Lord one Lorrigan has got

the nerve to own up to a thing. Come ondown and get your four licks, then. I canbe as square as the next one. But Duke’sgot it coming to him for lying to me. Tellme, Lance, did Duke chase Blackiethrough the fence?”

“Aw go on, Belle! What’s matter withyou, asking me what Duke done? He’s thefeller to ask about that. I chased Blackieabout four licks’ worth. Hurry up and let’sget it over with. You know it ain’tpleasant for either of us!”

“Smarty!” yelled Duke, quick to read inBelle’s face what softening effect Lancehad on her temper. “Tryin’ to be smart––tryin’ to be George Wash’nton! You littleliar, you know you chased Blackie more’nwhat I done. Sneak out of it––yeah, that’s

you, every time. Own up just enough tomake Belle think you’re an angel.Doggone the whole doggone outfit!”

“Now what?” Tom’s voice broke in uponDuke’s shrill tirade. From the back of hishorse Tom looked down quizzically uponthem. “Duke, what you been up to?”

“Aw, you always think it’s me! Why don’tyou ask Lance what he’s been up to? Whydon’t you lick Lance for being on thestable? If I was to get up there and tromparound in the hay and make it leak, I knowwhat I’d git!”

Tom sent a glance up to where Lance washastily scrambling down a corner. “You’dbetter!” he commented sternly. Then helooked at Belle, his eyes twinkling underhis scowl.

“If you can’t handle these young devils,Belle, turn ’em over to me. I’ll mightyquick settle their hash for ’em.”

Belle gripped tighter the squirming Duke.“I’m not a cripple yet, Tom Lorrigan.They’ve both got a licking coming to ’em,and if you’ll kindly walk off stage R. C.I’ll go on with the scene. You weren’tcued to come on here.”

“It’s your show, Belle,” Tom assented,and very obligingly rode to the other sideof the stable to unsaddle his horse, andgrinned to himself when the sound ofwailing and pleading and promises of the“I’ll-never-do-it-again” variety came tohis ears. Belle’s lickings weredistinguished chiefly by their uproar.

“Belle wallops ’em like brandin’ calves,”

Tom used to chuckle. “They beller aplenty while it’s going on, and kick uptheir heels when it’s all over. I wish’t mydad had licked me like that when I was akid. You can gamble, when I wasthrashed, I knowed it!”

Duke grew up to be a very goodcowpuncher, however. He knew everydraw and dry wash, every creek bottomand every canyon on the Black Rim range;knew almost as well as the owner howmany cattle carried every brand. In theDevil’s Tooth round-ups Duke held hisplace alongside Al as a top hand,––disputing now and then the right of youngLance to compete with him, but neverquite daring to bring his dispute to thepoint where action would take the place of

words.

“Duke’s sure enough a bad man––with hisface,” Tom once snarled to Belle. “Makeit a talking match, and Duke could lick anyold woman, in the Black Rim country.”

“There’s been enough fighting Lorrigans,don’t you think?” Belle smiled back athim. “Duke’s dad can fight hard enoughfor the whole family. I didn’t think youwanted your boys to be fighters.”

“I don’t. But I sure do want ’em to havethe fightin’ stuff in ’em, whether it evercomes out or not. Take Lance, there.Lance ain’t a fighter, either; but by theLord John, it’s there! Once get Lancestarted, and I’d back him against any threemen in the Black Rim. It’s in him, if theplay ever come up. And it’s in Al. The

Lorrigan is strong in Al. But that Duke––”

“Honey, I think maybe it’s the Delavan inDuke. I remember an old maid aunt ofmine that used to bolt the door and quarrelwith my mother through the keyhole. Iguess maybe Duke has got a little touch ofAunt Jane.”

“Oh, sure! First I ever heard of Aunt Jane,Belle. Takes you to think up a reason.”

“And the Lorrigan will come out, honey.He’s got the look, now and then. It’s inhim, you’ll see.”

So that is how the Lorrigan boys grew up.They thought Belle the most beautiful, themost wonderful woman in the world,––though they never called her mother. Bellewould not have it. She refused to become

a motherly, middle-aged person, and herboys were growing altogether too big andtoo masterful to look upon a golden-curled, pink-cheeked, honey-throatedAmazon as other Black Rim sons lookedupon their faded, too often shrewishmaternal parent. She was just Belle. Theyknew no other like her, no one with whomthey might compare her. We do notcompare the sun and the moon with othersuns and moons. Like Tom, theyworshipped her in their hearts, andchummed with her even before they hadoutgrown her stormy chastisements. Theymended her buckboards and her harness;they galloped alongside while she drovecareening across the range, her hair flyingin the wind, her mouth smiling andshowing her white teeth. They danced

with her,––and having Belle for a teacherfrom the time they could toddle, you mayguess how the Lorrigan boys could dance.They sang the songs she taught them; theytried to better her record at target practiceand never did it; they quarreled with herwhen her temper was up and dodged herwhen it became too cyclonic.

They grew up without ever having riddenon the cars, save once or twice to Lava.Black Rim was the rim of the world tothem, and their world held all that theyyearned for. Belle sheltered them from toomuch knowledge of that other world,which held the past she hated and tried toforget. Much she taught them of citymanners and the little courtesies of life.She would box the ears of the boy who

neglected to rise and offer her a chairwhen she entered a room, and wouldsmoke a cigarette with him afterward.Once she whipped her six-shooter out ofits holster and shot a hole through thecrown of Al’s hat, as a tactful reminderthat gentlemen always remove their hatswhen they come into a house. Alremembered, after that. At fourteen eventhe hardiest youth feels a slight shockwhen a bullet jars through his hat crowntwo inches above his hair.

CHAPTER THREE

MARY HOPE DOUGLAS APPEARS

Devil’s Tooth ridge, which gave theLorrigan ranch its name, was really anarrow hogback with a huge rock spire atone end. Crudely it resembled a lowerjaw bone with one lone tooth remaining.Three hundred feet and more the ridgeupthrust its barren crest, and the wagonroad from the ranch crawled up over it inmany switchbacks and sharp turns, using amile and a half in the climbing. Theycalled it the “dug road.” Which meant thatteams and scrapers and dynamite and

much toil had been necessary in themaking, distinguishing it from most BlackRim roads, which followed the line ofleast resistance until many passings hadworn a definite trail; whereupon that trailbecame an established thoroughfarelegalized by custom and not to be lightlychanged for another.

Over in the next valley, beyond Devil’sTooth ridge, Alexander Douglas had madea ranch for himself and his family. AleckDouglas was as Scotch as his name. Heshaved his long upper lip, so that it lookedlonger and more uncompromising thanwas necessary even to match the AleckDouglas disposition. His hair was wiryand stood up from a forehead that might becalled beetling. His eyebrows were heavy

and came so near to meeting that MaryHope used to wish that she dared lay onesmall finger between father’s eyebrows,just to see if there would be room. Hiseyes were as close together as his thinbeak of a nose would permit, and his earswere long and narrow and set flat againsthis head. He was tall and he was lank andhe was honest to his last bristling hair. Hedid not swear––though he could witherone with vituperative epithets––and he didnot smoke and he did not drink––er––savea wee nip of Scotch “whusky” to break upa cold, which frequently threatened hishardy frame. He was harshly religious,and had there been a church in the BlackRim country you would have seen AleckDouglas drive early to its door everySunday morn, and sit straight-backed in a

front pew and stare hard at the ministerthrough the longest of sermons,––providing, of course, that church andminister were good Presbyterian.

He loved the dollars, how he did love hisdollars! He loved his cattle, because theyrepresented dollars. He nursed them,dollars and animals alike, and to lose onewrung the heart of him.

His wife was a meek little thing in hispresence, as the wives of such men asAleck Douglas usually are. She also wasrigidly honest, dogmatically religious andfrugal and hard-working and intolerant ofthe sins of others.

Early she taught Mary Hope that beyondDevil’s Tooth ridge lived those wickedLorrigans, whose souls were bartered to

the devil and whose evil ways were astench in the nostrils of God. Mary Hopeused to wonder if God turned up his nosewhen there was a stench in his nostrils,––for instance, when Belle Lorrigan hurtledpast with her bronks and her buckboardand her yellow hair flying. Mary Hopewondered, too, what the Lorrigan boyshad got from the devil in exchange fortheir souls. Some magic, perhaps, thatwould protect them from death andaccident. Yet that seemed not true, for AlLorrigan broke his leg, one spring round-up. The devil ought to have saved hishorse from falling down with him, if thedevil had Al Lorrigan’s soul.

That had happened when Mary Hope wastwelve and Al Lorrigan was eighteen. She

heard her father tell her mother about it;and her father had set his whiskered lipagainst his long, shaven upper lip almostwith a smack.

“They’ll come to a bad end, all of them,”he declared sententiously. “Violent deathshad all the Lorrigans before them––allsave Tom, and the Lord but stays his handfor a time from that man. The wicked shallflourish as a green bay tree.”

“Father, how can a tree be green and thenbay too!” Mary Hope ventured to inquire.“Is it just a Bible tree, or does it flourishsomewhere really?”

Aleck Douglas hid his month behind hispalm and coughed. “’Tis not bay like ahorse, child. ’Tis not the color that I’mspeaking of.”

“That painted Jezebel, Belle Lorrigan,drove past the house to-day within astone’s throw,” Mrs. Douglas informedher husband. “I wush, Aleck, that yewould fence me a yard to keep the huzzyfrom driving over my very doorstep. Shehad that youngest brat of hers in the seatwith her––that Lance. And as they wentpast on the keen gallop––and the horsesboth in a lather of sweat––the boyimpudently shook his fist at me where Iwas glancing from my window. And hismother lookit and laughed, the Jezebel!”

“Mother, Lance only waved his hand.”

“And why should Lance be waving hishand when he should pass the house? Didhe think that a Douglas would come solow as to wave at a Lorrigan?”

Mary Hope ducked her sleek little pig-tailed head outside the door and shooedvehemently at a dingy black hen thathappened to be passing. Mary Hope knewthat a Douglas had stooped so low as towave back at Lance Lorrigan, but itseemed unwise to tell her mother so.

When Mary Hope was permitted to have agentle old cow-pony of her own, she rodeas often as she dared to Devil’s Toothridge. By short cuts down certain washeswhich the trail avoided with manywinding detours, she could lope to the footof the ridge in forty minutes by the oldalarm clock which she carried one day inher arms to time the trip. She could climbby another shortcut trail, to the Devil’sTooth in twenty minutes. She could come

down in fifteen, she discovered. In athree-hour ride she could reach the-Devil’s Tooth, spend a whole hourlooking down upon the ranch house of thewicked Lorrigans, and ride home again.And by choosing the short cuts shepractically eliminated the chance of beingobserved.

If she could see Belle go tearing down thetrail with her bronks and her buckboardshe would be horrifiedly happy. Thepainted Jezebel fascinated Mary Hope,who had read all about that wickedwoman in the Bible, and had shivered insecret at her terrible fate. Belle Lorriganmight never be eaten by dogs, since dogsare few in cattleland and are kept strictlyat home, but if Mary Hope’s mother was

any true prophetess, the painted Jezebel’sfinal doom would be quite as horrible.

At the infrequent parties which theDouglas household countenanced,––suchas Christmas trees and Fourth of Julypicnics, Mary Hope would sit and starefixedly at Belle Lorrigan and wonder if allpainted Jezebels were beautiful and happyand smiling. If so, why was unadornedvirtue to be commended? Mary tried not towish that her hair was yellow and hung incurls, and that she had even white teethand could sing and dance so wonderfullythat everything stopped and every onelooked and listened from the minute shebegan until she stopped.

More than anything else in her starvedyoung life, Mary Hope wanted to see the

inside of the Lorrigan house. The paintedJezebel had a real piano, and she couldplay it, people said. She played ungodlysongs, but Mary Hope had a venturesomespirit. She wanted to see an instrument ofthe devil, hear the painted Jezebel play onit and sing her ungodly songs.

One day when she had ridden to the top ofthe Devil’s Tooth a great, daring plancame to her. She wanted to ride downthere––a half mile down the bluff, a mileand a half by the road––but she wouldnever dare take that trail deliberately. Herfather might hear of it, or her mother. Norcould she ask the Lorrigans not to tell ofher visit. But if her horse ran away withher and took her down the ridge, she couldask them to please not tell her father,

because if he knew that her horse ranaway he would not let her ride again. Itseemed to Mary Hope that all theLorrigans would sympathize with herdilemma. They would probably ask herinto the house. She would see the piano,and she could ask the painted Jezebel toplay on it. That would be only polite. Itdid seem a shame that a girl thirteen yearsold, going on fourteen, should never haveseen or heard a piano. Mary Hope lookedat the sun and made breathless calculation.Having just arrived at the Devil’s Tooth,she had an hour to spend. And if she tookthe steep, winding trail that the Lorrigansrode, the trail where old man Lorrigan’shorse had fallen down with him, she couldbe at the house in a very few minutes.

“Ye look little enough like a runawayhorse, ye wind-broken, spavined oldcrow-bait, you!” she criticized Rab as hestood half asleep in the sun. “I shall haveto tell a lee about you, and for that Godmay wither the tongue of me. I shall saythat a rattler buzzed beneath your nose––though perhaps I should say it was behindye, Rab, else they will wonder that yedidna run away home. If ye could but liftan ear and roll the eye of you, wild-like,perhaps they will believe me. But I dinnaken––I wouldna believe it mesel!”

Rab waggled an ear when she mounted,switched his tail pettishly when she struckhim with the quirt, reluctantly obeyed therein, and set his feet on the first steeppitch of the Devil’s Tooth trail. Old as he

was, Rab had never gone down that trailand he chose his footing circumspectly. Itwas no place for a runaway, as MaryHope speedily discovered when she haddescended the first dip and entered thecleft which the Lorrigans called the Slide.

A slide it was, and down it Rab slid onhis rump. An old watercourse, with sheerrock walls that formed the base of theTooth itself. Had there been room MaryHope would have turned back. But thecleft was so narrow that a pack horse mustbe adept at squeezing past protuberancesand gauging the width of its pack if itwould travel the trail. A sharp turnpresently showed her the end of the cleft,and they emerged thankfully upon a sage-grown shelf along which the trail

proceeded more gently.

Then came another cleft, with greatboulders at the end, which a horse mustnegotiate carefully if he would not break aleg or two. It was here that old TomLorrigan had died under his horse beforehelp came that way. But Rab had coveredmany rough trails, and he picked his wayover the boulders safely,––though not as arunaway horse should have traveled.

After that there came a treacherous bit ofshale, across which Mary Hope thought itbest to lead her runaway steed whichrefused for a time to venture farther. Beinga Douglas she was obstinate. Beingobstinate, she would not turn back,especially since the trail would be evenworse in the climbing than it was in the

descent. Rab, she realized worriedly,could not slide up that narrow, rock-bottomed cleft down which he had coastedso readily.

“They must be devil horses that ride thisw a y, Rab,” she sighed when she hadremounted on the lower margin of theshale. “And the Lorrigans na doot havemagic. But I dinna think that even theycould run away down it.”

She struck Rab sharply with the quirt anddug in her heels. If Rab was to run it mustbe immediately, for the level valley layjust below and the Lorrigan house wasaround the next point of the hill.

Rab would not run. He stopped abruptlyand kicked with both feet. Mary Hopestruck him again, a little harder, and Rab

kicked again, more viciously. The trailwas much better for kicking than forrunning, but Mary Hope would not acceptthe compromise, and at last Rab yielded tothe extent of loping cautiously down thelast steep declivity. When he reachedlevel ground he laid back his ears andgalloped as fast as his stiffened shoulderswould let him. So Mary Hope very nearlyachieved a dashing pace as she neared thecorrals of the wicked Lorrigans.

“Well! Yuh traveling, or just goin’somewhere?” A young voice yelled at heras she went past the stable.

“My horse––is––he rinned away wi’ me!”screamed Mary Hope, her pigtailssnapping as Rab slowed up and stopped.

“He rinned away wi’ you? When? You

musta been purty young for riding whenthat horse rinned away!” Lance cametoward her, grinning and slapping his hatagainst his fringed chaps before he set itupon his head; an uncommonly handsomehead, by the way, with the Lorrigan’s darkeyes and hair and his mother’sprovocative mouth. “Well, seeing yourhorse ain’t going to rin no further, youmight as well git down and stay awhile.”

“I will not. I didna come to visit, if youplease.”

Mary Hope’s cheeks were hot butconfusion could not break her Scotchspirit.

“Want to borrow something?” Lance stoodlooking at her with much enjoyment. A girlin short skirts was fair game for any one’s

teasing, especially when she blushed aseasily as did Mary Hope. “Want toborrow a horse that will rin away wi’you.”

“Lance, you devil, get out and leave thegirl alone. I’m ashamed of you! Haven’tyou got any manners at all?––after all thewillows and the good powder I’ve wastedon you! Get back to that pasture fencebefore I take a club to you for suchacting!”

Before Belle’s wrath Lance retreated, andMary Hope found the courage to wrinkleher nose at him when he glanced her way.“He rinned away to save himself awhupping,” she commented, and madesure that he heard it, and hoped that hewould realize that she spoke “Scotchy”

just for his special benefit.

“All right for you, Belle Lorrigan!” Lancecalled back, retaliating for Mary Hope’sgrimace by a kiss thrown brazenly in theexpectation of seeing her face growredder; which it did immediately.“Careful of that horse––he might rinnedaway again!”

“That’ll do for you, young man!”Whereupon Belle picked up a small stoneand threw it with such accurate aim thatLance’s hat went off. “Good thing for youthat I haven’t got a gun on me, or I’d dustyour heels for you!” Then she turned toMary Hope, who was listening withtitillating horror to the painted Jezebel’sunorthodox method of reproving heroffspring. “Get right down, honey, and

come in and rest. And don’t mind Lance;he’s an awful tease, especially when helikes a person. Tie your horse to thefence––or turn him in the corral, if he’lllet you catch him again.”

“I––I don’t believe I could stop. I––I onlycame by because I––my horse––” MaryHope stammered and blushed so red thather freckles were invisible. After all, itwas very hard to tell a lie, shediscovered.

“There’s something I like about thishorse,” said Belle, running her plumpwhite hand down the nose of Rab. “He’sneighborly, anyway. He brought you hereagainst your will, I can see that. And nowhe’s here he sort of takes it for grantedyou’ll be friendly and stop a while. Don’t

you think you ought to be as friendly asyour horse, honey?”

“I––I am friendly. I––I always wished Icould come and see you. But mother––mother doesna visit much among theneighbors; she––she’s always busy.”

“I don’t visit much, myself,” said Belledryly. “But that ain’t saying I can’t befriendly. Come on in, and we’ll have somelemonade.”

Sheer astonishment brought Mary Hopedown from her horse. All her life she hadtaken it for granted that lemonade wassacred to the Fourth of July picnics, just asoranges grew for Christmas trees only.She followed Belle dumbly into the house,and once inside she remained dumb withawe at what seemed to her to be the

highest pinnacle of grandeur.

There was the piano with a fringed scarfdraped upon its top, and pictures in framesstanding upon the scarf in orderly rows.There were many sheets of music,––andnever a hymn book. There were greatchairs with deep upholstery which Maryobserved with amazement was not redplush, nor even blue plush, yet whichappealed to her instincts for beauty. Therewas no center table with fringed spreadand family album and a Bible and a conchshell. Instead there was a long tablebefore a window––a table littered with allsorts of things: a box of revolvercartridges, a rifle laid down in the middleof scattered newspapers, a bottle of oil,more music, a banjo, a fruit jar that did

duty as a vase for wild flowers, a half-finished, braided quirt and four silverdollars lying where they had beencarelessly flung down. To Mary Hope,reared in a household where dollars wereprecious things, that last item was the mostamazing of all. The Lorrigans must berich,––as rich as they were wicked. Shethrilled anew at her own daring.

Belle brought lemonade, wonderfullemonade, with an egg beaten to yellowfroth and added the last minute. MaryHope sipped and marveled. After that,Belle played on the piano and sang songswhich Mary Hope had never heard beforeand which she thought must be the songsthe angels sang in Heaven, although therewas nothing to suggest harps or

hallelujahs. Love songs they were, mostly.The sun slipped around and shone througha window on Belle’s head, so that heryellow hair glistened like fine threads ofgold. Mary Hope watched it dreamily andwondered how a Jezebel could be sobeautiful and so good.

“You’d better run along home now,honey,” Belle said at last when she hadfinished her eighth song. “I’d love to haveyou stay all night––but I reckon there’d betrouble. Your dad ain’t any too mild, I’veheard. But I hope you won’t wait untilyour horse runs away with you again. Iwant you to come real soon. And comeearly so you can stay longer. I’ll teach youto play the piano, honey. You ought tolearn, seeing you love it so.”

That night Mary Hope dreamed of playingstrange, complex compositions on a pianowhich Lance Lorrigan had given her. Thenext morning and for many days after shestill dreamed of playing entrancing strainsupon a piano, and of Lance Lorrigan whohad thrown her a kiss. Belle had said thatLance always teased a person he liked,and in that one remark lay the stuff ofmany dreams.

CHAPTER FOUR

A MATTER OF BRANDS

On the grassy expanse known locally asInjun Creek, fifteen hundred head of cattlewere milling restlessly in a close-heldherd over which gray dust hovered andsettled and rose again. Toward it othercattle came lowing, trotting now and thenwhen the riders pressed close, essaying aretreat when the way seemed clear. FromDevil’s Tooth they came, and from LavaBed way, and from the rough sandstoneridges of Mill Creek. Two by two theriders, mere moving dots at first against a

monotone of the rangeland, took form asthey neared the common center. Redcattle, black cattle, spotted and dingywhite, with bandy-legged, flat-bodiedcalves keeping close to their mothers,kicking up their heels in sheer joy of theirnew life when the pace slowed a little,seeking a light lunch whenever the cowsstopped to cast a wary glance back at theirpursuer. A dozen brands were representedin that foregathering: The NL brand ofTom Lorrigan on most, with its variousamendments which differentiated theproperty of other members of the family,since all of the Lorrigans owned cattle.There was the NL Block of BelleLorrigan, the ANL which was Al’s brand,the DNL of Duke and the LNL whichbelonged to Lance; monograms all of

them, deftly constructed with the fewestpossible lines. There was that invitation tothe unlawful artistry of brand-working, theEleven which Sleek Douglas thought quitesufficient to mark his cattle. It wasmerciful to the calves, he maintained, andas to thieves, the dishonest would bepunished by law and the Douglas wrath.The Miller brand, a plain Block, showednow and then upon the rump of someanimal. The AJ fled occasionally before arider, and there were brands alien to theBlack Rim; brands on cattle that haddrifted down from the Snake through theLava Creek pass, or over the sage-grownridges farther north.

His rifle sheathed in a saddle holsterunder his thigh, his black eyes roving here

and there and letting no small movementof men or animals escape their seeingglances, Tom Lorrigan rode to the round-up, lord of the range, steadfast upon thetrail of his “million on the hoof” of whichhe dreamed. Beside him rode Al, and thetwo of them were talking while they rode.

“He ain’t safe, I tell you,” Al was sayingin the tone of reiteration. “And youneedn’t ask me how I know. I know it,that’s all. Maybe he’s too damn’agreeable or something. Anyway, I know Idon’t like the way his eyes set in hishead.”

“A man that wasn’t safe wouldn’t darecome into the Black Rim and make theplay he’s makin’,” Tom contended. “I’vehad my eye on him ever since he come.

I’ve checked up what he says at differenttimes––they tally like the truth. I can’t findnothing wrong.”

“I’ve got him set down for a spotter,” saidAl.

“If he ain’t on the level it’ll show upsooner or later,” Tom contended. “I’ve gotmy eye on him. I dunno what you pin yourargument on, Al, I’ll be darned if I do.”

“Well, watch out for Cheyenne. That’s all.You’re pretty keen, all right, but all aman’s got to do to get on your blind side isto blow in here with his chin on hisshoulder and his horse rode to a whisperand claim to you he’s hidin’ out. Cheyenneain’t right, I tell yuh. You take a tip fromme and watch him.”

“Takes a kid to tell his dad where to headin at!” growled Tom. “How do you reckonI ever got along before your time. Everfigure that out, Al?”

“Now, what’s eatin’ on old ScottyDouglas, do yuh reckon? That’s him, allright. I could tell him on horseback tenmile off. He rides like a Mormon.”

Tom grunted. His boys, he had long agodiscovered, were very apt to find someexcuse for changing the subject wheneverhe mentioned the past which had not heldtheir arrogant young selves. Tom resentedthe attitude of superior wisdom which theywere prone to assume. They were prettysmart kids, but if they thought they weresmarter than their dad they sure had achange of heart coming to them.

“Supposin’ it is old Scotty. Do youreckon, Al, I’ve got you along for a guide,to point out what my eyes is getting toopoor to see? As for Cheyenne,” hereverted angrily to the argument, “as forCheyenne, when you’ve growed to be aman, you’ll find it’s just as much the markof a fool to go along suspecting everybodyas it is to bank on everybody. You thinknow it’s funny to put the Judas brand onevery man you don’t know. It ain’t. It’s akid’s trick. Boys git that way when theybegin to sprout hair under their noses. Ibeen pretty patient with yuh, Al. You’regrowing up fast, and you’re feeling youroats. I make allowances, all kinds. But bythe humpin’ hyenas, don’t you start intelling me where to head in at with myown outfit! If you do, I’ll jest about wear

out a willer switch on yuh!”

This to a youth almost old enough to votewas dire insult. Al pulled up his horse.“Run your own outfit and be darned toyuh!” he cried hotly, and spurred off in thedirection of the ranch.

Tom laughed shortly and rolled acigarette. “Thinks now it’ll bust up theround-up if he goes,” he opined. “Luckyfor my kids I ain’t as strict as my old dadwas; they wouldn’t have any hide left, Ireckon.”

Up loped Aleck Douglas then, riding stiff-legged, his bony elbows jerkingawkwardly with the motion of his horse, arusty black vest dangling open under hiscoat which flapped in the wind. That theDouglas wrath rode with him Tom saw

from the corner of his eye and gave nosign.

“Hello,” said Tom casually and drew amatch along the stamped fork of hissaddle. “You’re quite a stranger.” Helighted his cigarette, holding his reinslightly in one hand while he did so; gavethe reins a gentle flip to one side and senthis horse after a cow and calf that showedsymptoms of “breaking back.”

“Mister Lorrigan, ’tis aboot a spottedyearlin’ that I’ve come to speak with ye.I’ve found the hide of her in the brushbeneath yon hill, and the brand is cut fromit. But I wad swear to the hide wi’out thebrand. ’Twas a yearlin’ I ken weel, MisterLorrigan.” He rode alongside, and hisclose-set little eyes regarded keenly

Tom’s face.

“A spotted yearling with the brand cut out,hey? That looks kinda bad. Have you gotthe hide with you?”

“I have no got the hide wi’ me, but I kenweel whaur it lies, Mister Lorrigan, and Ithinkit so do you.”

“Hm-m. You’d ought to of brought italong.” Tom’s glance went out toward theherd and the cattle lumbering toward it farand near. “The range is plumb lousy withspotted yearlings, Scotty. What do youexpect me to do about it?”

The Douglas face worked spasmodicallybefore he spoke. “I expect ye, Mr.Lorrigan, to pay for yon beastie. I kenweel ye could name the mon that stickit

the knife in her throat. An’ she made fineeatin’, I have na doot. But ’tis the law,Mister Lorrigan, that a mon should pay forthe meat he consumes.”

“Meaning, of course, that you think I’mfeeding Douglas meat to my outfit. Don’tyou think you’re kinda hasty? I kill a beefabout every three or four days in round-uptime. The boys work hard and they eathard. And they eat NL beef, Scotty; don’toverlook that fact. Hides ain’t worthanything much, but salt’s cheap, too. I ain’tthrowin’ away a dollar when it’s notrouble to save it. If you’re any curious atall, you ride over to ranch and count allthe green hides you can find. Belle, she’llshow ’em to you. Take a look at thebrands, and figure it out yourself, I don’t

know how many you’ll find, but I’llgamble you a dozen cows against one thatyou’ll wonder what went with all the beefthat was in them hides. Humpin’ hyenas!Ain’t I got cattle enough of my own,without rustlin’ off my neighbors?”

“Aye. Ye ha’ cattle, Mister Lorrigan; I kenweel ye should no’ be put to it for a weeb i t meat––but I ken weel yon spottyyearlin’ was mine. I ken ye’ve beencampin’ thereabout––and it wad seem,Mister Lorrigan, that the salt was no saplentifu’ when the spotty yearlin’ waskilt.”

The downright foolhardiness of theDouglas wrath held Tom’s hand,––thoughof a truth that hand trembled and creptbackward. Nor was Aleck Douglas

nearsighted; he saw the movement and hisbearded underlip met his shaven underlipin a straight line.

“Ye do weel to be reachin’ for the gun,Mister Lorrigan. I dinna carry aye weaponsave the truth.”

Tom flushed. “Blame your oatmeal soul, ifI reached for my gun, you wouldn’t betelling me about it!” he exploded. “Carrythe truth, do yuh? You’ve got to show mewhere you keep it, then. If you wasn’t anold man––and a darn fool on top of that.”

“’Tis no brave to cover shame wi’ bitterwords, Tam Lorrigan. ’Tis the way of yeto bluster and bully until the neighbors allare affrighted to face ye and yere illdeeds.”

Toward them clattered two riders hotlypursuing a lean, long-legged steer with awide spread of horns and a gift of speedthat carried him forging past thedisputants. Tom wheeled mechanicallyand gave chase, leaving the Douglas wrathto wax hotter or to cool if it would. It wasa harsh accusation that Aleck Douglas hadmade, and that he did make it seemed toprove that he had what he considered verygood evidence that he was right. Tom waswell schooled in troubles of that kind. Hedid not take the matter so indifferently asDouglas believed.

Duke and Mel Wilson, riding hard, cameupon Tom just as he had roped and thrownthe steer in a shallow draw that hid themfrom the level where Aleck Douglas

waited.

“Hey!” Tom beckoned them close. “OldDouglas says there’s a hide in the willowsthis side of Squaw Butte, with the brandcut out; a spotted yearling, and he claimsit’s his and he can swear to it without thebrand. I don’t know a darn thing about it.Nobody does in this outfit; I’ll stake allI’ve got on that. But he’s on the fight––anda mule’s a sheep alongside him when he’sgot his back up. He left the hide where hefound it. Haze this steer and ride overthere and see what there is to his talk. Ifyou find a hide cachéd in the willows, putit outa sight. We don’t want any rustlingscraps started on this range; that’s badmedicine always. If he can’t produce anyhide, he can’t start anything but talk––and

talk’s cheap.”

A few moments later they came tearing upout of the draw, the steer running strong,the three riders still hotly pursuing. Dukeand Mel rushed it on to the herd, and Tomdropped out of the race and came alongacross to where Douglas wrath had notcooled but had smoldered and waited forthe wind of opposition to fan it to flameagain.

“Well, you still mournin’ over your spottyyearlin’?” Tom called. “You must havemore time than you know what to do withto-day. Us, we have to work.”

“If it’s to the round-up ye’re going, thenI’ll ride wi’ ye, Tom Lorrigan. I’m a fairmon and I wush na ill to my neighbors. ButI canna twiddle the thumbs whilst others

fare well on Douglas beef.”

“You can ride where you please; it’s openrange. But if you ride to the herd I’ll showyou forty yearlings that I’ll bet are deadringers for the one that you claim waskilled. I never seen that hide neither,unless maybe when the critter was usingit.

“Now, I don’t want any trouble with yuh,Scotty. But I tell yuh right now I can’tstand for much more of this talk about beefrustling. Thief’s a pretty hard word to useto a man’s face––and get away with it.”

“’Tis a hard mon I’m usin’ it tae,” theDouglas retorted grimly.

“Braggin’ about your nerve, are yuh,Scotty?”

“I have a name, Tam Lorrigan, and ’tisnaScotty.” The Douglas face twisted withanger. “I will no bandy worrds with ye.’Tis ill I should descend to the level o’them that deespitefully use me.”

“Deespitefully!––why, humpin’ hyenas!Ain’t I letting yuh live? And do yuh reckonany other man could walk up to me andcall me a thief and live long enough totake it back? Just because you’re old, andsuch a blamed fool you go around withouta gun on yuh, I’m keepin’ my hands offyou. I call yuh a coward. You wouldn’t adared to come over here with a gun on yuhand talk the way you’ve done. You’ve gotme hog-tied. You know it. And damn yuh,I’ll fight yuh now with the law––which isthe only way a coward will fight.

“You’ve done a heap of chawin’ aroundabout the Lorrigans, Scotty. Don’t think Iain’t heard it. Maybe it’s your religion tobackbite yore neighbors and say what youwouldn’t dare to say to their face with agun on you so we’d be equal. I’ve passedit up. I’ve considered the source and let itgo. But when you come belly-achin’around about me stealin’ a spottyyearlin’––jest as if there wasn’t but oneon the Black Rim range!––why, damn it,you’ll prove it! Do you get that? You’llprove it before a jury, or I’ll sue yuh forlibel and bust yuh. I don’t go much on thelaw, but by Henry, I’ll use it on you!”

The Douglas eyes flickered uncertainly,but the Douglas mouth was unyielding.“The law can no be cheatit so easy, Tam

Lorrigan. I hae no wush to send ye taejail––but ye ken weel that wad be thepenalty for killin’ yon beastie in thewillows. I came to settle the matter fairbetween neighbors, and tae warn ye tocease your evil doings on the range. Iwadna see yer woman come tae grief––”

“You can cut out that mercy talk, Scotty.And don’t try to bring Belle into this. If itcomes to a showdown, lemme advise you,you’d better sidestep Belle. The griefwould all be yourn, if you and Belle lockhorns, and I’m telling yuh so.”

They had reached the nearest margin of theherd. Cheyenne, a nameless estray fromthe Wyoming ranges, chanced to beholding herd where the two rode up. Athim Tom looked, suspicion for the moment

sharpening his glance.

“You can ask this man what he knowsabout any spotted hide over by SquawButte,” he invited the Douglas stiffly.“He’s practically a stranger to the outfit––been here about a month. Maybe hisword’ll be worth something to yuh––Idunno. You can ask him.”

Douglas rode over to Cheyenne and saidwhat he had to say. Tom meanwhile heldthe herd and meditated on the pettyinjustices of life––perhaps––and wishedthat a real he-man had come at him theway Douglas had come. It irked Tommuch to be compelled to meet hard wordswith tolerant derision. Toleration was notmuch of a factor in his life. But since hemust be tolerant, he swung his horse to

meet the Douglas when the briefconversation with Cheyenne was over.The Douglas head was shaking slowly,owning disappointment.

“Well, yuh might as well make the rounds,Scotty. Go on and ask all the boys. If Iasked ’em myself you might think it was aframe-up. And when you’ve made therounds, take a look through the herd. Thechances are that you’ll find your spottyyearlin’ walking around with her hide onher. And when you’re plumb through, youmake tracks away from my outfit. Mypatience is strainin’ the buttons right now,looking at your ugly mug. And lemme tellyuh––and you mark it down in your littlered book so yuh won’t forget it––afteryou’ve peddled your woes to the hull

outfit, you bring in that hide and someproof, or you get down on them marrowbones and apologize! I’m plumb tired ofthe way you act.”

Aleck Douglas scowled, opened his hardlips to make a bitter answer andreconsidered. He went off instead tointerview the men, perhaps thinking thatadroit questioning might reveal a weakpoint somewhere in their denial.

Tom rode over to Cheyenne. “Scotty’s gothis war clothes on,” he observedcarelessly.

“Shore has,” Cheyenne grinned. “Butthat’s all right. He didn’t make nothin’ offme. I never give him any satisfaction atall.”

Tom’s brows pulled together. “Well, now,if you know anything about any hide withthe brand cut out, you’d better comethrough, Cheyenne.”

“I never said I knowed anything about it. Iguess mebby that’s why I couldn’t givehim no satisfaction.” Cheyenne stillgrinned, but he did not meet Tom’s eyes.

“You spoke kinda queer for a man whodon’t know nothing, Cheyenne. Did yuhthink mebby it wasn’t all NL beef youbeen eating?”

“Why, no. I never meant anything like thatat all. I only said––”

“Straight talk don’t need no explainin’,Cheyenne. The Devil’s Tooth outfit shorelikes the taste of its own beef. If any man

fails to agree with that, I want him tospeak up right now.”

Cheyenne pinched out the fire in hiscigarette and flipped the stub away fromhim. He did not look at Tom when he said:

“NL beef shore suits me. I don’t knowabout any other brand. I ain’t et none tojudge by.”

“You bet your life you ain’t,” snappedTom, as he turned away. “When yousample another brand you won’t bedrawin’ wages with this outfit.”

He rode away to the wagon, where a firewas already burning and the brandingirons heating. Cheyenne, with his hatpulled down over his forehead so that helooked out from under the brim that

shaded his face, watched Tom queerly, acorner of his lips lifted in a half smile thatwas not pleasant.

CHAPTER FIVE

THEY RIDE AND THEY DO NOT TELLWHERE

Aleck Douglas, having questioned thecrew as Tom had suggested, and havinginexorably ridden through the herd––insearch of brands that had been “worked,”or for other evidence of the unlawfulacquisition of wealth, rather than in hopeof finding his spotted yearling––rodeaway with the parting threat that he would“gang to the shuriff and hae a talk wi’him.” Tom had advised him of one or twoother destinations where he hoped the

Douglas would arrive without any delaywhatever, and the branding proceededrather slowly with the crew three menshort.

Duke and Mel Wilson rode in about threeo’clock with a few cows and calveswhich they had gleaned from some brushydraw to cover their real errand. By thetime they had snatched a hasty meal at thewagon a mile away, and had caught upfresh horses, the afternoon’s work wasnearly over. A little earlier than usual,Tom kicked the branding fire apart,ordered the herd thrown on water andgrazed back to the bed-ground that hadbeen used during round-up time ever sincehe could remember, and rode slowlytoward camp, whither the lucky ones not

on herd were speeding.

Cheyenne, Tom observed, seemed in agreater hurry than the others, and hebeckoned to him a slim, swarthy-skinnedyouth who answered to the euphoniousname of Sam Pretty Cow, who was three-quarters Indian and forgiven the taint forthe ability to ride anything he ever tried toride, rope anything he ever swung his loopat, and for his unfailing good humor whichset him far above his kind.

“Cheyenne’s in a hurry to-night, Sam.”

“Yeah. Ride hell out of his horse. I dunno,me.” Sam grinned amiably at his boss.

“I wish you would camp on his trail, Sam.He’ll maybe ride somewhere to-night.”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. You bet,” acquiesced

Sam, and leaned forward a little, meaningto gallop after Cheyenne.

“Hold on a minute! What did Scotty haveto say, Sam?”

“Him? Talk a lot about spotty yearlin’ hesays is dead. Asking who kills them calf.Search me, I dunno.”

“Hear any talk among the boys about beefrustling?”

“Uh-huh. First I hear is them sour-faceasking me who kills them critter. Me, Idunno.”

“If you hear anything about it, Sam, let meknow. Scotty thinks we done it.”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. Anybody does somethingmean, everybody says, ‘Damn Lorrigans

done it.’ Too much talk in the Black Rim.Talking under their hats all the time but noliking to fight them Lorrigans. Uh-huh.They’re scared, you bet.”

“They’ll have something to get scared at,if they ain’t careful. I’m getting tired ofit,” said Tom gloomily.

“Yeah, you bet!” agreed Sam, his voiceall sympathy. Then seeing that Tom had noimmediate intention of saying more, hetouched his horse with his long-shankedspurs and hurried on to “camp on the trailof Cheyenne.”

Tom had nearly reached camp when Dukecame pounding up behind him, comingfrom the herd. Duke set his horse up, intwo jumps slowing from a gallop to awalk. Tom turned his head but he did not

speak. Nor did Duke wait for questions.

“Dad, we didn’t find any hide over bySquaw Butte,” he announced abruptly.“Mel and I hunted every foot of thewillows. I saw where a critter had beenkilled, all right. There was some scuffed-out tracks and blood on the ground. Butthere wasn’t any hide. Scotty mustacachéd it somewheres.”

“Scotty claims he left it where he found it,for evidence,” Tom said gloomily.

“Darned if I’d take the blame for otherfolks’ rustling,” Duke declared. “I wishthe’d of come to me with his tale of woe.I’d a showed him where to head in, mightydarned sudden. I’d of asked where washis proof; there’s other cow outfits in theBlack Rim besides the Devil’s Tooth, I’d

tell him. And if he didn’t have mightydarned good evidence, I’d of––”

“Yes, I expect you would of tore the earthup all round him,” Tom interrupted drily.“You boys shore are fighty, all right––with your faces. What I’m interested in, iswhereabouts you and Mel hunted. Thathide wouldn’t show up like the Devil’sTooth––understand. And Scotty wasbawling around like a man that’s been hurtin the pocket. He found a hide, and if itain’t his he shore thinks it is, and that’sjust about the same. And we camped overthere three days ago. Where all did youand Mel look?”

“All over, wherever a hide could becachéd. There ain’t any over there. Scottymusta dreamt it––or else he buried it.”

“Scotty ain’t the dreamy kind. Might bepossible that the ones that done the killingwent back and had a burying––whichthey’d oughta have had at the time. I can’tsabe a man rustling beef and leaving thehide laying around, unless––” Tom pulledhis eyebrows together in quick suspicion.“It kinda looks to me like a frame-up,” heresumed from his fresh viewpoint. “Well,you and Mel keep it under your hats,Duke. Don’t say nothing to any of the boysat all. But if any of the boys has anythingto say, you listen. Scotty made the roundsto-day––talked to the whole bunch. Theyknow all about his spotty yearlin’, goldarn him! I’d like to know if any of ’emhas got any inside dope. There’s strangersin the outfit this spring. And, Duke, youkinda keep your eye on Cheyenne. Al

seems to think he ain’t right––but Al hasgot to the suspicious age, when every manand his dog packs a crime on hisconscience. You kinda stall around andsee if Cheyenne lets slip anything.”

“What would happen to old ScottyDouglas if he lost a bunch, for gosh sake?Drop dead, I reckon,” grumbled Duke.“He’s sure making a lot of fuss over onemeasly yearlin’.”

“Yeah––but I’ve saw bigger fusses madeover smaller matters, son,” Tom drawledwhimsically. “I saw two men killed overa nickel in change, once. It ain’t the start;it’s the finish that counts.”

“Well, looking at it that way, uhcourse––”

“That’s the only way to look at it, son. Didyou think, maybe, that I hazed you over tofind that hide and bury it, just to keep itfrom scentin’ up the scenery? It’s what Icould smell farther ahead that I was after.If you’d looked ahead a little further,maybe you’d of looked a little closer inthe willers.”

To this Duke had nothing to say; andpresently he loped on, leaving Tom to rideslowly and turn the matter of the spottedyearling over and over in his mind until hehad reached some definite conclusion.

Tom had the name of being a dangerousman, but he had not earned it by beinghasty. His anger was to be feared becauseit smoldered long, rather than because itexploded into quick violence. He wanted

to see the trail ahead of him––and justnow he thought he saw Trouble waiting onthe turn. No Lorrigan had ever ridden theother way because Trouble waited ahead,but one Lorrigan at least would advancewith his eyes open and his weapons readyto his hand.

“Bring your proof,” he had said in effectto Aleck Douglas, “or stand trial for libel.Since you won’t fight with guns, I’ll fightyou with the law.” Very good, if he couldbe sure that the Douglas would fail toproduce his proof.

Tom knew well enough the reputation hebore in the Black Rim country. Before thecoming of Belle, and later, of the boys,Tom had done his share toward earningthat reputation. But Belle and the boys had

changed his life far more than appeared onthe surface. They had held his rope fromhis neighbors’ cattle, for one thing, thoughhis neighbors never had credited him withhonesty.

It is true that Tom could remember certainincidents of the round-up that had added tohis herd and brought him a little nearer themillion-dollar mark. Without remorse heremembered, and knew that any cowmanin the country would do the same, orworse if he dared. For branding irons donot always inquire very closely into theparentage of a calf that comes bouncing upstiff-legged at the end of a cowpuncher’srope. Nor need a maverick worry verylong because he belongs to no one, so longas cowmen ride the range. Cattle would

always stray into the Black Rim countryfrom ranges across the mountains, and ofthese the Black Rim took its toll. Hesupposed strange irons were set now andthen on the hide of an NL animal acrossthe mountains––but the branders had betternot let him catch them at it! On the otherhand, he would see to it that they did notcatch him branding mavericks on his ownrange. To Tom that seemed fair enough,––a give-and-take game of the rangeland.According to Tom’s code he was ashonest as his neighbors, and that washonest enough for practical purposes.

It happened that he had not killed AleckDouglas’ spotted yearling. And to beaccused of the theft hurt.

“Why, humpin’ hyenas! If I’d a beefed that

critter, old Scotty wouldn’t ever havefound no hide to catch me on! What kindamark does he think I am! Rustle a beef andleave the hide laying around? why, anydarn fool would know better than that!”

It was characteristic of the Lorriganinfluence that when Tom rode into campevery one of the crew save his own sonsquieted a little; not enough to suggesttimidity, but to a degree that told how wellthey knew that their master was present.

That master quietly took stock of his menwhile they ate their supper and loafed andsmoked and talked. Cheyenne hadunobtrusively retired to the bed tent. Withhis thumbs pushed down inside his beltTom strolled past and slanted a glanceinside. Cheyenne was squatted on his

heels shaving with cold lather and acracked looking-glass propped against aroll of bedding, and a razor which neededhoning. In turning his head to look at Tomhe nicked his chin and while he stoppedthe bleeding with a bit of old newspaperthe size of a small finger-nail hecongratulated himself in the mistakenbelief that Tom had not seen him at all.

Cheyenne did not know Tom very well,else he would have taken it for grantedthat Tom not only had seen him, but hadalso made a guess at his reason forshaving in the middle of the week.

Tom walked on, making a mental tally ofthe girls within riding distance from camp.Jennie Miller was reported engaged to anAJ man, and besides, she lived too far

away and was not pretty enough to beworth the effort of a twenty-five mile ridejust to hear her play hymns distressinglyon an organ with a chronic squeak in onepedal. There was Alice Boyle at the AJ,and there was Mary Hope Douglas, whowas growing to be quite a young lady,––pretty good-looking, too, if she wouldn’tpeel her hair back so straight and tight.Mary Hope Douglas, Tom decided, wasprobably the girl. It struck Tom assignificant that she should be the daughterof the man who mourned the loss of theyearling. He had not reached the rear ofthe tent before he decided that he himselfwould do a little riding that night. Hecaught and saddled Coaley, his own petsaddle horse that had never carried anyman save Tom––never would, so long as

Tom had anything to say about it––and setoff toward the Devil’s Tooth ranch.Cheyenne ducked his head under the tentflap when he heard the sound of hoof beatspassing close, saw that it was his boss,noted the direction he was taking, andheaved a sigh of relief. While he laboredwith the knot in his handkerchief whichmust be tied exactly right before he wouldleave the tent, Cheyenne had beencomposing a reason for leaving camp.Now he would not need a reason, and hegrinned while he plastered his hair downin a sleek, artistically perfect scallop overhis right eyebrow. Tom was going to thehome ranch,––to round up Al, very likely.He would be gone all night and he wouldnot know how many of his men rodeabroad that night.

So presently Cheyenne saddled thefreshest horse in his string and loped off,making an insulting sign with one handwhen the boys wished him luck with thegirl and offered to go along and talkreligion with “feyther” just to help himout.

Very soon after that Sam Pretty Cowdrifted away, and no one noticed hisabsence. Sam Pretty Cow’s wanderingsnever did attract much attention. He wasInjun, and Injuns have ways strange towhite men. For instance, he did not sleepin the tent, but spread his blankets underwhatever shelter he could find withinhailing distance from the others. He wasalways around when he was wanted, andthat seemed to be all that was expected of

him. Sleep settled on the Devil’s Toothround-up camp, and the night guard sang tothe cattle while they rode round and roundthe herd, and never dreamed that this nightwas not as other nights had been.

CHAPTER SIX

BELLE MEETS AN EMERGENCY INHER OWN WAY

A Meadow Lark, his consciencecomfortable after a generous breakfast ofbig and little worms carried to his matehidden away under a thick clump of rabbitweed down by the creek, spread rigidwings and volplaned to the crooked postbeside the corral gate, folded his featherssnug and tilted his head aslant. “Cler,cler, cler, cler-ee, cler-ee!” he sang, andperked a wary eye toward the low-roofedstable.

“Oh, I hear you, you sassy little sinner! Iwouldn’t think you’d have the nerve, afterwhat you’ve done to my radishes. I’m suregoing to mix with you, if you––Rosa! Lifta heel at me and you die! Stand over––don’t you try squeezing me against thewall, or I’ll take my quirt to you! Get overthere, before I brain you! Hay-ah-h,you––”

From the sounds one would imagine that abear, two lions and a mule had come tohandgrips in the stable, and that a womanof the Amazons was battling with them all.The meadow lark knew better. This washis second season on the Devil’s Toothranch, and he knew that Belle Lorriganwas merely harnessing her pinto team inthe stable, and that nothing out of the

ordinary was taking place. Being a wisebird as well as an inquisitive one, hefluttered up to the ridge-pole of the roofand from that sanctuary listened beady-eyed to the customary tumult.

Certain staccato epithets meant merely thatSubrosa was objecting to the crupper. Asudden stamping testified that Belle hadapproached Rosa with the bridle. A high-keyed, musical voice chanting man-sizewords of an intimidating nature followedwhich proved that the harnessing wasprogressing as well as could be expected.Then came a lull, and the meadow larktilted forward expectantly, his head turnedsidewise to see what came next.

First came Belle Lorrigan, walkingbackward, a shot-loaded quirt raised

admonishingly to the chin of Subrosa whowalked stiff-legged and reluctant, hiswhite-lashed, blue eyes rollingfearsomely, his nostrils belling in loudsnorts of protest. A complexity ofemotions stirred Subrosa. Afraid to lungeforward, hating to walk circumspectly,eager for the race yet dreading thediscipline of rein and whip, Subrosayielded perforce to the inevitable. As hisheels flicked over the low doorsill heswung round and landed one final kickagainst the log wall, threw up his head inanticipation of the quirt, stepped on adragging trace chain and jumped as thoughit was a rattler.

“None of that, you cantankerous brute!One of these days I’m going to just

naturally brain you, Sub. I’m getting goodand tired of this circus business. Yousettle down, now, and act human, or––”

Subrosa kicked at the trace and flipped itup so that it struck him smartly on therump. He jumped straight forward atBelle, who dodged and landed the quirtnone too gently on his nose. Subrosa satdown violently, and Belle straightwaykicked him in the paunch by way of hintingthat she preferred him standing. Then theyhad it out, rampaging all over the round-pole corral until Belle, breathing a bit fastbut sparkly-eyed and victorious, ledSubrosa through the gate and up to the postwhere she snubbed him fast. She wasturning to go after Rosa when a youngvoice called to her anxiously.

“Oh, Mrs. Lorrigan! Quick, I’m in a hurry.I mustn’t stay, because they’ll be here in alittle while. But they’re coming by theroad and I came down the trail, and thatgave me time. I can’t take any more musiclessons, Mrs. Lorrigan. Father is thatangry wi’ your husband––and oh, Mrs.Lorrigan! If you have any hide that isnayour own, ye should hide it away at once!Because the shuriff––”

Belle laid her palms on her hips andstared blankly up at Mary Hope, who satnervously on old Rab at the gate.

“Heavens, child! My hide is my own––and at that it’s pretty well hidden. Whatabout the sheriff? What’s he got to sayabout it?”

“It’s the stealing, Mrs. Lorrigan. Father

has the shuriff wi’ him, and they are goingto search the ranch for the hides––”

“Good Lord! What hides?”

“The hides of my father’s cattle. And ifyou have any, put them away quick, wherethe shuriff canna find them, Mrs. Lorrigan!It’s ill I should go against my father, butyou have been so good to me with themusic lessons, and––”

“Don’t let the music lessons bother you,Hope. And I guess we’re entitled to all thecowhides we’ve got on the place, if that’swhat you mean. What do you think weare––thieves, Hope Douglas?”

“I dinna say it. I only came to warn ye, sothat you may have time tae put your hidesway oot o’ their sicht when they come. I

dinna want that your husband should go toprison, Mrs. Lorrigan. But father is thatangry––”

“Well, say! Let me tell you something,Hope. If there’s any talk of stealing andprison for the Lorrigans, your dad hadbetter keep outa my Tom’s sight. And outamine,” she added grimly. “There’ll be nosearching for anything on this ranch whenmy Tom’s not here to see what goes on.You better go back and tell your dad I saidit. If you don’t and he brings the sheriff onhere, don’t blame me if somebody getshurt.”

“Oh, but it’s the law they’re bringing onye! Ye canna go contrary to the law!”Mary Hope’s voice quavered with fear.

“Oh, can’t I!” Belle gave her head a tilt.

“You beat it, while the going’s good. Ihear voices up on the road. If you don’twant your dad to come and catch youhere––”

That settled it. Terror drove Mary Hopeinto the Devil’s Tooth trail at Rab’s bestpace, which was a stiff-legged lope. Herlast glance backward showed her BelleLorrigan taking her six-shooter belt off thebuckboard seat and buckling it around herwaist so that the gun hung well forward.Mary Hope shuddered and struck Rabwith the quirt.

Belle had led Rosa from the stable andwas cautiously fastening the neck yoke inplace when the sheriff and Aleck Douglasrode around the corner of the stable. Rosashied and snorted and reared, and Belle

used the rein-ends for a whiplash untilRosa decided that she would better submitto authority and keep her hide whole. Shestood fairly quiet after that, with littlenipping dance-steps in one spot, whileBelle fastened buckles and snaps andtrace chains. Subrosa, having had histantrum, contented himself with sundryhead-shakings and snorts. When the teamwas “hooked up” to Belle’s satisfaction,she tied them both firmly to the corral withshort ropes, and finally turned herattention to her visitors.

“Howdy, Mr. Douglas? Fine day we’rehaving,” she greeted the dour Scotchmanamiably.

The sheriff coughed behind his hand,looked sidelong at his companion, rode a

step or two nearer to Belle, swung a legover the cantle of his saddle. Perhaps heexpected Aleck Douglas to introduce him,but he did not wait for the formality.

“Mrs. Lorrigan, I’m sheriff of the county,”he began ingratiatingly, when his two feetwere on the ground.

“You are?” Belle flashed a row of verywhite teeth. “You sure don’t look it. I’dhave taken you for a regular human being.”

“Mr. Douglas, here, would like to take alook at some hides Mr. Lorrigan has gotcuring. He thinks possibly––”

“’Tis useless to cover the truth wi’ saftwords, shuriff,” Douglas interruptedglumly. “’Tis stolen cattle we are tracing,and ’tis here we wad look for the hides of

them. I hae guid reason––”

“You’ll find my husband at the round-up.Before you do any searching, you hadbetter go and have a talk with him. Whenhe’s gone strangers don’t go prowlingaround this ranch.”

“We’ll have our talk with him after we’vetaken a look around,” the sheriff amended,grinning a little. “It’s just a matter ofform––nothing you need to object to, oneway or the other. I don’t suppose we’llfind anything––”

“No, I don’t suppose you will. Not unlessyou find it on the road back. I hate to seemunfriendly, but I’ll just have to ask you tocrawl on your horse and go see Tom aboutit.”

“Now, we don’t want any unpleasantnessat all, Mrs. Lorrigan. But this man hasswore out a warrant––”

“Shucks! What he does never did interestme one way or the other, and does notnow. I’m telling you there’ll be nosnooping around here while Tom’s away.”

“Oh, well, now!” The sheriff rather pridedhimself on his ability to “handle folkspeaceable,” as he expressed it. Heinjected a little more of the oil ofpersuasiveness into his voice. It was hisstandard recipe for avoiding trouble witha woman. “You don’t think for a minuteI’d take advantage of his absence, Mrs.Lorrigan? Nothing like that at all. We justwant to see if a certain cowhide is here. Ifit isn’t, then we won’t need to bother Tom

at all, maybe. Get down, Mr. Douglas, andwe’ll just have a look around. Mrs.Lorrigan ain’t going to make no objectionsto that.”

Belle smiled. “Oh, yes, she is. She’s goingto do quite a lot of objecting. You betterstay right where you are, Scotty. You’re aheap safer.”

The sheriff began to lose patience. “Now,look here, Mrs. Lorrigan! You’re dealingwith the law, you know. We can’t haveany nonsense.”

“We won’t have,” Belle assured himplacidly. “That’s what I’ve been trying tobeat into your head. Why, good Lord!Can’t you take the hint and see I’m tryingnot to have any trouble with yuh? I don’twant to have to run you off the ranch––but

as you say, there’s not going to be anynonsense. I said, go. I’m waiting to see ifyou’ve got sense enough to do it.”

“Sa-ay! Just look here now! Do you knowit’s a State’s prison offense to resist anofficer!” The sheriff’s face was growingred.

Belle laughed. “Sure. But I’m not. You––you’re irresistible! And I don’t knowyou’re an officer.”

This went over the sheriff’s head and waswasted, though Aleck Douglas pulleddown his mouth at the corners as though hewas afraid he might smile if he were notcareful.

The sheriff took up his bridle reins,preparing to lead his horse over to a post

and tie him. He glanced at Belle and sawthat she had a six-shooter in her hand anda glitter in her eyes. Quite naturally hehesitated. Then, at a perfectly plain signalfrom the gun, he turned his palms towardher at a level with his shoulders.

“You needn’t tie up. Crawl into the saddleand drift.”

“I’ve got a search warrant––”

“You can keep it and show it to Tom. Andget off this ranch just as quick as thathorse can take you. I’ll have you botharrested for trespassing. I’m not takingyour word for anything, you see. I don’tknow anything about your warrant––hey,Riley!” This to the cook, who came, takingsteps as long as his legs would let him,and swinging a damp dishcloth in one

moist red hand.

“Riley, here’s a man claims he’s thesheriff and that he’s got a warrant tosearch the ranch. I don’t believe a word ofit, and I’ve ordered him off the place. Iwouldn’t for the world resist an officer ofthe law––put your hands up a little higher,Mr. Man!––but when Tom ain’t home nostranger is going to come snooping aroundhere if I can stop him. Ain’t that right,Riley?”

“That’s right, Belle,” Riley acquiesced,working his oversized Adam’s appleconvulsively. (Riley, by the way, wouldjust as readily have approved of murder ifBelle had asked for his approval.)

“Well, you’re a witness that I’m fromMissouri. I’ve told this man to go tell his

troubles to Tom. If he’s honest he’ll do it.If he don’t go in about ten seconds, I’mgoing to throw a bullet through his hat.Then if he hangs around, I shall shoot himin his left leg just about six inches abovethe knee. I can do it, can’t I, Riley?”

“Well, now, you shore can, Belle!” Rileynodded his head emphatically. “If you saysix, I’d shore gamble a year’s wages itwon’t be five, or seven. Six inches abovehis knee goes, if you say six.”

“All right. I’m just defending the ranchwhen Tom’s gone. You hear me, Mr. Man.Now, you git!”

The sheriff turned and opened his mouth toprotest, and Belle shot the promised bulletthrough his hat crown. The sheriff duckedand made a wild scramble for the stirrup.

“Open your mouth again and I’ll beawfully tempted to shoot that crookedtooth out of it,” Belle observed. “And inten seconds, remember, you’re going toget––”

The sheriff still had two of the ten secondsto spare when he left, Aleck Douglasfollowing him glumly.

“It’s him, all right. It’s the sheriff, Belle,”Riley informed her, while they watchedthe two clatter up the road to where thereal grade began. “What’s eatin’ on ’em?Likely he did have a search warrant.”

“He can use it, after I’m through. OldScotty is trailing some rustled stock, theyclaim. They came here looking for hides.You keep an eye out, Riley, and see if theykeep going. I guess they will––they’ll go

after Tom. I’m going to have a look atthose cowhides in the old shed.”

“Better let me,” Riley offered. “It ain’tany job for a woman nohow. You watchthe trail and I’ll look.”

Belle would not even consider theproposition. The Lorrigan reputationnever had troubled her much,––but it senther now to the shed where hides werekept stored until the hide buyer made hisnext annual visit through the country. Shedid not believe that she would find anybrand save the various combinations ofthe NL monogram, but she meant to makesure before any stranger was given accessto the place.

The job was neither easy nor pleasant, butshe did it thoroughly. Riley, roosting

meditatively on the top rail of the corralwhere he could watch the road down thebluff, craned his long neck inquiringlytoward her when she returned.

“Nothing but NL stuff, just as I thought,”said Belle, holding her hands as far awayfrom her face as possible. “I knew Tomwouldn’t have any stolen hides on theplace––but it was best to make sure.”

“No ma’am, he wouldn’t. I’m shoresurprised they’d come and try to find any.Looks bad to me, Belle. Looks to me likesomebody is shore tryin’ to startsomethin’. There’s plenty in the BlackRim would like to see Tom railroaded tothe pen––plenty. Looks to me like they’reaimin’ to pin something on him. No, sir, Idon’t like it. Uh course,” he went on,

letting himself loose-jointedly to theground, “they couldn’t get nothing onTom––not unless they framed something.But I wouldn’t put it a-past ’em to do it.No, ma’am, I wouldn’t.”

“Your bread’s burning, Riley. I can smellit. Don’t you never think they’ll frame onTom. They may try it––but that’s as far asthey’ll get. They don’t want to startanything with the Lorrigans!”

“Well, I left the oven door open. She ain’tburning to hurt. Yuh see, Scotty Douglas,he’s religious and he don’t never pack agun. Them kind’s bad to tangle up with;awful bad. There ain’t nothing much a mancan do with them religious birds. Themnot being armed, you can’t shoot––it’smurder. And that kinda ties a man’s hands,

as yuh might say. They always takeadvantage of it, invariable. No, ma’am, itlooks bad.”

“It’ll look worse––for them that tries anyfunny business with this outfit,” Belleassured him. “Go along and ’tend to yourbaking. You know I hate burnt bread. I’mgoing to drive over and see what they’reup to.”

She untied Rosa and Subrosa, and becauseshe was in a hurry she permitted Riley tohold them by the bits while she climbedin, got the lines firmly in one hand and herblacksnake in the other. Not often did shedeign to accept assistance, and Riley wasall aquiver with gratified vanity at thismark of her favor.

“Turn ’em loose––and get to that bread!”

she cried, and circled the pintos into theroad. “You, Sub! Cut that out, now––settledown! Rosa! Stead-dy, I ain’t any Ben Hurpulling off a chariot race, remember!”

At a gallop they took the first sandy slopeof the climb, and Belle let them go. Theywere tough––many’s the time they had hitthe level on top of the ridge withoutslowing to a walk on the way up. Theyhad no great load to pull, and if it pleasedthem to lope instead of trot, Belle wouldnever object.

As she sat jouncing on the seat of abuckboard with rattly spokes in all of thefour wheels and a splintered dashboardwhere Subrosa landed his heels one daywhen he had backed before he kicked, onefelt that she would have made a

magnificent charioteer. Before she hadgone half a mile her hair was down andwhipping behind her like a goldenpennant. Her big range hat would havegone sailing had it not been tied under herchin with buckskin strings. Usually shesang as she hurtled through space, but to-day the pintos missed her voice.

Five miles out on the range she overtookthe sheriff and Aleck Douglas riding to theround-up. Aleck Douglas seldom rodefaster than a jogging trot, and the sheriffwas not particularly eager for hisencounter with Tom Lorrigan. For thatmatter, no sheriff had ever been eager toencounter a Lorrigan. The Lorrigan familyhad always been counted a hazard in theoffice of the sheriff, though of a truth the

present generation had remained quiescentso far and the law had not heretoforereached its arm toward them.

The two men looked back, saw Bellecoming and parted to let her pass. Belleyelled to her team and went by with nevera glance toward either, and the two staredafter her without a word until she hadjounced down into a shallow draw and upthe other side, the pintos never slowingtheir lope.

“Well, I’m darned!” ejaculated the sheriff.His name, by the way, was Perry. “I’veheard tell of Belle Lorrigan drivin’ hell-whoopin’ over the country with a team ofbronks, but I kinda thought they wasstretching the truth. I guess not, though, ifthat’s a sample.”

“The woman hersel’ is no so bad. ’Tis themen folk that are black wi’ sin. Drinkin’,swearin’, gamblin’ thieves they be, and’tis well they should be taught a lesson.”The Douglas head wagged self-righteously.

“Maybe it would be a good idea to goback and search the ranch now, whileshe’s gone.” The sheriff pulled up,considering. “I didn’t want any troublewith her; I never do quarrel with a womanif I can get around it any way. She’s a holyterror. I guess I’ll just ride back and take alook at them hides.”

Aleck Douglas eyed him sardonically,thinking perhaps of the black-edged bullethole that showed plainly in the sheriff’shat-crown.

“’Tis a deal safer wi’ the woman oot ofthe way,” he agreed drily.

The sheriff nodded and turned back.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE NAME

Tom Lorrigan may have seen bigger fussesmade over smaller matters than the hide ofa spotty yearlin’, but his boys never had.

No country is so isolated that gossipcannot find it out. The story of the spottedyearling went speeding through thecountry. Men made thin excuses to ridemiles out of their way that they might airtheir opinions and hear some fresh bit ofnews, some conjecture that grew to arumor and was finally repeated broadcastas truth. Children cringed and wept while

necks were scrubbed relentlessly, for afever of “visiting” attacked the women ofthe range. Miles they would travel to visita neighbor. And there they talked andtalked and talked, while the guest inneighborly fashion dried the dinner dishesfor the hostess in hot, fly-infested kitchens.

Aleck Douglas, infuriated by thecontemptuous attitude which Tom hadtaken toward him and his spotty yearling,and by his failure to find any incriminatingevidence on the Devil’s Tooth ranch,swore to a good many suspicions whichhe called facts, and had Tom arrested. Thesheriff had taken two deputies along withhim, because he fully expected that theLorrigans would “go on the warpath” asBelle had done. He was vastly astonished

and somewhat chagrined when Tom gavea snort, handed over his gun, and turned toone of his boys.

“Al,” said Tom, “you go ahead with theround-up while I go in and fix this up.May take a few days––depends on the gaitI can get ’em to travel. I’ll have to rustleme a lawyer, too. But you know what todo; keep ’er moving till I get back.”

Black Rim country talked and chortled andsurmised, and wondered what made Tomso darned meek about it. They did notaccuse him of any lack of nerve; being aLorrigan, his nerve could scarcely bequestioned. Opinion was about evenlydivided. A few declared that Tom hadsomething up his sleeve, and there wouldbe a killing yet. Others insisted that Tom

knew when he was backed into a corner.Old Scotty Douglas had him dead torights, they said, and Tom knew betterthan to run on the rope. Men and womenassumed the gift of prophecy, and allprophesied alike. Tom Lorrigan would go“over the road”; for how long they couldonly guess according to their secret hopes.Some predicted a fifteen-year term forTom. Others thought that he might get offlightly––say with five or six years. Theybased their opinion on the fact that menhave been sent to the penitentiary forfifteen years, there to repent of stealing acalf not yet past the age of prime veal.And it is not so long since men werehanged for stealing a horse; witnessTom’s brother, who would surely havebeen lynched had he not been shot.

Witness also divers other Lorriganswhose careers had been shortened by theirmisdeeds.

Much of the talk was peddled to Tom andthe boys under the guise of friendship.Having lived all of his life in the BlackRim country, Tom knew how much thefriendship was worth, knew that the BlackRim folk had drawn together like a wolfpack, and were waiting only until he wasdown before they rushed in to rend himand his family. Old grudges were broughtout and aired secretly. It would go hardwith the Lorrigan family if Tom werefound guilty. Although he sensed thecovert malice behind the smiles men gavehim, he would not yield one inch from hismocking disparagement of the whole

affair. He laid down a law or two to hisboys, and bade them hold their tonguesand go their way and give no heed to theclacking.

“The show ain’t over till the curtain’sdown for good,” he said, borrowing aphrase from Belle. “We got a long timeyet to live in the Black Rim. We’ll beright here when the smoke lifts. Hang andrattle now, and keep your mouths shut.This here’s the law-sharp’s job. I’mpayin’ him darn good money for it, too.When he’s through, then we’ll play. Butmark this down in yore little red book,boys: The less yuh say right now, thestronger we can play the game whenwe’re ready.”

“If they do railroad yuh, dad, leave it to

us. They’ll be a sorry looking bunch whenwe’re through,” said Lance, and meantevery word of it.

“They won’t railroad me.” Tom snortedand laughed his contempt of the wholeaffair. “I ain’t ever used the law to fightwith before––but shucks! When a scrapgets outside of gun range, one club’s aboutthe same as another to me.”

Optimism is a good thing, but it does notaltogether serve, as Tom discovered at thetrial.

Evidence was produced which astonishedhim. For instance, an AJ man had seen himriding over by Squaw Butte, on the nightafter Douglas had accused him of stealingthe spotted yearling. The AJ man seemedembarrassed at his sudden prominence in

the case, and kept turning his big range hatround and round on one knee as he sat inthe chair sacred to those who bore witnessto the guilt or innocence of their fellowmen in Black Rim country. He did notoften look up, and when he did heswallowed convulsively, as thoughsomething stuck in his throat. But his storysounded matter-of-fact and honest.

He had ridden past Squaw Butte the nightafter Tom Lorrigan was accused byDouglas. Yes, he knew it was that night,because next day he heard about the fussover at Devil’s Tooth. He had been on hisway from Jumpoff and had cut acrosscountry because he was late. There was amoon, and he had seen a man riding acrossan open space between the creek and the

willows. The man had gone in among thewillows. The AJ man had not thoughtmuch about it, though he did wonder alittle, too. It was late for a man to beriding around on the range.

When he reached the place, he saw a manride out of the brush farther along, intoclear moonlight. It was Tom Lorrigan; yes,he was sure of that. He knew the horse thatTom was riding. It was a big, shiny blackthat always carried its head up; a high-stepping horse that a man could recognizeanywhere. No, he didn’t know of any otherhorse in the country just like it. Headmitted that if he hadn’t been sure of thehorse he would not have been sure it wasTom. He did not think Tom saw him at all.He was riding along next the bank, in the

shadow. He had gone on home, and thenext day he heard that Scotty Douglasclaimed the Lorrigans had rustled ayearling from him.

Later, Tom’s lawyer asked him why hehad not spoken to Tom. The AJ manreplied that he didn’t know––he wasn’tvery close; not close enough for talkingunless he hollered.

That was all very well, and Black Rimperked its ears, thinking that the caselooked bad for Tom. Very bad indeed.

But Tom’s lawyer proved very adroitlythat the AJ man had not been in Jumpoff atthe time he claimed. He had been with hisown outfit, and if he had ridden pastSquaw Butte that night he must have goneout from the ranch and come back again.

Which led very naturally to the question,Why?

On the other hand, why had Tom Lorriganridden to Squaw Butte that night? Hehimself explained that later on. He saidthat he had gone over to see if there wasany hide in the willows as Douglas hadclaimed. He had not found any.

Thus two men admitted having been in theneighborhood of the stolen hide on thatnight. Tom’s lawyer was quick to seizethe coincidence, and make the most of it.Why, he asked mildly, might not the AJoutfit have stolen the yearling? What wasthe AJ man doing there? Why not suspecthim of having placed the hide in thecrevice where it had later been found?That night the hide had been removed from

the willows where Douglas had firstdiscovered it. Douglas had gone back thenext day after it, and it had been missing.It was not until several days later that hehad found it in the crevice. Why assumethat Tom Lorrigan had removed it?

“If I’d set out to caché that hide,” Tomhere interposed, “I’d have buried it. Onlya darn fool would leave evidence like thatlaying around in sight.”

For this the court reprimanded him, but hehad seen several of the jury nod theirheads, unconsciously agreeing with him.And although his remark was never put onrecord, it stuck deep in the minds of thejury and had its influence later on. Theyremembered that the Lorrigans were nofools, and they considered the attempt at

concealing the hide a foolish one––not tosay childish.

Tom’s lawyer did not argue openly that aconspiracy had been hatched against TomLorrigan, but he so presented the case inhis closing argument to the jury that eachman believed he saw an angle to the affairwhich the defense had overlooked. Itappeared to the jury to be a “frame-up.”For instance, why had Cheyenne, aLorrigan man, ridden over to the Douglasranch and remained outside by the corralfor a long time, talking with AleckDouglas, before he went inside to call onthe Douglas girl? Sam Pretty Cowimpassively testified to that. He had beenriding over to see a halfbreed girl thatworked for the Blacks, and he had cut

through the Douglas ranch to save time.He saw Cheyenne’s horse at the corral.

“Me, I dunno what she’s doin’ on thatplace. Cheyenne, he’s in camp when I’mgo. I’m stop by the haystack. I’m seeCheyenne talk to Scotty. That don’t lookgood, you bet.”

A full week the trial lasted, while thelawyers wrangled over evidence andtechnicalities, and the judge ruled outevidence and later ruled it in again. A fullweek Tom slept in the county jail,––andfor all their bad reputation, it was the firsttime a Lorrigan had lain down behind abolted door to sleep, had opened his eyesto see the dawn light painting the wallwith the shadow of bars.

There were nights when his optimism

failed him, when Tom lay awake trying toadjust himself to the harrying thought thatlong, caged years might be his portion.Nights when he doubted the skill of his“law-sharp” to free him from thedeadweight of the Lorrigan reputation andthe malice of his neighbors. Of course, hewould fight––to the last dollar; but therewere nights when he doubted the power ofhis dollars to save him.

It was during those nights that the lawlessblood of the Lorrigans ran swiftly throughthe veins of Tom, who had set himself towin a million honestly. It was then that heremembered his quiet, law-abiding yearsregretfully, as time wasted; a thanklessstruggle toward the regard of his fellowmen. Of what avail to plod along the path

of uprightness when no man would pointto him and say, “There is an honest man.”

“They’ve give me the name, and I ain’t gotthe game,” cried Tom bitterly, in the quietof his cell. “Whether I go to the pen orwhether I don’t, they better stand fromunder. They’ll sure know a Lorrigan’slivin’ in the Black Rim before I’m done.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE GAME

At the long table in the living room of theDevil’s Tooth ranch Tom Lorrigan sat andsharpened an indelible pencil with therazor-edged small blade of his jackknife.On the open space which Tom had clearedwith the sweep of his arm, a large-sizedtablet of glazed and ruled paper, withGeorge Washington pictured in red andblue and buff on the cover, received thewood parings from the pencil. It may havebeen significant that Tom was careful inhis work and made the pencil very sharp.

Across the room, Belle swung around onthe piano stool and looked at him. “Honey,if you’re going to make out the order toMontgomery, Ward, I’d like to send on forsome more music. I’ve been going overthat new list––”

“I ain’t,” said Tom, removing his cigarettefrom the corner of his mouth and blowingthe tiny, blue-painted shavings off GeorgeWashington’s face. “You go ahead andmake out the order yourself.”

Belle eyed the pencil-sharpening and senta keen glance at Tom’s face. “Well,honey, from the way you’re squaring up tothat tablet, I thought you was going to sendon for a new buckboard and mower.”

Tom bent his head and blew again, gaveGeorge a sardonic grin and turned him

face-down on the table, so that the ruledpaper lay ready to his hand.

“Right now I’m going to figure up whatthat dang spotty yearlin’ of old Scotty’scost me,” he stated grimly. “And there’ssome other Black Rimmers I’ve got a billagainst.”

“Hope you don’t try holding your breathtill you collect,” Belle retorted. “Honey,you’d best leave the Black Rimmersalone. I feel as if we’d had enoughexcitement enough for a while. I wouldn’tstart anything more right now, if I wasyou. Every last one of them is ready tojump on your neck––and the Lord onlyknows why, unless it’s because you didn’tsteal that darned spotted yearling! Somefolks sure do love to see the other fellow

up to his eyebrows in trouble. They weresitting there in that courtroom just wishingyou would be sent up. I saw it in theirfaces, Tom. And that old rock-heartedScotchman looked as if he’s just lost twobits when the jury said ‘Not guilty.’”

“Mh-m––hm-m––that’s what I’m figuringon now,” said Tom, and bent to hisproblem. “My old dad woulda gone outand shot up a few, but times are changedand we’re all getting so damn civilizedwe’ve got to stack the cards or quit thegame. Belle, what do you reckon it’sworth to a man to be hauled into court andcalled a cow thief?”

Belle’s lips pressed together. “I don’tknow, Tom––but I know what it wouldhave cost ’em if they had sent you over the

road. I had a gun on me, and when thatjury foreman stood up to give the verdict,it was looking him in the eye through abuttonhole in my coat. Him and Cheyenneand old Scotty and two or three morewould sure have got theirs, if he hadn’tsaid, ‘Not guilty.’”

“Lord bless yuh, I knew it all the time.Next time we go to court you’ll leave theartillery at home, old girl. I like to gotheart failure there for a minute, till I seenyou ease down and lay your hand in yourlap.” He looked at her and laughed a little.“I’ve got a bill of damages against severalof the folks around here, but I ain’t foolenough to try and collect with a six-gun.”

He settled himself to his task, writing atthe top of the page the name of Aleck

Douglas and after that “Dr.” A full pagehe covered with items set against thenames of various neighbors. When he hadfinished he folded the paper neatly and putit away with other important memoranda,picked up his big gray Stetson and wentover to kiss Belle full on her red lips, andto smooth her hair, with a reassuring paton her plump shoulder as a final caress.

“Don’t you worry none about the BlackRimmers,” he said, “and don’t you worryabout me. I’ve got to ride high, wide andhandsome now to make up the time andmoney I lost on account of the spottyyearlin’, and maybe I won’t be home somuch. But I ain’t quarreling with myneighbors, nor getting into any kind ofruckus whatever.”

With the stilted, slightly stiff-legged gaitborn of long hours in the saddle and ofhigh-heeled riding boots, he walkedunhurriedly to the corral where the boyswere just driving in a herd of horses.

Few of them showed saddle marks, all ofthem snorted and tossed untrimmed manesand tails as they clattered against the stoutpoles, circling the big corral in a cloud ofdust and a thunder of hoof beats. Pullinghis hat down over his black brows tosecure it against the wind, Tom climbedthe corral fence and straddled the top railthat he might scan the herd.

“Pretty good-looking bunch, dad,” saidAl, reining up beside Tom. “We had toride some to get ’em in––they’re suresnuffy. What you going to do with ’em?

Break out a few?”

“Some. Did yuh take notice, Al, thatCoaley come within an ace of sending meover the road? That there AJ man swore tothe horse when he wouldn’t never haveswore to me, but they all took it as a cinchit was me he saw, because nobody elseever rides Coaley. And by the Lord John,Al, that’s the last time any man’s going toswear to me in the dark by the horse I’mridin’. The Devil’s Tooth outfit is going tohave a lot more saddle horses brokegentle than what they’ve got now. And justbetween me and you, Al, any more night-ridin’ that’s done in this outfit ain’t goingto be done on cayuses that can be told amile off on a dark night!”

“You’re durn tootin’, dad.” Al grinned

while he moistened the edge of his rolledcigarette. “I thought at the time that Coaleywas liable to be a damn expensive horsefor you to be ridin’.” His eyes traveledover the restless herd, singling out thishorse and that for brief study. “There’ssome right speedy stuff in that bunch,” hesaid. “They’ve got the look of stayers,some of ’em. Take that there bay overthere by the post: He’s got a chest on himlike a lion––and look at them legs!There’d be a good horse for you, dad.”

“One, maybe.” Tom spat into the dust and,impelled by Al’s example, drew his owncigarette papers from his shirt pocket.“I’m thinkin’ of breakin’ all we’ve gottime for this summer. Darn this heremakin’ one horse your trademark!”

Up at the house, Riley appeared in thekitchen doorway and gave a long halloowhile he wiped his big freckled hand onhis flour-sack apron. “Hoo-ee! Come an’git it!” He waited a moment, until he sawriders dismounting and leading theirhorses into the little corral. Then he turnedback to pour the coffee into the big, thick,white cups standing in single file aroundthe long oil-cloth-covered table in the endof the kitchen nearest the side door wherethe boys would presently come trooping into slide loose-jointedly into their placeson the long, shiny benches.

Tom pinched out the blaze of his matchand threw one long leg back over thecorral fence. His glance went to the ridersbeyond the big corral.

“Where’s Lance at!” he called to Al, whowas riding around to the little corral.

“You can search me. He quit us when wegot the horses into the corral, and rode offup the Slide trail. If I was to make a guess,I would say that he went to meet MaryHope. They been doing that right frequentever since she quit coming here. ’Tain’tno skin off my nose––but Lance, he’sbuildin’ himself a mess uh trouble withold Scotty, sure as you’re a foot high.”

“Darn fool kid––let the old folks git toscrappin’ amongst themselves, and theyoung ones start the lovemakin’! I neverknowed it to fail; but you can skin me for acoyote if I know what makes ’em do it.”Grumbling to himself, Tom climbed downand followed Al. “You can tell Riley I’ll

be late to dinner,” he said, when he hadcome up to where Al was pulling thesaddle off his horse. “I ain’t much onbuttin’ into other folks’ love affairs, but Ireckon it maybe might be a good idea tothrow a scare into them two. I’m plumbsick of Scotch––wouldn’t take it in ahighball right now if you was to shove oneunder my nose!”

Al laughed, looking over his shoulder atTom while he loosened the latigo. “If youcan throw a scare into Lance, you sure area dinger,” he bantered. “That youth issome heady.”

“Looks to me like it runs in the family,”Tom retorted. “You’re some headyyourself, if you ever took notice. And Idon’t give a damn how heady any of you

kids are; you can’t run any rannies on yourdad, and you want to put that down in yourlittle red book so you won’t forgit it!”

He led Coaley from the stable, mountedand rode away up the Slide trail, morethan half ashamed of his errand. Tointerfere in a love affair went against thegrain, but to let a Lorrigan make love to aDouglas on the heels of the trial was a pillso bitter that he refused to swallow it.

He urged Coaley up the trail, his eyessomber with resentment whenever he sawthe fresh hoofprints of Lance’s horse in thesandy places. Of the three boys, Lancewas his favorite, and it hurt him to thinkthat Lance had so little of the Lorriganpride that he would ride a foot out of hisway to speak to any one of the Douglas

blood.

Up the Slide went Coaley, his head heldproudly erect upon his high, arched neck,his feet choosing daintily the little roughplaces in the rock where long experiencehad taught him he would not slip. Big asTom was, Coaley carried him easily andreached the top without so much as aflutter in the flanks to show that the climbhad cost him an effort.

“It’s a dang darn shame I got to straddlestrange horses just because there ain’tanother in the country like you, Coaley,”he muttered, leaning forward to smooth thesilky hide under the crinkly mane. “It’sgoing to set hard, now I’m tellin’ yuh, tothrow my saddle on some plain, ordinarycayuse. But it’s a bet I can’t afford to

overlook; they made that plain enough.”

Coaley pricked up his ears and looked, hisbig, bright eyes taking in the shadow of ahorse beside a clump of wild currantbushes that grew in the very base of theDevil’s Tooth. Tom grunted and rode overthat way, Coaley walking slowly, hisknees bending springily like a dancerfeeling out his muscles.

Lance stood with his back toward them.His hat was pushed far back on his head,and he was looking at Mary Hope, wholeaned against the rock and stared downinto the valley below. Her hair, Tomobserved, was not “slicked back” to-day.It had been curled a little, probably onrags twisted in after she had gone to bedand taken out before she arose in the

morning, lest her mother discover herfrivolity and lecture her long,––and,worse still, make her wet a comb and takeall of the curl out. A loose strand blewacross her tanned cheek, so that shereached up absently and tucked it behindher ear, where it would not stay for longerthan a minute.

“I am sure I didna know you would behere,” she said, without taking her eyes offthe valley. “It is a view I like better thanmost, and I have a right to ride where Iplease. And I have no wish to ride out ofmy way to be friends with any one thattried to make my father out a liar and anunjust man. He may be hard, but he ishonest. And that is more than some––”

“More than some can say––us Lorrigans,

for instance!”

“I didna say that, but if the coat fits, youcan put it on.”

Mary Hope bit her lip and lashed a weedwith her quirt. “All of this is none of mydoing,” she added, with a dullness in hervoice that may have meant either regret orresentment. “You hate my father, and youare mad because I canna side with you andhate him too. I am sorry the trouble cameup, but I canna see how you expect me togo on coming to see your mither when youknow my father would never permit it.”

“You say that like you were speaking apiece. How long did you lay awake lastnight, making it up? You can’t make meswallow that, anyway. Your father neverpermitted you to come in the first place,

and you know it. You made believe thatold skate ran away with you down thetrail, and that you couldn’t stop him.You’ve been coming over to our placeever since, and you never asked old Scottywhether he would permit it or not. I’m notsaying anything about myself, but it hurtsBelle to have you throw her down rightnow. Under the circumstances it makes herfeel as if you thought we were thieves andstole your dad’s yearling.”

“I’m not saying anything like that.”

“Maybe you’re not, but you sure are actingit. If you don’t think that, why don’t you goon taking music lessons from Belle? Whatmade you stop, all of a sudden?”

“That,” said Mary Hope stiffly, “is myown affair, Lance Lorrigan.”

“It’s mine, let me tell you. It’s mine,because it hits Belle; and what hits herhits me. If you think she isn’t good enoughfor you to visit, why in thunder have youbeen coming all this while? She isn’t anyworse than she was two months ago, isshe?”

“I’m not saying that she is.”

“Well, you’re acting it, and that’s a darnsight worse.”

“You ought to know that with all thistrouble between your father and myfather––”

“Well, can you tell me when they ever didhave any truck together? Your fatherdoesn’t hate our outfit a darn bit worsethan he ever did. He found a chance to

knife us, that’s all. It isn’t that he neverwanted to before.”

“I’ll thank you, Lance Lorrigan, not toaccuse my father of knifing anybody. He’smy father and––”

“And that isn’t anything to brag about, ifyou ask me. I’d rather have my fatherdoing time for stealing, than have him adarned, hide-bound old hypocrite that willlie a man into the pen, and then go aroundand pull a long face and call himself aChristian!”

“My father doesna lie! And he is not ahypocrite either. If your father was halfas––” She stopped abruptly, her facegoing red when she saw Tom sitting on hishorse beyond the shoulder of rock,regarding her with that inscrutable smile

which never had failed to make her squirmmentally and wonder what he thought ofher. She stood up, trembling a little.

Lance turned slowly and met Tom’s eyeswithout flinching. “Hello,” he said, onguard against the two of them, wonderingwhat had brought his dad to this particularpoint at this particular time.

“Hello. How d’yuh do, Miss Douglas?Lance, dinner’s getting cold waiting foryou.” Tom lifted his hat to Mary Hope,turned, and rode back whence he hadcome, never glancing over his shoulderbut nevertheless keenly alert for the soundof voices.

He was not quite through the Slide whenhe heard the hoof beats of Lance’s horsecome clicking down over the rocks. Tom

smiled to himself as he rode on, neverlooking back.

CHAPTER NINE

A LITTLE SCOTCH

In the Black Rim country March is a monthof raw winds and cold rains, with sleetand snow and storm clouds tumbling highin the West and spreading to the East,where they hang lowering at the earth andthen return to empty their burden ofmoisture upon the shrinking live thingsbelow.

In the thinly settled places March is alsothe time when children go shivering toschool, harried by weather that has lost alittle of its deadliness. In January and

February their lives would not be safefrom sudden blizzards, but by the middleof March they may venture forth upon thequest of learning.

Black Rim country was at best but scantilysupplied with schools, and on the Devil’sTooth range seven young Americans––three of them adopted from Sweden––were in danger of growing up indeplorable ignorance of what learning lieshidden in books. A twelve-mile stretch ofcountry had neither schoolhouse, teachernor school officers empowered toestablish a school. Until the Swedishfamily moved into a shack on the AJ ranchthere had not been children enough tomake a teacher worth while. But theSwedish family thirsted for knowledge of

the English language, and their lamentingawoke the father of four purely range-bredproducts to a sense of duty toward hisoffspring.

Wherefore Mary Hope Douglas, homefrom two winters in Pocatello, where shehad lived with a cousin twice removedand had gone to school and had learnedmuch, was one day invited to teach aschool in the Devil’s Tooth neighborhood.

True, there was no schoolhouse, but therewas a deserted old shack on the road toJumpoff. A few benches and a stove andtable would transform it into a seat oflearning, and there were an old shed andcorral where the pupils might keep theirsaddle horses during school hours. Shewould be paid five dollars a month per

head, Jim Boyle of the AJ furtherexplained. Seven “heads” at five dollarseach would amount to thirty-five dollars amonth, and Mary Hope felt her heart jumpat the prospect of earning so much moneyof her own. Moreover, to teach school hadlong been her secret ambition, the solidfoundation of many an air castle. Sheforthwith consented to become the veryfirst school-teacher in the Devil’s Toothneighborhood, which hoped some day tobecome a real school district.

She would have to ride five miles everymorning and evening, and her morningride would carry her five miles nearer theLorrigan ranch, two of them along theirdirect trail to Jumpoff. Mary Hope wouldnever admit to herself that this small detail

interested her, but she thought of it themoment Jim Boyle suggested the oldWhipple shack as a schoolhouse.

Tom Lorrigan, riding home from Jumpoffafter two days spent in Lava, pulled hishorse down to a walk and then stoppedhim in the trail while he stared hard at theWhipple shack. Five horses walkeduneasily around inside the corral, manesand tails whipping in the gale that blewcold from out the north. From the bentstovepipe of the shack a wisp of smokewas caught and bandied here and thereabove the pole-and-dirt roof. It seemedincredible to Tom that squatters couldhave come in and taken possession of theplace in his short absence, but there wasno other explanation that seemed at all

reasonable.

Squatters were not welcome on theDevil’s Tooth range. Tom rode up to theshack, dismounted and let Coaley’s reinsdrop to the ground. He hesitated a minutebefore the door, in doubt as to thenecessity for knocking. Then his knucklesstruck the loose panel twice, and he heardthe sound of footsteps. Tom pulled his hatdown tighter on his forehead and waited.

When Mary Hope Douglas pulled open thedoor, astonishment held them both dumb.He had not seen the girl for more than ayear,––he was not certain at first that itwas she. But there was no mistaking thoseeyes of hers, Scotch blue anduncompromisingly direct in their gaze.Tom pulled loose and lifted the hat that he

had just tightened, and as she backed fromthe doorway he entered the shack withoutquite knowing why he should do so.Comprehensively he surveyed the meanlittle room, bare of everything save threebenches with crude shelves before them, akitchen table and a yellow-painted chairwith two-thirds of the paint worn offunder the incessant scrubbing of motherDouglas. The three Swedes, their rustyovercoats buttoned to their necks, goggledat him round-eyed over the tops of theirnew spelling books, then ducked andgrinned at one another. The four Boylechildren, also bundled in wraps,exchanged sidelong glances and pulledthemselves up alert and expectant in theirseats.

“School, eh?” Tom observed, turning asMary Hope pushed the door shut againstthe wind that rattled the small shack andcame toward him shivering and pullingher sweater collar closer about her neck.“When did this happen?”

“When I started teaching here, Mr.Lorrigan.” Then, mindful of her manners,she tempered the pertness with a smile.“And that was yesterday. Will you sitdown?”

“No, thanks––I just stopped to see whowas livin’ here, and––” He broke off tolook up at the dirt roof. A clod the size ofhis fist had been loosened by the shakingof the wind, and plumped down in themiddle of the teacher’s desk. With theedge of his palm he swept clod and

surrounding small particles of dirt into hishat crown, and carried them to the door.

“There’s an empty calf shed over at theranch that would make a betterschoolhouse than this,” he observed. “It’sgot a shingle roof.”

Mary Hope was picking small lumps ofdirt out of her hair, which she wore in apompadour that disclosed a very niceforehead. “I just love a roof with shingleson it,” she smiled.

“H’m.” Tom looked up at the saggingpoles with the caked mud showing in thecracks between where the poles hadshrunken and warped under the weight. Afresh gust of wind rattled dust into hiseyes, and the oldest Swede chortled anabrupt “Ka-hugh!” that set the other six

tittering.

“Silence! Shame on you!” Mary Hopereproved them sternly, rapping on thekitchen table with a foot rule of some softwood that blazoned along its length thename of a Pocatello hardware store. “Getto work this instant or I shall becompelled to keep you all in at recess.”

“You better haze ’em all home at recess,and get where it’s warm before you catchyour death of cold,” Tom advised, givingfirst aid to his eye with a corner of hiswhite-dotted blue handkerchief. “Thisain’t fit for cattle, such a day as this.”

“A north wind like this would blowthrough anything,” Mary Hope loyallydefended the shack. “It was quitecomfortable yesterday.”

“I wouldn’t send a dog here to school,”said Tom. “Can’t they dig up any betterplace than this for you to teach in?”

“The parents of these children are payingout of their own pockets to have themtaught, as it is.”

“They’ll be paying out of their ownpockets to have them planted, if they ain’tcareful,” Tom predicted dryly. “How’reyou fixed for firewood? Got enough tokeep warm on a hot day?”

Mary Hope smiled faintly. “Mr. Boylehauled us a load of sage brush, and theboys chop wood mornings and noons––it’s a punishment when they don’t behave,or if they miss their lessons. But––thestove doesn’t seem to draw very well, inthis wind. It smokes more than it throws

out heat.” She added hastily, “It drew allright yesterday. It’s this wind.”

“What you going to do if this wind keepsup? It’s liable to blow for a week or two,this time of year.”

“Why––we’ll manage to get along allright. They’d probably be out playing in itanyway, if they weren’t in school.”

“Oh. And what about you?” Tom looked ather, blinking rapidly with his left eye thatwas growing bloodshot and watery.

“I? Why, I’ve lived here all my life, and Iought to be used to a little bad weather.”

“Hunh.” Tom shivered in the draught. “Sohave I lived here all my life; but I’ll bedarned if I would want to sit in this shackall day, the way the wind whistles through

it.”

“You might do it, though––if it was youronly way of earning money,” Mary Hopesuggested shrewdly.

“Well, I might,” Tom admitted, “but I surewould stop up a few cracks.”

“We’ve hardly got settled yet,” said MaryHope. “I intend to stuff the cracks withrags just as soon as possible. Is your eyestill paining? That dirt is miserable stuffto stick in a person’s eye. Shall I try andget it out? Yesterday I got some in mine,and I had an awful time.”

She dismissed the children primly, with aself-conscious dignity and some chagrin attheir boorish clatter, their absoluteignorance of discipline. “I shall ring the

bell in ten minutes,” she told them whilethey scuffled to the door. “I shall give youtwo minutes after the bell rings to get intoyour seats and be prepared for duty. Everyminute after that must be made up afterschool.”

“Ay skoll go home now, sen you skoll notkeep me by school from tan minootes,” theoldest of the Swedes stopped long enoughto bellow at her from the doorway. “Oleog Helge skoll go med. Ve got long wayfrom school, og ve don’t be by dark venve come by home!”

He seized the square tobacco boxes,originally made to hold a pound of “plugcut,” and afterwards dedicated towhatever use a ranch man might choose toput them. Where schools flourished, the

tobacco boxes were used for lunch. TheSwedes carried three tied in flour sacksand fastened to the saddles. The windcarried them at a run to the corral. Thetwo smaller boys, Ole and Helge, rode,one behind the other, on one horse, a flea-bitten gray with an enlarged knee and ahabit of traveling with its neck craned tothe left. Christian, the leader of the revolt,considered himself well-mounted on apot-bellied bay that could still be used toround up cattle, if the drive was not morethan a couple of miles. Looking after themfrom the window that faced the corral,Tom could not wonder that they wereanxious to start early.

“You better let the rest go, too,” headvised the perturbed teacher, looking out

at the four Boyle children huddled in theshelter of the shack, the skirts of the girlwhipping in the wind like a pillowslip ona clothesline in a gale. “There ain’t anysense trying to teach school in a place likethis, in such weather. Don’t you knowthem kids have got all of twelve miles toride, facing this wind most of the way?And you’ve got to ride five miles; andwhen the sun drops it’s going to be rawenough to put icicles on your ribs underthe skin. Tell ’em to go home. Pore littledevils, I wouldn’t ask a cow-critter toface this wind after sundown.”

“You do not understand that I must havediscipline in this school, Mr. Lorrigan.To-morrow I shall have to punish thoseSwedes for leaving school without

permission. I shall make an example ofChristian, for his impudence. I do not thinkhe will want to disobey me again, verysoon!” Mary Hope took her handkerchieffrom her pocket, refusing to consider forone moment the significance of itsflapping in the wind while the windowsand doors were closed.

“You’re just plain stubborn,” Tom saidbluntly. “You’ve no business hanging outin a place like this!”

“I’ve the business of teaching school, Mr.Lorrigan. I suppose that is as important tome as your business is to you. And I can’tpermit my pupils to rebel against myauthority. You would not let your mendictate to you, would you?”

“They would have a right to call for their

time if I asked them to do some damfoolthing like sitting in this shack with thewind blowing through it at forty miles anhour.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Lorrigan, that I mustremind you that gentlemen do not indulgein profanity before a lady.”

“Oh, hell! What have I said that was outathe way? I wasn’t cussing; I was tellingyou what your father and mother ought totell you, and what they would if theydidn’t think more of a few dollars thanthey do of their kid’s health. But I don’treckon it’s my put-in; only it’s any man’sbusiness to see that women and kids don’tfreeze to death. And by the humpin’hyenas––”

With her lips in a straight line, her eyes

very hard and bright and with aconsciousness of heaping coals of fire onthe head of an enemy of her house, MaryHope had twisted a corner of herhandkerchief into a point, moistened it bythe simple and primitive method ofplacing the point between her lips, andwas preparing to remove the dirt fromTom’s watering eye, the ball of whichwas a deep pink from irritation. But Tomswung abruptly away from her, wentstilting on his high heels to the door,pulled it open with a yank and rounded thecorner where the four Boyle childrenstood leaning against the house, theirchilled fingers clasped together so thattwo hands made one fist, their teethchattering while they discussed theSwedes and tried to mimic Christian’s

very Swedish accent.

“Og is and,” said Minnie Boyle. “Andskoll is shall. Swede’s easy. And medmeans with––”

“Aw, it’s just the way they try to say it inEnglish,” Fred Boyle contradicted. “Itain’t Swede––but gee, when the Scotchand the Swede goes in the air to-morrow,I bet there’ll be fun. If Mary Hope tries tolick Chris––”

“You kids straddle your cayuses and hitfor home,” Tom interrupted them. “Thereain’t going to be any more school to-day.Them your horses in the shed? Well, youhump along and saddle up and beat it.Go!”

He did not speak threateningly, at least he

did not speak angrily. But the four Boylechildren gave him one affrighted glanceand started on a run for the corral, lookingback over their shoulders now and then asif they expected a spatter of bullets tofollow them.

At the corral gate Minnie Boyle stoppedand turned as though she meant to retraceher steps to the house, but Tom waved herback. So Minnie went home weeping overthe loss of a real dinner-bucket and a slatesponge which she was afraid the Swedesmight steal from her if they came earlier toschool than she.

When Tom turned to reënter the shack fora final word with Mary Hope, and to lether give first aid to his eye if she would,he found that small person standing just

behind him with set lips and clenched fistsand her hair blowing loose from itshairpins.

“Mr. Tom Lorrigan, you can just call thosechildren back!” she cried, her lips bluingin the cold gale that beat upon her. “Doyou think that with all your lawlessnessyou can come and break up my school?You have bullied my father––”

“I’d do worse than bully him, if I had himin handy reach right now,” Tom drawled,and took her by the shoulder and pushedher inside. “Any man that will let awoman sit all day in a place like this––and I don’t care a damn if you are earningmoney doing it!––oughta have his neckwrung. I’m going to saddle your horse foryuh while you bundle up. And then you’re

going home, if I have to herd yuh like Iwould a white heifer. I always have heardof Scotch stubbornness––but there’ssomething beats that all to thunder. Gityore things on. Yore horse will be readyin about five minutes.”

He bettered his estimate, returning in justfour minutes to find the door lockedagainst him. “Don’t you dare come inhere!” Mary Hope called out, her voiceshrill with excitement. “I––I’ll brainyou!”

“Oh, you will, will yuh?” WhereuponTom heaved himself against the door andlurched in with the lock dangling.

Mary Hope had a stick of wood in her twohands, but she had not that other essentialto quick combat, the courage to swing the

club on the instant of her enemy’sappearance. She hesitated, backed andthreatened him futilely.

“All right––fine! Scotch stubbornness––and not a damn thing to back it up!Where’s your coat? Here. Git into it.”Without any prelude, any apology, hewrested the stick of wood from her, pulledher coat off a nail near by, and held itoutspread, the armholes convenient to herhands. With her chin shivering, MaryHope obeyed the brute strength of the man.She dug her teeth into her lip and thrusther arms spitefully into the coat sleeves.

“Here’s yo’re hat. Better tie it on, if yuhgot anything to tie it with. Here.”

He twitched his big silk neckerchief fromhis neck, pulled her toward him with a

gentle sort of brutality, and tied theneckerchief over her hat and under herchin. He did it exactly as though he washandling a calf that he did not wish tofrighten or hurt.

“Got any mittens? Gloves? Put ’em on.”

Standing back in the corner behind thedoor, facing Tom’s bigness and hisinexorable strength, Mary Hope put on herIndian tanned, beaded buckskin gloves thatwere in the pockets of her coat. Tomwaited until she had tucked thecoatsleeves inside the gauntlets. He tookher by the arm and pulled her to the door,pushed her through it and held her withone hand, gripping her arm while hefastened the door by the simple method ofpulling it shut so hard that it jammed in the

casing. He led her to where her horsestood backed to the wind and tailwhipping between his legs, and his eyesblinking half shut against the swirls of dustdug out of the dry sod of the grassland.Without any spoken command, Tom tookthe reins and flipped them up over Rab’sneck, standing forward and close to thehorse’s shoulder. Mary Hope knew thatshe must mount or be lifted bodily into thesaddle. She mounted, tears of wrathspilling from her eyes and making hercheeks cold where they trickled down.

The Boyle children, kicking and quirtingtheir two horses––riding double, in theBlack Rim country, was considered quitecomfortable enough for children––werealready on their way home. Mary Hope

looked at their hurried retreat and turnedfuriously, meaning to overtake them andorder them back. Tom Lorrigan, shereminded herself, might force her to leavethe schoolhouse, but he would scarcelydare to carry his abuse farther.

She had gone perhaps ten rods when camea pounding of hoofs, and Coaley’s headand proudly arched neck heaved alongsidepoor, draggle-maned old Rab.

“You’re headed wrong. Have I got to hazeyuh all the way home? Might as well. Iwant to tell yore dad a few things.”

He twitched the reins, and Coaleyobediently shouldered Rab out of the trailand turned him neatly toward the Douglasranch. Even Rab was Scotch, it wouldseem. He laid his ears flat, swung his head

unexpectedly, and bared his teeth atCoaley. But Coaley was of the Lorrigans.He did not bare his teeth and threaten; hereached out like a rattler and nippedRab’s neck so neatly that a spot the size ofa quarter showed pink where the hair hadbeen. Rab squealed, whirled and kicked,but Coaley was not there at that particularmoment. He came back with the battlelight in his eyes, and Rab clattered awayin a stiff-legged run. After him wentCoaley, loping easily, with high, rabbitjumps that told how he would love toshow the speed that was in him, if onlyTom would loosen the reins a half inch.

For a mile Tom kept close to Rab’s heels.Then, swinging up alongside, he turned toMary Hope, that baffling half smile on his

lips and the look in his eyes that had neverfailed to fill her with trepidation.

“I ain’t blaming yuh for being Scotch andstubborn,” he said, “but you notice there’ssomething beats it four ways from thejack. Yo go on home, now, and don’t yuhgo back to that board cullender till theweather warms up. And tell yore folks thatTom Lorrigan broke up yore school foryuh, so they wouldn’t have to break up acase of pneumonia.”

Mary Hope was framing a sentence ofdefiance when Coaley wheeled and wentback the way they had come, so swiftlythat even with shouting she could not havemade herself heard in that whooping wind.She pulled Rab to a willing stand andstared after Tom, hating him with her

whole heart. Hating him for hisdomination of her from the moment heentered the schoolhouse where he had nobusiness at all to be; hating him becauseeven his bullying had been oddly gentle;hating him most of all because he was solike Lance––and because he was notLance, who was away out in California,going to college, and had never writtenher one line in all the time he had beengone.

Had it been Lance who rode up to theschoolhouse door, she would have knownhow to meet and master the situation. Shewould not have been afraid of Lance, shetold herself savagely. She wouldn’t havebeen afraid of Tom––but the whole BlackRim was afraid of Tom. Well, just wait

until she happened some day to meetLance! At least she would make him pay!For two years of silence and broodingover his hardihood for taking her to taskfor her unfriendliness, and for this newand unbearable outrage, she would makeLance Lorrigan pay, if the fates ever letthem meet again.

CHAPTER TEN

THE LORRIGAN WAY

The Lorrigan family was diningcomfortably in the light of a huge lampwith a rose-tinted shade decorated with anextremely sinuous wreath of morningglories trailing around the lower rim. Aclatter of pots and pans told that Rileywas washing his “cookin’ dishes” in thelean-to kitchen that had been added to thehouse as an afterthought, the fall before.Belle had finished her dessert of hotmince pie, and leaned back now with afreshly lighted cigarette poised in her

fingers.

“What have you got up your sleeve,Tom?” she asked abruptly, handing Dukeher silver matchbox in response to agestured request for it.

“My arm,” Tom responded promptly,pushing back his wristband to give her theproof.

“Aw, cut out the comedy, Tom. You’vebeen doing something that you’re holdingout on us. I know that look in your eye; Iought, having you and Lance to watch.You’re near enough to double in a leadand not even the manager know which iswho. You’ve been doing something, andLance knows what it is. Now, I’ll get itouta you two if I have to shoot it out.”

Lance, just returned from Berkeley duringEaster holidays, lifted one eyebrow atTom, lowered one lid very slowly, andgave his mother a level, sidelong glance.

“Your husband, my dear madame, hasbeen engaged in a melodramatic rolecreated by himself. He is painfullyundecided whether the hisses of theorchestra attest his success as a villian;whether the whistling up in the gallerydemands an encore, or heralds an offeringof cabbages and ripe poultry fruit. I myselfdid not witness the production, but I didchance to meet the star just as he wasleaving the stage. To me he confided thefact that he does not know whether it wasa one-act farce he put on, or a five-acttragedy played accidentally hind-side

before, with the villian-still-pursuing-heract set first instead of fourth. I am butslightly versed in the drama as played inthe Black Rim the past two years. Perhapsif the star would repeat his lines––”

“For-the-Lord-sake, Lance! As a dramaticcritic you’re the punkest proposition Iever slammed my door against. Talk theway you were brought up to talk and tellme the truth. What did Tom do, and howdid he do it?”

Lance drew his black eyebrows together,studying carefully the ethics of the case.“Belle, you must remember that Dad is myfather. Dad must remember that you aremy mother––technically speaking. Byheck, if it wasn’t for remembering howyou used to chase me up on the barn every

day or so with your quirt, I’d swear thatyou grew up with me and are at thispresent moment at least two years youngerthan I am. However, they say you are mymother. And––do you want to know,honestly, what dad has been doing?”

“I’m going to know,” Belle informed himtrenchantly.

“Then let me tell you. I’ll break it gently.Tom, your husband, the self-confessedfather of your offspring, to-day rode to analleged schoolhouse, threatened, ordered,and by other felonious devices hazed threeSwedes and the four Boyle kids out of theplace and toward their several homes andthen when the schoolmarm very discreetlylocked the door and mildly informed himthat she would brain him with a twig off a

sage-bush if he burst the lock, hestraightway forgot that he was old enoughto have a son quite old enough to frighten,abduct and otherwise lighten themonotonous life of said schoolmarm, andbecame a bold, bad man. He bursted thatdoor off its hinges––”

“You’re a liar. I busted the lock,” Tomgrunted, without removing the cigarettefrom his lips.

“He busted the lock of that door, madame;rushed in, wrested the sprig of sage––”

“It was a club the size of my arm.”

“Wrested the club from that schoolmarm,brutally and ferociously forced her intoher coat and hat, compelled her to mounther horse, and then deliberately drove her

away from that––”

“Shut up, Lance. You remind me of one ofthose monstrosities they serve in the LavaHouse, that they call a combination salad.It’s about two-thirds wilted lettuce and therest beets and carrots. I don’t ever eatthem, but if I did they’d taste just like yousound.”

“Oh, all right, then. With only two weeks’vacation I won’t have time for a real spreeof Black Rim dialect and sober up in timefor the University. Let me mix it, Belle.I’ll eat my own verbal combination salad,if anybody has to. I won’t ask you.”

“You’ll eat ’em, all right,” Tom statedbriefly, lifting an eyebrow at him. “All Idone, Belle, was to ride up to the Whippleshack to see who was camped there. It

was that Douglas girl and the Boyle kidsand them Swedes that live over beyondBoyle’s. They was all setting there havingschool,––with their overcoats on, halffroze, and the wind howling through like itwas a corral fence. So when the Douglasgirl got her Scotch up and said shewouldn’t turn ’em loose to go home, Iturned ’em loose myself and told ’em tobeat it. And then I hazed her home. Seemslike they think that shack is good enoughfor women and kids; but I wouldn’t keeppigs in it, myself, without doing a lot offixing on it first.”

“What dad seems to overlook is theattitude Boyle and old Scotty will take,when they hear how Tom Lorrigan brokeup school for ’em. There’ll be something

drop, if you ask me––I hope it dropsbefore I have to leave.”

Belle looked at him meditatively. “Andwhere were you, Lance? With MaryHope?”

For answer, Lance smiled, with his mouthtwisted a little to one side, which madehim resemble Tom more than ever. “Afellow sure does hate to have his ownfather cut in––”

“So that’s what ails you! Well, you mayjust as well know first as last that MaryHope hasn’t spoken to one of us since thetime they had Tom up in court for stealingthat yearling. You know how they acted;and if you’d come home last summerinstead of fooling around in California,you’d know they haven’t changed a darn

bit. It’s a shame. I used to like MaryHope. She always seemed kinda lonesomeand half scared––”

“She’s got over it, then,” Tom interrupted,chuckling. “She’s got spunk enough nowfor two of her size. Had that club lifted,ready to brain me when I went in, justbecause I’d spoiled her rules for her. Ifshe had as much sense as she’s gotnerve––”

“Why don’t they build her a schoolhouse,i f they want her to teach?” Belle pushedback her chair.

“Ever know the AJ to spend a cent theydidn’t have to?” Duke asked. “Or oldScotty? The Swede ain’t able. How’rethey paying her? This ain’t any schooldistrict.”

“So much a head,” Tom answered. “Notmuch, I reckon. The girl’s got nerve. I’llsay that much for her. She was dodgin’clods of dirt from the roof, and shiveringand teaching to beat hell when I got there.”

“They’re going to be awful sore at you,Tom, for this,” Belle predicted. “They’regoing to say you did it because you hatethe Douglases, and it was Mary Hopeteaching. Jim Boyle will side with oldScotty, and there’ll be the devil and all topay. Did you tell those kids why you sent’em home?”

“I told the girl. No, I never told the kids.The Swedes had sense enough to beat itwhen she let ’em out for recess. She gotfighty over that, and wouldn’t let theschool out and wait for good weather, so I

went out and told the Boyle kids to hit forhome. Humpin’ cats, somebody had to dosomething!

“So then the Scotch come out strong in thegirl, and I made her go home too. If I see’em in that shack to-morrow, and theweather like it is and like it’s going to be,I’ll send ’em home again. What in thunderdo I care what old Scotty and Jim Boylesays about it? If they want a woman tolearn their kids to read, they’d oughta giveher a better place than the Whipple shackto keep school in.”

“They won’t,” said Belle. “A roof andfour walls is all you can expect of them.It’s a shame. I expect Mary Hope istickled to death to be earning the money,too. She was taking music all winter in

Pocatello, I heard, and she and her mothersaved up the money in nickels––Lordknows how, the way old Scotty watchesthem!––to pay for the lessons. It’s ashame.”

“What do they do for water? Old ManWhipple always hauled it in barrels whenhe tried to hold down the camp.” Al,tilting back his chair, placidly picking histeeth, spoke for the first time.

“I didn’t see no water barrel,” Tomanswered. “I reckon they make dry camp.They had a stove that smoked, and threebenches with some kinda shelf for theirbooks, and the girl was using a strip oftar-paper for a blackboard. But there wasno water.”

“Say, what sort of country is this Black

Rim, anyway?” Lance studied the end ofhis cigarette, lifting his left eyebrow justas his father had done five minutes before.“I hope to heck I haven’t come home toremodel the morals of the country, or tostrut around and play college-young-manlike a boob; but on the square, folks, itlooks to me as though the Rim needs alesson in citizenship. It doesn’t meananything in our lives, whether there is aschoolhouse in the country or not. Bellehas looked out for us boys, in the matter oflearning the rudiments and a good dealbesides. Say, Belle, do you know theytook my voice and fitted a glee club to it?I was the glee. And a real, live professortold me I had technique. I told him I musthave caught it changing climates––buthowever, what you couldn’t give us with

the books, you handed us with the quirt––and here and now I want to say Iappreciate it.”

“All right, I appreciate your appreciation,and I wish to heaven you wouldn’t rambleall over the range when you start to say athing. That’s one thing you learned inschool that I’d like to take outa you with aquirt.”

“I was merely pointing out how we,ourselves, personally, do not need aschoolhouse. But I was also saying that theRim ought to have a lesson in realcitizenship. They call the Lorrigans bad.All right; that’s a fine running start. I’dsay, let’s give ’em a jolt. I’m game todonate a couple of steers toward aschoolhouse––a regular schoolhouse,

with the Stars and Stripes on the front end,and a bench behind the door for the waterbucket, and a blackboard up in front, and awoodshed behind––with a door into it sothe schoolmarm needn’t put on herovershoes and mittens every time she tellsone of the Swedes to put a stick of woodin the stove. I’d like to do that, and not saya darn word until it’s ready to move into.And then I’d like to stick my hands in mypockets and watch what the Rim would doabout it.

“I’ve wondered quite a lot, in the last twoyears, whether it’s the Black Rim or theLorrigan outfit that’s all wrong. I know allabout grandad and all the various andsundry uncles and forbears that earned usthe name of being bad; it makes darn

interesting stuff to tell now and then tosome of the fellows who were raised in aprune orchard and will sit and listen withwatering mouths and eyes goggling. I’vebeen a hero, months on end, just for thethings that my grandad did in theseventies. Of course,” he pulled his lipsinto their whimsical smile, “I’ve touchedup the family biography here and there andmade heroes of us all. But the fact remainsthere are degrees and differences inbadness. I’ve a notion that the Black Rim,taken by and large, is a damn sight worsethan the Devil’s Tooth outfit. I’d like to trythe experiment of making the AJ and oldScotty ashamed of themselves. I’d like totry a schoolhouse on ’em, and see ifthey’re human enough to appreciate it.”

Duke, turning his head slowly, glanced atAl, and from him to Tom. Without movinga muscle of their faces the two returnedhis look. Al slid his cigarette stubthoughtfully into his coffee cup and let hisbreath out carefully in a long sigh that wasscarcely audible. Tom took a corner of hislower lip between his teeth, matchingLance, who had the same trick.

“Honey, that’s fine of you! There aren’tmany that realize what a lot of satisfactionthere is in doing something big andgenerous and making the other fellowashamed of himself. And it would be aGod’s mercy to Mary Hope, poor child.Leave it to the AJ and whatever otheroutfit there is to send pupils, and MaryHope could teach in the Whipple shack till

it rattled down on top of them. I knowwhat the place is. I put up there once in ahailstorm. It isn’t fit for cattle, as Tomsays, unless they’ve fixed it a lot. I’lldonate the furniture; I’ll make out theorder right this evening for seats andblackboard and a globe and everything,and make it a rush order!” Belle pushedback her chair and came around to Lance,slipped her arms around his neck andtousled his wavy mop of hair with herchin. “If the rest won’t come through youand I’ll do it, honey––”

“Who said we wouldn’t?” Tom got up,stretching his arms high above his head,––which was very bad manners, but showedhow supple he still was, and how well-muscled. “No one ever called me a

piker––and let me hear about it. Sure,we’ll build a schoolhouse for ’em, seeingthey’re too cussed stingy to build onethemselves. There’s the lumber I hadhauled out for a new chicken house; to-morrow I’ll have it hauled up to somegood building spot, and we’ll have it donebefore the AJ wakes up to the fact thatanything’s going on.”

“I’ll chip in enough to make her bigenough for dances,” volunteered Duke.“Darn this riding fifteen or twenty miles toa dance!”

“I’ll paint ’er, if you let me pick out thecolor,” said Al. “Where are you going toset ’er?”

“What’s the matter with doing the thing instyle, and giving a house-warming dance,

and turning it over to the neighborhoodwith a speech?” bantered Lance, as theyadjourned to the big living room, takingthe idea with them and letting it growswiftly in enthusiasm. “That wouldcelebrate my visit, and I’d get a chance tosize up the Rim folks and see how theyreact to kindness. Lordy, folks, let’s doit!”

“We might,” Belle considered thesuggestion, while she thumbed the latestmail-order catalogue, the size of a familybible and much more assiduously studied.“They’d come, all right!” she added, witha scornful laugh. “Even old Scotty wouldcome, if he thought it wouldn’t cost himanything.”

“Well, by heck, we won’t let it cost him

anything!” Lance stood leaning against thewall by the stove, his arms folded, thefingers of his left hand tapping his rightforearm. He did not know that this was aLorrigan habit, born of an old necessity ofhaving the right hand convenient to arevolver butt, and matched by the habit ofcarrying a six-shooter hooked inside thetrousers band on the left side.

Tom, studying Lance, thought how muchhe resembled his grandfather on the nightBuck Sanderson was killed in a saloon inSalmon City. Old Tom had leaned againstthe wall at the end of the bar, with hisarms folded and his fingers tapping hisright forearm, just as Lance was doingnow. He had lifted one eyebrow andpulled a corner of his lip between his

teeth when Buck came blustering in. Justas Lance smiled at Duke’s chaffing, Tom’sfather had smiled when Buck cameswaggering up to him with bold eyes fullof fight and his right thumb hooked in hischap belt. Old Tom had not moved; he hadremained leaning negligently against thewall with his arms folded. But the strikeof a snake was not so quick as the drop ofhis hand to his gun.

Tom was not much given to reminiscence;but to-night, seeing Lance with two yearsof man-growth and the poise of town lifeupon him, he slipped into a swift reviewof changing conditions and a vaguespeculation upon the value of environmentin the shaping of character. Lance was allLorrigan. He had turned Lorrigan in the

two years of his absence, which hadsomehow painted out his resemblance toBelle. His hair had darkened to a brownthat was almost black. His eyes haddarkened, his mouth had the Lorrigantwist. He had grown taller, leaner, surer inhis movements,––due to his enthusiasm forathletics and the gym, though Tom had nomeans of knowing what had given him thatcatlike quickness, the grace of perfectmuscular coordination. Tom thought it wasthe Lorrigan blood building Lance true tohis forbears as he passed naturally fromyouth to maturity. He wondered if Lance,given the environment which had shapedhis grandfather, would have been a“killer,” hated by many, feared by all.

Even now, if it came to the point of

fighting, would not Lance fight true to theblood, true to that Lorrigan trick of thefolded arms and the tapping fingers?Would not Lance––? Tom pulled histhoughts away from following that lastconjecture to its logical end. There werematters in which it might be best not toinclude Lance, just as he had been carefulnot to include Belle. For Lance might stillbe a good deal like Belle, in spite of hisLorrigan looks and mannerisms. And therewere certain Lorrigan traits which wouldnot bear any mixture of Belle in the fiber.

“Well, now, that’s all made out. I’ll sendto Salt Lake and get the stuff quicker.Wake up, Tom, and tell us how long itwill take to put up the schoolhouse? Lanceis going to give the dance––and there

won’t be so much as a soggy chocolatecake accepted from the Rimmers. Whatwill you do, Lance? Put up a notice inJumpoff?”

“Surely! A mysteriously worded affair,telling little and saying much. Music andrefresh––no, by heck, that sounds too wetand not solid enough. Music and supperfurnished free. Everybody welcome. Can’tRiley drive the chuck-wagon over andhave the supper served by a camp-fire?Golly, but I’ve been hungry for that oldchuck-wagon! That would keep all themess of coffee and sandwiches out of thenice, new schoolhouse.”

“Who’s going to hold their hat in front ofthe nice, new schoolhouse till it’s doneand ready? And how’re you going to let

’em know where to come to, withoutgiving away the secret?” Al, the practical,stretched his long legs to the stove andthrust his hands deep into his trouserspockets while he propounded these twoconundrums. “Go on, Lance. This is yoreparty.”

Lance unfolded his arms and disposed hisbig body on a bearskin covered loungewhere he could take Belle’s hand and patit and playfully pinch a finger now andthen.

“To look at your hand, Belle, a fellowwould swear that a blonde manicure girlcomes here twice a week,” he said idly.“Where is the schoolhouse going to bebuilt? Why not put it just at the foot of theridge, at Cottonwood Spring? That’s out

of sight of the road, and if the notice said‘Cottonwood Spring’, folks would knowwhere to head for. It’s close to the line ofyour land, isn’t it, dad? A yard––corral-size––fenced around the place would keepthe cattle off the doorstep, and they couldwater there just the same. If we’re goingto do it, why not do it right?”

“I guess we could get down there with aload,” Tom assented easily. “I’d rutherhave it on my land anyways.”

“Don’t think, Tom Lorrigan, that we’dever take it back from Mary Hope. Nomatter how Scotty acts up. But if they evergave her the double-cross and got someone else to teach––why it might be nice toknow it’s our schoolhouse, on our land.”Belle pulled her hand away from Lance

and went over to the piano. “It’s all donebut the shingling,” she said cheerfully.“Come on, Lance, see if you can sing‘Asleep in the Deep.’ And then show mewhat you mean by saying you can yodelnow better than when I licked you the timeyou and Duke chased the colt through thecorral fence!”

“All done but the shingling––and I ain’tgot ’em bought yet!” grumbled Tom, butwas utterly disregarded in the sonorouschords of Belle’s prelude to the song.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LANCE RIDES AHEAD

At fifteen minutes to four on a certainTuesday afternoon, the first really pleasantday after the day of tearing, whoopingwind that had blown Tom into the role ofschool bully, Lance loped out upon thetrail that led past the Whipple shack amile and a quarter farther on. Ostensiblyhis destination was the town of Jumpoff,although it was not the time of day whenone usually started from the Devil’s Toothranch to the post-office, with threeunimportant letters as an excuse for the

trip.

As he rode Lance sang lustily a love song,but he was not thinking especially of MaryHope. In two years more than oneCalifornia girl had briefly held his fancy,and memory of Mary Hope had slightlydimmed. In his pocket were two letters,addressed to two California towns. Oneletter had Miss Helene Somebodyinscribed upon it, and on the other wasMiss Mildred Somebody Else. The lovesong, therefore, had no specialsignificance, save that Lance was youngand perfectly normal and liked the idea oflove, without being hampered by anydefinite form of it concentrated upon onegirl.

For all that he had timed his trip so as to

arrive at the Whipple shack just about thetime when Mary Hope would be startinghome. He was curious to see just howmuch or how little she had changed; toknow whether she still had that funny littleScotch accent that manifested itself incertain phrasings, certain vowel sounds atvariance with good English pronunciation.He wanted to know just how muchPocatello had done to spoil her. Beneathall was the primal instinct of the youngmale dimly seeking the female whom hisdestiny had ordained to be his mate.

As a young fellow shut in behind the Rim,with the outside world a vast area overwhich his imagination wandered vaguely,Mary Hope had appealed to him. She wasthe one girl in the Black Rim country

whom he would ride out of his way tomeet, whose face, whose voice, lingeredwith him pleasantly for days after he hadseen her and talked with her. He reflected,between snatches of song, that he mighthave thought himself in love with MaryHope, might even have married her, hadBelle not suddenly decided that he shouldgo beyond the Rim and learn the things shecould not teach him. Belle must havewanted him, her youngest, to be differentfrom the rest. He wondered with a suddenwhimsical smile, whether she wassatisfied with the result of his two years ofexile. Tom, he suspected, was not,––norwere Duke and Al. The three seemed tohold themselves apart from him, to lookupon him as a guest rather than as one ofthe family returned after an absence. They

did not include him in their talk of rangematters and the business of the ranch. Hehad once observed in them a secretembarrassment when he appearedunexpectedly, had detected a swift changeof tone and manner and subject.

Surely they could not think he had changedsufficiently to make him an outsider, hemeditated. Aside from his teasing ofBelle, he had dropped deliberately intothe range vernacular, refraining only fromcertain crudities of speech which gratedon his ears. He had put on his old clothes,he had tried to take his old place in theranch work. He had driven a four-horseteam up the Ridge trail with lumber for theschoolhouse, and had negotiated the rockdescent to Cottonwood Spring with a skill

that pleased him mightily because itproved to him––and to Tom and theboys––that his range efficiency had notlessened during his absence. He had doneeverything the boys had done, except rideout with them on certain long trips overthe range. He had not gone simply becausethey had made it quite plain that they didnot want him.

Nor did the hired cowboys want him withthem,––ten of them in the bunk house witha cook of their own, and this only themiddle of March! In two years thepersonnel of the bunk house had changedalmost completely. They were men whomhe did not know, men who struck him as“hard-boiled,” though he could not haveexplained just wherein they differed from

the others. Sam Pretty Cow and Shorty hecould hobnob with as of yore,––Sam inparticular giving him much pleasure withhis unbroken reserve, his unreadableIndian eyes and his wide-lipped grin. Theothers were like Duke, Tom and Al,––slightly aloof, a bit guarded in theirmanner.

“And I suppose Mary Hope will beabsolutely spoiled, with small-towndignity laid a foot deep over her Scotchprimness. Still, a girl that has the nerve tolift a club and threaten to brain TomLorrigan––”

He had forgotten the love song he wassinging, and before he reached farther inhis musings he met the Swedes, whostared at him round-eyed and did not

answer his careless hello. A little farther,the Boyle children rode up out of a drywash, grinned bashfully at him and hurriedon.

A saddlehorse was tied to a post near theWhipple shack. With long legs swingingslightly with the stride of his horse, reinsheld high and loose in one hand, his bighat tilted over his forehead, Lance rode upand dismounted as if his errand, thoughimportant, was not especially urgent. Thedoor stood open. He walked up, tappedtwice with his knuckles on the unpaintedcasing, and entered, pulling off his hat andturning it round and round in his glovedfingers while he ducked his head, pressedhis lips together with a humorous quirk,shuffled his spurred feet on the dirty floor

and bowed again as awkwardly as hecould. In this manner he hoped to drawsome little spark of individuality fromMary Hope, who sat behind her yellow-painted table and stared at him over herfolded arms. But Mary Hope, heobserved, had been crying, andcompunction seized him suddenly.

“Well, what is it?” she asked him curtly,rubbing a palm down over one cheek, withthe motion obliterating a small rivulet oftears.

“If you please, ma’am, I was sent to menda lock on a door.”

“What lock? On what door?” Mary Hopepassed a palm down her other cheek, thusobliterating another rivulet that had ceasedto flow tears and was merely wet and

itchy.

“If you please, ma’am, you can searchme.” Lance looked at her innocently. “Ididn’t bring any lock with me, and I didn’tbring any door with me. But I’ve got somescrews and three nails and––lots of goodintentions.”

“Good intentions are very rare in thiscountry,” said Mary Hope, and mademeaningless marks on the bare tabletopwith a blunt pencil.

Lance heard a twang of Scotch in the“very rare” which pleased him. But hekept his position by the doorway, and hecontinued bashfully turning his big hatround and round against his chest,––though the action went oddly with theLorrigan look and the athletic poise of

him. “Yes, ma’am. Quite rare,” he agreed.

“In fact, I don’t believe there is such athing in the whole Black Rim country,”stated Mary Hope, plainly nonplussed athis presence and behavior.

“Could I show you mine?” Lanceadvanced a step. He was not sure, at thatmoment, whether he wanted to go with theplay. Mary Hope was better looking thanwhen he had seen her last. She had lost agood deal of the rusticity he rememberedher to have possessed, but she was eithertoo antagonistic to carry on the farce, orshe was waiting for him to show his hand,to betray some self-consciousness. But thefact that she looked at him straight in theeyes and neither frowned nor giggled, sether apart from the ordinary range-bred

girl.

“You talk like a country peddler. I’mwilling to accept a sample, and see if theyare durable. Though I can’t for the life ofme see why you’d be coming here withgood intentions.”

“I’d be mending a lock on a door. Is thisthe door, ma’am? And is this the lock?”

Since the door behind him was the onlydoor within five miles of them, and sincethe lock dangled from a splintered casing,Mary Hope almost smiled. “It is a door,”she informed him. “And it is a lock thathas been broken by a Lorrigan.”

She was baiting him, tempting him toquarrel with her over the old grudge.Because she expected a reply, Lance made

no answer whatever. He happened to havea dozen or so of nails in his coat pocket,left-overs from his assiduous carpentry onthe house being builded for her comfort.The screws he possessed were too large,and he had no hammer. But no manworries over a missing hammer whererocks are plentiful, and Lance waspresently pounding the lock into place, hisback to Mary Hope, his thoughts swingingfrom his prospective party to the possiblereligious scruples of the Douglas family.

Mary Hope used to dance––a very little––he remembered, though she had notattended many dances. He recalledsuddenly that a Christmas tree or a Fourthof July picnic had usually been theoccasions when Mary Hope, with her

skirts just hitting her shoe tops in front andsagging in an ungainly fashion behind, hadteetered solemnly through a “square”dance with him. Mother Douglas herselfhad always sat very straight and prim on abench, her hands folded in her lap and hereyes blinking disapprovingly at theungodly ones who let out an exultant littleyip now and then when they startedexuberantly through the mazes of the“gran’-right-n-left.”

Would Mary Hope attend the party?Should he tell her about it and ask her tocome? Naturally, he could not peacefullyescort her partyward,––the feud was stilltoo rancorous for that. Or was it? At theDevil’s Tooth they spoke of old Scotty asan enemy, but they had cited no particular

act of hostility as evidence of his enmity.At the Devil’s Tooth they spoke of thewhole Black Rim country as enemy’scountry. Lance began to wonder if it werepossible that the Lorrigans had adoptedunconsciously the role of black sheep,without the full knowledge or concurrenceof the Black Rimmers.

He did what he could to make a workablelock of one that had been ready to fall topieces before his father heaved against it;hammered in the loosened screws in thehinges, tossed the rock out into the scuffedsod before the shack, and picked up hishat. He had not once looked toward MaryHope, but he turned now as if he weregoing to say good-by and take himself off;as if mending the lock had really been his

errand, and no further interest held himthere.

He surprised a strange, wistful look inMary Hope’s eyes, a trembling of her lips.She seemed to be waiting, fearing that hemeant to go without any further overturestoward friendship.

The Whipple shack was not large. Tenfeet spanned the distance between them.Impulsively Lance covered that distancein three steps. At the table he stopped,leaned toward her with his palms bracedupon the table, and stared full into MaryHope’s disturbed eyes.

“Girl,” he said, drawing the word softlyalong a vibrant note in his voice that sent atremor through her, “Girl, you’re morelonesome than Scotch, and you’re more

Scotch than the heather that grows in yourfront yard to make your mother cry for theHighlands she sees when her eyes blurwith homesickness. You were cryingwhen I came––crying because you’relonely. It’s a big, wild country––the BlackRim. It’s a country for men to ride hell-whooping through the sage and camasgrass, with guns slung at their hips, but it’sno country for a little person like you totry and carry on a feud because her fathermade one. You’re––too little!”

He did not touch her, his face did notcome near her face. But in his eyes, in hisvoice, in the tender, one-sided little smile,there was something,––Mary Hope caughther breath, feeling as if she had beenkissed.

“You little, lonesome girl! There’s goingto be a party at Cottonwood Spring, aweek from Friday night. It’s a secret––asecret for you. And you won’t tell a soulthat you were the first to know––andyou’ll come, you girl, because it’s yourparty. And not a soul will know it’s yourparty. If your father’s Scotch is too hardfor dancing––you’ll come just the same.You’ll come, because the secret is foryou. And––” He thought that he readsomething in her eyes and hastened toforestall her intention “––and you won’tgo near Cottonwood Spring before thetime of the party, because that wouldn’t beplaying fair.

“Don’t be lonely, girl. The world is full ofpleasant things, just waiting to pop out at

you from behind every bush. If you’regood and kind and honest with life, theFates are going to give you the bestthey’ve got. Don’t be lonely! Just wait forthe pleasant things in to-morrow and to-morrow––in all the to-morrows. And oneof them, girl, is going to show you thesweetest thing in life. That’s love, you girlwith the tears back of your Scotch blueeyes. But wait for it––and take the littlepleasant things that minutes have hiddenaway in the to-morrows. And one of thepleasant times will be hidden atCottonwood Spring, a week from Fridaynight. Wonder what it will be, girl. And ifany one tries to tell it, put your hands overyour ears, so that you won’t hear it.Wait––and keep wondering, and come toCottonwood Spring next Friday night.

Adios, girl.”

He looked into her eyes, smiling a little.Then, turning suddenly, he left her withouta backward glance. Left her with nothingto spoil the haunting cadence of his voice,nothing to lift the spell of tender prophecyhis words had laid upon her soul. When hewas quite gone, when she heard the clatterof his horse’s hoofs upon the arid soil thatsurrounded the Whipple shack, MaryHope still stared out through the opendoorway, seeing nothing of the Marchbarrenness, seeing only the tender,inscrutable, tantalizing face of LanceLorrigan,––tantalizing because she couldnot plumb the depths of his eyes, could notsay how much of the tenderness was meantfor her, how much was born of the deep

music of his voice, the whimsical, one-sided smile.

And Lance, when he had ridden a furlongfrom the place, had dipped into a shallowdraw and climbed the other side, turnedhalf around in the saddle and looked back.

“Now, why did I go off and leave her likethat? Like an actor walking off the stage tomake room for the other fellow to come onand say his lines. There’s no otherfellow––thank heck! And here are twomiles we might be riding together––andme preaching to her about taking the little,pleasant things that come unexpectedly!”He swung his horse around in the trail,meaning to ride back; retraced his steps asfar as the hollow, and turned again,shaking his head.

“Anybody could stop at the schoolhousejust as school’s out, and ride a couple ofmiles down the road with theschoolma’am––if she let him do it!Anybody could do that. But that isn’t thereason, why I’m riding on ahead. What thehell is the reason?”

He stopped again on the high level wherehe could look back and see the Whippleshack squatted forlornly in the gray stretchof sage with wide, brown patches of deadgrass between the bushes.

“Lonesome,” he named the wild expanseof unpeopled range land. “She’s terriblylonely––and sweet. Too lonely and sweetfor me to play with, to ride a few mileswith––and leave her lonelier than I foundher. I couldn’t. There’s enough sadness

now in those Scotch blue eyes. Damned ifI’ll add more!”

He saw Mary Hope come from the shack,pause a minute on the doorstep, then walkout to where her horse was tied to thepost. He lifted the reins, pricked his horsegently with the spurs and galloped away toJumpoff, singing no more.

CHAPTER TWELVE

SHE WILL, AND SHE WON’T

Cottonwood Spring was a dished-outoasis just under the easy slope of Devil’sTooth Ridge. From no part of the Jumpofftrail could it be seen, and the surroundingslope did not offer much inducement tocattle in March, when water was plentiful;wherefore riders would scarcely wanderinto the saucer-like hollow that containedthe cottonwoods and the spring. A picnichad once been held there, but thefestivities had been marred by a severethunderstorm that came just as a wordy

quarrel between two drunkencowpunchers was fast nearing the gun-pulling stage. Lightning had struck the sidehill just beyond the grove, and the shockof it had knocked down and stunned thetwo disputants, and three saddle horsesstanding in the muddy overflow from thespring. For this reason, perhaps, andbecause it was on Lorrigan land, the placehad never thereafter been frequented saveby the stock that watered there.

But from the head of the little basin a wideview was had of the broken land beyondDevil’s Tooth. The spring was clear andcold and never affected by drouth. Byfollowing the easy slope around the pointof the main trail from Jumpoff to theLorrigan ranch, no road-building was

necessary, and in summer the cottonwoodslooked very cool and inviting––though atcertain times they harbored buffalo gnatsand many red ants that would bite, whichrendered the shade less grateful than itlooked. But to the Lorrigans it seemed anideal site for a schoolhouse.

Ten days after they had planned the deed,the schoolhouse stood ready for the dance.In the lean-to shed, twelve shiny yellowdesks that smelled strongly of varnishwere stacked in their heavy paperswaddlings, waiting to be set in placewhen the dance was done. Belle herselfhad hemmed scrim curtains for thewindows, which Riley had washedcopiously. The blackboard, with thenames of various Devil’s Tooth men and a

“motto” or two scrawled upon it was inplace; the globe was on the teacher’sdesk, and the water bucket on its shelf inthe corner, with a shiny new tin dipperhanging on a nail above it.

If you were to believe the frequentdeclarations, every puncher on the ranchhad done his durnedest to put ’er up, andput ’er up right. Sam Pretty Cow hadnailed a three-foot American flag to thefront gable, and had landed on a nail whenhe jumped from the eaves. On the night ofthe dance he was hobbling around thechuck-wagon with half a pound of saltpork bound to his foot, helping Riley, whohad driven over to the spring early,burdened with the importance of his sharein the entertainment.

A dance in the Black Rim country has allthe effect of a dog fight in a small villagewith empty streets. No sooner does it startthan one wonders where all the peoplecame from.

At eight o’clock toiling horses drawingfull loads of humanity began to appearover the rim of the hollow, to pick theirway carefully down toward the lightedwindows, urged by their drivers. Men onhorseback made the descent more swiftly,with a clatter of small rocks kicked looseas they came. They encountered a four-wire fence, circled it to where a lantern,hung on a post, revealed a gate that lay flaton the ground to leave a welcoming spacefor teams and saddle horses to passthrough.

Beside the schoolhouse, with two lanternsshedding a yellow glow on his thin, sandyhair, Riley, at the chuck-wagon, arrangeddoughnuts, sandwiches, pies and cakes tohis liking, wiped his red hands frequentlyon his clean flour-sack apron, and heldcarefully unprofane conversation with thewomen who came fluttering over to him,their arms burdened.

“No, mom, sorry! I know I’m turnin’ downsomething that’s better than anything I gothere, but this here party’s on theLorrigans. No, mom, I got orders not totake in s’much as a sour pickle fromnobody. You jest put it back in the rig,whatever you got there, and consider’t yougot some Sat’day bakin’ did up ahead.

“Yes, mom, it’s Lance’s party. He’s home

for a visit, an’ he kinda wanted to have adance an’ meet the folks, seein’ he’s beenaway quite a spell and kain’t stay long.

“Yes, mom, he’s goin’ back to collegefirst the week.

“Hey! I wisht you’d tie up yore cayusesother side the shack. Folks’ll be comin’around here for their supper, and theydon’t wanta git their faces kicked offwhilst they’re huntin’ grub to fill ’em.

“No, mom, we ain’t takin’ any cakes ornothin’ off nobody. Lance, he wanted togive this dance an’ give it right. Ain’tgoin’ to cost nobody a thing but sorecorns, t’night!”

Lance had hired an Italian violinist and hisboy who played a harp much taller than

himself and people coming from Jumpoffhad brought them out. The Millers hadcome, with all their outfit. The AJ outfitwas there to a man. The Swedes werepresent, sitting together in the corner bythe water bucket, and the Conleys, wholived over by Camas Creek beyond theAJ, had come. The Conleys had sheep,and were not firmly settled in the BlackRim, sheepmen being looked at askance.There were families from nearerJumpoff,––one really did wonder wherethey all came from, when the countryseemed so wide and unpeopled.

Lance was surprised to see how manywere there who were total strangers. Untilthe dancing began the men stood outsideand smoked, leaving the women and

children to arrange themselves on benchesalong the wall inside. Lance knew thecustom well enough, and he did not go in.But he tried to see who came with everyload that was deposited within the circleof light on the narrow platform thatembellished the front.

At nine o’clock, when the musicians weretrying their instruments tentatively andeven the most reluctant male was beingdrawn irresistibly to the humming interior,Lance frankly admitted to himself that hewas not happy, and that his condition wasthe direct result of not having seen MaryHope enter the door.

He sought out Tom, who was over at thechuck-wagon, taking an early cup ofcoffee. Tom blew away the steam that

rose on the chill night air and eyed Lance.“Well, when do we make the speech? Ordon’t we?” he demanded, taking a gulpand finding the coffee still too hot forcomfort. “Don’t ask me to; I done myshare when I built ’er. You can tell thebunch what she’s for.”

“Oh, what the heck do we want with aspeech?” Lance remonstrated. “Theyknow it’s a schoolhouse, unless they’reblind. And I thought maybe some one––you, probably, since you’re the one whohazed her out of the other place––wouldjust tell Mary Hope to bring her booksover here and teach. And I thought, tocinch it, you could tell Jim Boyle that youfelt you ought to do something toward aschool, and since you couldn’t furnish any

kids, you thought you’d furnish the house.That ought to be easy. It’s up to you, Ishould say. But I wouldn’t make anyspeech.”

Tom grunted, finished his coffee andproceeded to remove all traces of it fromhis lips with his best white handkerchief.“Where’s Jim Boyle at?” he asked,moving into the wide bar of dusk that laybetween the lights of the chuck-wagon andthe glow from the two windows facingthat way.

“I believe I’d speak about it first to MaryHope,” Lance suggested, coming behindhim. “But she hasn’t come yet––”

As if she heard and deliberately moved tocontradict him, Mary Hope danced pastthe window, the hand of a strange young

man with a crisp white handkerchiefpressed firmly between her shoulderblades. Mary Hope was dancing almost assolemnly as in the days of short skirts andsleek hair, her eyes apparently fixed uponthe shoulder of her partner who gazedstraight out over her head, his whole mindcentered upon taking the brunt ofcollisions upon the point of his upraisedelbow.

“I’ll ketch her when she’s throughdancing,” promised Tom. But Lance hadanother thought.

“Let me tell Mary Hope, dad. I’m going todance with her, and it will be easy.”

In the darkness Tom grinned and went ont o find Jim Boyle standing in a group ofolder men on the platform that served as a

porch. Jim Boyle was smoking a cheapcigar brought out from Jumpoff by thesection boss. He listened reflectively,looked at the glowing tip of the evil-smelling cigar, threw the thing from himand reached for his cigarette papers withan oath.

“Now, that’s damn white of yuh, Tom,” hesaid. “I leave it to the boys if it ain’t damnwhite. Not having no school district I’mputtin’ up the money outa my own pocketto pay the teacher. And havin’ four kids tofeed and buy clothes for, I couldn’t affordto build no schoolhouse, I tell yuh those.And uh course, I didn’t like to go roundaskin’ fer help; but it’s damn white of yuhto step in an’ do yore share towardsmaking the Rim look like it was civilized.

Sederson, he’ll feel the same way about it.And I’m gitting a foreman that’s got a kid,school age; we sure’n hell do need aschoolhouse. Rim’s settlin’ up fast. Ialways said, Tom, that you was white. Ileave it to the boys here.”

Inside, Lance was not finding it so easy tomake the announcement. Last Tuesday,Mary Hope had not understood just whyhe had ridden on ahead of her for twomiles––she could see the small dust cloudkicked up by his horse on the Jumpofftrail, so there could be no mistake––whenhe knew perfectly well that she must ridethat way, when he could not have failed tosee her horse saddled and waiting at thedoor. It seemed to Mary Hope an obscureform of mockery to tell her not to be

lonely––to tell her in a caressing tone thatleft with her all the effect of kisses––andthen to ride away without one backwardglance, one word of excuse. Until she hadmounted and had seen him on the trailahead, she had not realized how he hadmocked her.

For days––until Friday, to be explicit––she had been quite determined not to gonear Cottonwood Spring. Then she hadsuddenly changed her mind, dismissedschool half an hour early, put old Rab in alather on the way home, dressed herselfand announced to her mother that she mustride into Jumpoff for school supplies, andthat she would stay all night with theKennedys. It had taken two years and thedignity of school-teacher to give Mary

Hope the courage to announce things toher mother. As it was, she permitted hermother to explain as best she might toHugh Douglas. Her courage did not reachto that long, uncompromising upper lip ofher father’s.

She had folded her prettiest dresscarefully into a flat bundle, had thrown itout of her window and left the house inher riding clothes. There was a saddlehorse, Jamie, a Roman-nosed bay ofuncertain temper and a high, rocking gait,which she sometimes used for long trips.She saddled him now and hurried away,thankful to be gone with her package andher guilty conscience before her fatherarrived. She was very good friends withthe Kennedys, at the section house. If there

was a dance within forty miles, theKennedys might be counted upon to attend;and that is how Mary Hope arrived at theschoolhouse with a load from Jumpoff.She had seen Lance standing near thedoor, and Lance had paid no attention toher, but had left an AJ man to claim thefirst two-step. Wherefore Lance walkedstraight into trouble when he went to MaryHope and asked for the next dance withher.

“So sorry––it’s promised already,” saidMary Hope, in her primmest tone.

“There’s a dance after the next one,” hehinted, looking down from his more-than-six feet at her where she sat wedgedbetween Mrs. Boyle and Jennie Miller.

“So sorry––but I think that one is

promised also,” said Mary Hope.

Lance drew a corner of his lip betweenhis teeth, let it go and lifted his eyebrowswhimsically at Jennie Miller, whom hehad once heard playing on her organ, andwhom he had detested ever since with anunreasoning animosity born solely of hermusical inability and her long neck thathad on its side a brown mole with threecoarse hairs in it.

“If Miss Douglas has two dances engagedin advance, it’s quite hopeless to hope fora dance with Miss Miller,” he said,maliciously drawing the sentence throughcertain vibrant tones which experiencehad taught him had a certain pleasingeffect upon persons. “Or is it hopeless?Are you engaged for every dance to-night,

Miss Miller? And if you are, please may Istand beside you while you eat a sandwichat midnight?”

Jennie Miller giggled. “I ain’t as popularas all that,” she retorted, glancing at MaryHope, sitting very straight and prettybeside her. “And if I was, I don’t go andpromise everybody that asks. I might wantto change my mind afterwards if someother fellow comes along I liked better––and I’ve saw too many fights start over agirl forgetting who she’s promised todance with.”

“You don’t want to see a fight start now,do you?” Lance smiled down at herwithout in the least degree betraying toMary Hope that he would like to pullJennie Miller by force from that seat and

occupy it himself.

“I never can see why men fight overthings. I hate fights,” Miss Millerstammered, agitated by a wild feeling thatperhaps she was going to be made love to.

“Then don’t forget that you are going todance with me.” The music just thenstarted again, and he offered her his armwith a certain import that made MaryHope clench her hands.

Mary Hope was punished for her lie. Shehad not promised that dance, and so shesat on the plank bench and saw Lance andJennie Miller sway past her four timesbefore a gawky youth who worked for herfather caught sight of her and came overfrom the water-bucket corner to ask herfor the dance. That was not the worst. On

the fourth round of Lance and Jennie, andjust as the gawky one was bowing stifflybefore her, Lance looked at her overJennie Miller’s shoulder, and smiled thattantalizing, Lorrigan smile that always lefther uneasily doubtful of its meaning.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A WAY HE HAD WITH HIM

It was at the chuck-wagon at midnight,while Riley and Sam Pretty Cow wereserving tin cups of black coffee to ashuffling, too-hilarious crowd, that Lancenext approached Mary Hope. She wasstanding on the outskirts of a groupcomposed mostly of women, quite aloneso far as cavaliers were concerned, forthe gawky youth had gone after coffee. Shewas looking toward the sagebrush camp-fire around which a crowd of men hadgathered with much horseplay at which

they were laughing loudly, and she waswondering how best she could makeLance Lorrigan aware of her absoluteindifference to him, when his voicedrawled disconcertingly close to her ear:

“You’re not lonely now, you girl––andyou did find a secret at CottonwoodSpring. A pleasant little secret, wasn’tit?”

Mary Hope’s hands became fists at herside, held close against her best frock. “Ithink the fellows over by the fire havediscovered your pleasant secret,” shesaid, and did not turn her face toward him.

With his arms folded and his eyebrowspulled together and his lip between histeeth, Lance stared down at her face,studying it in the flicker of the distant

firelight and the two lanterns. If hercombativeness roused in him anyresentment, he did not permit it to show inhis voice.

“Some of the fellows from Jumpoffbrought a bottle or two. That’s no secret,except that I don’t know where they haveit cachéd. The schoolhouse is your––”

“I heard it was included in the Lorriganrefreshments.”

“The schoolhouse is ready for yourpleasure Monday morning,” Lance spokewith that perfect impersonal courtesy thatis so exasperating to a person who listensfor something to resent. “I knew of it, ofcourse––dad wanted it kept for a surprise.And he wanted me to tell you. It’s theLorrigan expression of their appreciation

of the need of a school.”

The gawky youth came stumbling up, hisoutstretched hands carefully holding twotin cups filled with coffee close to theboiling point. Being a youth of goodintentions, he tried very hard not to spill adrop. Being gawky, he stubbed his toe ashe was rounding the group of women, andMrs. Miller shrieked and swung back herhand, cuffing the gawky one straight intothe thickest of the crowd. Other womenscreamed.

Lance reached a long arm and plucked theyouth out by the slack of his coat, shookhim and propelled him into the darkness,where he collided violently with SamPretty Cow. Some one had been over-generous with Sam Pretty Cow. A drunken

Indian is never quite safe. Sam Pretty Cowstruck out blindly, yelling Piegan curseshoarsely as he fought. The crowd of menaround the camp-fire came running. For ashort space there was confusion, shouting,the shrill voices of scalded womendenouncing the accident as a deliberateoutrage.

Mrs. Miller whirled on Lance. “Youpushed him on me! If that ain’t a Lorrigantrick!––”

“Yeah––what yuh mean? Throwin’ bilin’hot coffee on––”

“Who says it’s a Lorrigan trick?”

“Might ’a’ known what to expect––”

“Get back here, away from the crowd.There may be shooting,” Lance muttered

to Mary Hope, and pulled her to the rearof the wagon and around upon the fartherside. She could not resist. His strengthwas beyond any hope of combating it withher small strength. Mrs. Miller, whosescalded shoulder led her to wildutterances without thought of their effectupon others, shouted at him as he hustledMary Hope away:

“Yeah––run! You’re the one that doneit––now run! That’s like a Lorrigan––doyour dirty work and then crawl out and letsomebody else take the blame! That kidnever––”

“Aw, come back and fight, you bigsneak!” A drunken voice bellowedhoarsely, and a gunshot punctuated thecommand.

“Go on––get on the other side of theschoolhouse. Run! The fools will all startto shooting now!”

Mary Hope stopped stubbornly. “I willnot!” she defied him; and Lance withoutmore argument lifted her from the ground,stooped and tossed her under the wagon,much as he would have heaved a bag ofoats out of the rain.

“Don’t you move until I tell you to,” hecommanded her harshly, and ran back,diving into the thick of the crowd asthough he were charging into a footballscrimmage.

“Who was it called me back to fight? Putup your guns,––or keep them if you like.It’s all one to me!”

In the dim light he saw the gleam of aweapon raised before him, reached outand wrenched it away from the owner, andthrew it far over his shoulder into theweeds. “Who said a Lorrigan run? I wantthat man!”

“I said it,” bellowed a whisky-flushedman whose face was strange to him. “Isaid it, and I say it agin. I say––aLorrigan!”

He lifted his gun above the pressure ofexcited men and women. Lance sprungupward and forward, landed on someone’s foot, lunged again and got a grip onthe hand that held the gun. With his lefthand he wrenched the gun away. With hisright he pulled the man free of the crowdand out where there was room. The

crowd––men, now, for the women hadfled shrieking––surged that way.

“Stand back there! I’ll settle with thisfellow alone.” He held the other fast, hisarms as merciless as the grip of a grizzly,and called aloud:

“This is a Lorrigan dance, and theLorrigans are going to have order. Thoseof you who brought chips on yourshoulders, and whisky to soak the chips in,can drink your whisky and do your fightingamong yourselves, off the Lorrigan ranch.We all came here to have fun. There’smusic and room to dance, and plenty ofchuck and plenty of coffee, and the danceis going right on without any fusswhatever.

“This poor boob here who thinks he wants

to fight me just because I’m a Lorrigan, Inever saw before. It wouldn’t be a fairfight, because he’s too drunk to doanything but make a fool of himself.There’s nothing to fight about, anyway. Afellow was carrying two cups of boilinghot coffee, and he stubbed his toe, andsome one got scalded a little. That’snothing to break up a dance over. The restof you heard the noise and jumped at theconclusion there was trouble afoot. Thereisn’t. I think you all want to go on with thedance and have a good time, exceptperhaps a few who are drunk. They are atliberty to go off somewhere and beat eachother up to their hearts’ content. Come on,now, folks––get your partners for a squaredance––and everybody dance!”

His voice had held them listening. Hiswords were not the words of a coward,yet they were a plea for peace, theyseemed reasonable even to the half-drunken ones who had been the readiest tofight. The old-time range slogan,“Everybody dance!” sent three or fourhurrying to find the girls they wanted. Thetrouble, it would appear, had ended assuddenly as it had begun and for a momentthe tension relaxed.

The drunken one was still cursing,struggling unavailingly to tear himselfaway from Lance so that he could land ablow. Lance, looking out across thecrowd, caught Belle’s glance and noddedtoward the schoolhouse. Belle hurriedaway to find the musicians and set them

playing, and a few couples strayed afterher. But there were men who stayed,pushing, elbowing to see what wouldhappen when Lance Lorrigan loosened hishold on the Jumpoff man.

Lance did not loosen his hold, however.He saw Tom, Al, three or four Devil’sTooth men edging up, and sent them awarning shake of his head.

“Who knows this fellow? Where does hebelong? I think his friends had better takecare of him until he sobers up.”

“We’ll take care of him,” said anotherstranger, easing up to Lance. “He won’thurt yuh; he was only foolin’, anyway. BillKennedy, he always gits kinda happywhen he’s had one or two.”

There was laughter in the crowd. Two orthree voices were heard mutteringtogether, and other laughs followed. Someone produced a bottle and offered thepugnacious one a drink. Lance let him gowith a contemptuous laugh and went towhere the Devil’s Tooth men now stoodbunched close together, their backs to thechuck-wagon.

“We’ll have to clean up this crowd,before it’s over,” Al was saying to hisfather. “Might as well start right in and git’er over with.”

“And have it said the Lorrigans can’t givea dance without having it end in rough-house!” Lance interrupted. “Cut out theidea of fighting that bunch. Keep them outof the house and away from the women,

and let them have their booze down in thegrove. That’s where I’ve seen a lot ofthem heading. Come on, boys; it takes justas much nerve not to fight as it does to killoff a dozen men. Isn’t that right, dad?”

“More,” said Tom laconically. “No, boys,we don’t want no trouble here. Come onin and dance. That’s yore job––to keep ’ermoving peaceable. I’ll fire any man Iketch drinking Jumpoff booze. We’ve gotbetter at the ranch. Come on!”

He led the way and his men followedhim,––not as though they were particularlyanxious to avoid trouble, but more likemen who are trained to obey implicitly aleader who has some definite purpose andrefuses to be turned from it. Lance,walking a few steps in the rear, wondered

at the discipline his father seemed tomaintain without any apparent effort.

“And they say the Lorrigans are a toughoutfit!” he laughed, when he had overtakenTom. “Dad, you’ve got the bunch trainedlike soldiers. I was more afraid our boyswould rough things up than I was worriedover the stews.”

“Shucks! When we rough things up, it’swhen we want it rough. Al, he was kindaexcited. But at that, we may have to hogtiea few of them smart Alecks from town,before we can dance peaceable.”

Mary Hope, Lance discovered, wasalready in the schoolhouse. Also, severalof the intoxicated were there, and thequadrille was being danced with so muchzest that the whole building shook. That in

itself was not unusual––Black Rim dancesusually did become rather boisterous aftersupper––but just outside the door a bottlewas being circulated freely, and two orthree men had started toward thecottonwood grove for more. Duke, comingup to Lance where he stood in thedoorway, pulled him to one side, wherethey could not be overheard.

“There’s going to be trouble here, sure’syou’re knee-high to a duck. Dad won’t letour bunch light into ’em, but they’ll befighting amongst themselves inside anhour. You better slip it to the women thatthe dance breaks up early. Give ’em a fewmore waltzes and two-steps, Lance, andthen make it Home-Sweet-Home, if youdon’t want to muss up your nice city

clothes,” he added, with a laugh that wasnot altogether friendly.

“Mussing up nice city clothes is myfavorite pastime,” Lance retorted, andwent inside again to see who was doingall the whooping. The chief whooper, hediscovered, was Bill Kennedy, the manwhom he had very nearly thrashed. MaryHope was looking her Scotch primmest.Lance measured the primness, saw thatthere was a vacant space beside her, andmade his precarious way toward it,circling the dancers who swung close tothe benches and trod upon the toes of thewall flowers in their enthusiasm. Hereached the vacant space and sat downjust in time to receive Bill Kennedy in hislap. But Bill was too happy just then to

observe whose lap he landed in, andbounced up with a bellowing laugh toresume his gyrations.

“Don’t dance any more, girl,” Lance said,leaning so that he could make himselfheard without shouting in the uproar. “It’sgetting pretty wild––and it will be wilder.They must have hauled it out in barrels!”

Mary Hope looked at him, but she did notsmile, did not answer.

“I’m sorry the secret is no nicer,” Lancewent on. “Now the floor will have to bescrubbed before a lady girl can come outand teach school here. I thought it wouldbe great to have a house-warmingdance,––but they’re making it too blamedwarm!”

Some one slipped and fell, andimmediately there was a struggling heapwhere others had fallen over the first.There were shrieks of laughter and an oathor two, an epithet and then a loud-flungthreat.

Lance started up, saw that Tom and Alwere heading that way, and took MaryHope by the arm.

“It’s time little girls like you went home,”he said smiling, and somehow got her tothe door without having her trampledupon. “Where are your wraps?”

“There,” said Mary Hope dazedly, andpointed to the corner behind them, wherecloaks, hoods, hats and two sleepingchildren were piled indiscriminately.

Through the doorway men were crowding,two or three being pushed out only to bepushed in again by others eager to join themêlée. In the rear of the room, near themusicians, two men were fighting. Lance,giving one glance to the fight and anotherto the struggling mass in the doorway,pushed up the window nearest them, liftedMary Hope and put her out on the sidehill. He felt of a coat or two, chose theheaviest, found something soft and furrylike a cap, and followed her. Behind thedoor no one seemed to look. A solid massof backs was turned toward him when hewriggled through on his stomach.

“Where’s your horse?” he asked MaryHope, while he slipped the coat on herand buttoned it.

“It does seem to me that a Lorrigan isalways making me put on a coat!” criedMary Hope petulantly. “And now, thisisn’t mine at all!”

“A non-essential detail. It’s a coat, andthat’s all that matters. Where is yourhorse?”

“I haven’t any horse here––oh, they’rekilling each other in there! The Kennedysbrought me––and he’s that drunk, now––”

“Good heck! Bill Kennedy! Well, comeon. You couldn’t go back with them, that’ssure. I’ll take you home, girl.” He wasleading her by the arm to the fence behindthe house. “Wait, I’ll lift a wire; can youcrawl under?”

“Now, I’ve torn it! I heard it rip. And it

isn’t my coat at all,” said Mary Hope.“Oh, they’re murdering one another! Ishould think you’d be ashamed, having adance like––”

“Coats can be bought––and murdered mendon’t swear like that. I’ll have to borrowBelle’s pintos, but we don’t care, do we?Come on. Here they are. Don’t get in untilI get them untied and turned around. Andwhen I say get in, you’d better make it inone jump. Are you game?”

“No Lorrigan will ever cry shame on aDouglas for a coward! You must be crazy,taking this awful team.”

“I am. I’m crazy to get you away from herebefore they start shooting, back there.” Hespoke to the team gruffly and with a toneof authority that held them quiet,

wondering at his audacity perhaps. Heuntied them, got the lines, stepped in andturned them around, the pintos backing andcramping the buckboard, lunging a littlebut too surprised to misbehave in theirusual form.

“Get in––and hang on. There’s no roadmuch––but we’ll make it, all right.”

Like the pintos, Mary Hope was tooastonished to rebel. She got in.

The team went plunging up the hill,snorting now and then, swerving sharplyaway from rock or bush that threatenedthem with vague horrors in the clearstarlight. Behind them surged the clamorof many voices shouting, the confusedscuffling of feet, a revolver shot or two,and threading the whole the shrill,

upbraiding voice of a woman.

“That’s Mrs. Miller,” Mary Hopevolunteered jerkily. “She’s the one thatwas scalded.”

“It wasn’t her tongue that was hurt,” Lanceobserved, and barely saved the buckboardfrom upsetting on a rock as Rosa andSubrosa shied violently andsimultaneously at a rabbit scuttling from abush before them.

He swung the pintos to the right, jounceddown into some sort of trail, and let themgo loping along at their usual pace.

“Belle has her own ideas about horse-training,” Lance chuckled, steadyingSubrosa with a twitch of the rein. “They’llhit this gait all the way to your ranch.”

Mary Hope gave a gasp and caught him bythe arm, shaking it a little as if she wereafraid that otherwise he would not listento her. “Oh, but I canna go home! I’ve ahorse and my riding clothes in Jumpoff,and I must go for them and come homeproperly on horseback to-morrow! It’sbecause of the lie I told my mother, so thatI could come to the dance with theKennedys. Set me down here anywhere,Lance Lorrigan, and let me walk until theKennedys overtake me! They’ll be comingsoon, now––as soon as Bill Kennedy getslicket sober. You can stop the horses––surely you can stop them and let me out.But please, please do not take me hometo-night, in this party dress––and a coatthat isna mine at all!”

“I’m not taking you home, girl. I’m takingyou to Jumpoff. And it won’t matter to youwhether Bill Kennedy is licked sober ornot. And to-morrow I’ll find out whoowns the coat. I’ll say I found it on theroad somewhere. Who’s to prove I didn’t?Or if you disapprove of lying about it, I’llbring it back and leave it beside the road.”

“It’s a lot of trouble I’m making for you,”said Mary Hope quite meekly, and let gohis arm. “I should not have told the lie andgone to the dance. And I canna wear myown coat home, because it’s there in thepile behind the door, and some one elsewill take it. So after all it will be knownthat I lied, and you may as well take mehome now and let me face it.”

To this Lance made no reply. But when the

pintos came rattling down the hill towhere the Douglas trail led away to theright, he did not slow them, did not takethe turn.

Mary Hope looked anxiously towardhome, away beyond the broken skyline. Astar hung big and bright on the point of acertain hill that marked the Douglas ranch.While she watched it, the star slid out ofsight as if it were going down to warnHugh Douglas that his daughter had told alie and had gone to a forbidden place todance with forbidden people, and waseven now driving through the night withone of the Lorrigans,––perchance thewickedest of all the wicked Lorrigans,because he had been away beyond the Rimand had learned the wickedness of the

cities.

She looked wistfully at the face of thiswickedest of the Lorrigans, his profileseen dimly in the starlight. He did not lookwicked. Under his hat brim she could seehis brows, heavy and straight and liftedwhimsically at the inner points, as thoughhe were thinking of something amusing.His nose was fine and straight, too,––notat all like a beak, though her father hadalways maintained that the Lorrigans werebut human vultures. His mouth,––therewas something in the look of his mouththat made her catch her breath; somethingtender, something that vaguely disturbedher, made her feel that it could be terriblystern if it were not so tender. He seemedto be smiling––not with his mouth,

exactly, but away inside of his mind––andthe smile showed just a little bit, at thecorner of his lips. His chin was theLorrigan chin absolutely; a nice chin tolook at, with a little, long dimple down themiddle. A chin that one would not want tooppose, would not want to see when theman who owned it was very angry.

Mary Hope had gone just so far in heranalysis when Lance turned his headabruptly, unexpectedly, and looked fullinto her eyes.

“Don’t be afraid, girl. Don’t worry aboutthe lie––about anything. It was a sweetlittle lie––it makes you just human andyoung and––sweet. Let them scold you,and smile, ’way down deep in your heart,and be glad you’re human enough to tell a

lie now and then. Because if you hadn’t,we wouldn’t be driving all these milestogether to save you a little of thescolding. Be happy. Be just a little bithappy to-night, won’t you, girl––youlonely little girl––with the blue, blueeyes!”

There it was again, that vibrant, caressingnote in his voice. It was there in his eyeswhile he looked at her, on his lips whilehe spoke to her. But the next moment helooked ahead at the trail, spoke to Rosawho had flung her head around to bitepettishly at Subrosa, who snapped back ather.

Mary Hope turned her face to the starlitrangeland. Again she breathed quickly,fought back tears, fought the feeling that

she had been kissed. All through the silentride that followed she fought the feeling,knew that it was foolish, that Lance knewnothing whatever about that look, that tonewhich so affected her. He did not speakagain. He sat beside her, and she felt thathe was thinking about her, felt that hisheart was making love to her––hatedherself fiercely for the feeling, fought itand felt it just the same.

“It’s just a way he has with him!” she toldherself bitterly, when he swung the teamup in front of the section house and helpedher down. “He’d have the same way withhim if he spoke to a––a rabbit! He doesnamean it––he doesna know and he doesnacare!”

“Thank you, Mr. Lorrigan. It was very

kind of you to bring me.” Her voice wasprim and very Scotch, and gave no hint ofall she had been thinking.

“I’m always kind––to myself,” laughedLance, and lifted his hat and drove away.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IN WHICH LANCE FINISHES ONE JOB

In the Traffic saloon, whither Lance hadgone to find a fire and an easy chair andsomething cheering to drink while hewaited for the pinto team to rest and eat,he found a sleepy bartender sprawledbefore the stove, a black-and-white dogstretched flat on its side and growlingwhile it dreamed, and an all-pervadingodor of alcoholic beverages that appealedto him.

“A highball would make me happy, rightnow,” he announced cheerfully, standing

over the bartender, rubbing his fingersnumbed from the keen air and fromholding in the pintos, to which a slackenedpull on the bits meant a tacit consent to aheadlong run.

“Been to the dance?” The bartenderyawned widely and went to mix thehighball. “I been kinda waitin’ up––butshucks! No tellin’ when the crowd’ll gitin––not if they drink all they took with’em.”

“They were working hard to do just thatwhen I left.” Lance stood back to thestove. Having left in a hurry, without hisovercoat, he was chilled to the bone,though the night had been mild for thattime of the year. He hoped that the girl hadnot been uncomfortable––and yawned

while the thought held him. He drank hishighball, warmed himself comfortably andthen, with some one’s fur overcoat for ablanket, he disposed his big body on anear-by pool table, never dreaming thatMary Hope Douglas was remembering histone, his words, his silence even;analyzing, weighing, wondering how muchhe had meant, or how little,––wonderingwhether she really hated him, whether shemight justly call her ponderings by anyname save curiosity. Such is the way ofwomen the world over.

What Lance thought does not greatlymatter. Such is the way of men that theirthoughts sooner or later crystallize intoaction. The bartender would tell you thathe went straight to sleep, with the fur coat

pulled up over his ears and his legsuncovered, his modishly-shod feetextending beyond the end of the table. Thebartender dozed in his chair, thinking itnot worth while to close up, because thedance crowd might come straying in at anytime with much noise and a great thirst, tosay nothing of the possibility of thirstymen coming on the midnight freight thatwas always four or five hours late, andwas now much overdue.

The freight arrived. Three men entered thesaloon, drank whisky, talked for a fewminutes and departed. The bartender tooka long, heat-warped poker and attackedthe red clinkers in the body of the stove,threw in a bucket of fresh coal, used thepoker with good effect on the choked draft

beneath, and went back to his chair andhis dozing.

During the clamor of the fire-buildingLance turned over, drawing up his feet andstraightway extending them again; makinga sleepy, futile clutch at the fur coat, thathad slipped off his shoulders when heturned. The bartender reached out andflung the coat up on Lance’s shoulders,and bit off a chew of tobacco and stowedit away in his cheek. Presently he dozedagain.

Dawn seeped in through the windows.Lance, lying flat on his stomach with hisface on his folded arms, slept soundly.The unpainted buildings across the streetbecame visible in the gloomy, lifelessgray of a sunless morning. With the breeze

that swept a flurry of gray dust and a tornnewspaper down the street, came the rattleof a wagon, the sound of voices mingledin raucous, incoherent wrangling.

“They’re comin’,” yawned the bartender,glancing at the sleeper on the pool table.“Better wake up; they’re comin’ pickledand fighty, judgin’ by the sound.”

Lance sighed, turned his face away fromthe light and slept on, untroubled by thenearing tumult.

Galloping horses came first, ka-lup, ka-lup, ka-lup, a sharp staccato on the frostedearth. The rattle of the wagon ceased,resumed, stopped outside the saloon.Other galloping horsemen came up andstopped. The door was flung openviolently, letting in men with unfinished

sentences hot on their tongues.

“Next time a Lorrigan dance comes off––”

“What I’d a done, woulda––”

“Fix them damn Lorrigans!”

Detached phrases, no one man troubling tofind a listener, the words came jumbled tothe ears of Lance, who fancied himself inthe bunk-house at home, with the boys justin from a ride somewhere. He waswriggling into a freshly uncomfortableposture on the table when the fur coat waspulled off him, letting the daylightsuddenly into his eyes as his brainemerged from the fog of sleep.

“And here’s the––guy that run away fromme!” Bill Kennedy jerked off his hat andbrought it down with a slap on Lance’s

face. “Run off to town, by jiminy, and hid!Run––”

Half asleep as he was––rather, justshocked awake––Lance heaved himselfoff the table and landed one square blowon Bill Kennedy’s purple jaw. Billstaggered, caught himself and came back,arms up and fists guarding his face. Lancedisentangled his feet from the fur coat,kicked it out of his way and struck againjust as Kennedy was slugging at him.

At the bar the long line of men whirled,glasses in hand, to watch the fight. But itdid not last long. Kennedy was drunk, andLance was not. So presently Kennedy wascrawling on his knees amongst someoverturned chairs, and Lance was facingthe crowd, every inch of him itching to

fight.

“Who was it said he was going to fix themdamn Lorrigans?” he demanded, coming atthem warily. “I’m not packing a gun, butI’d like to lick a few of you fellows thattried to rough-house the dance I gave.Didn’t cost you a cent; music, supper,everything furnished for you folks to havea good time––and the way you had it wasto wreck the place like the rotten-souledhoodlums you are. Now, who is it wantsto fix the damn Lorrigans?”

“Me, for one; what yuh go’n take my girlaway from me for?” a flushed youth cried,and flung the dregs of his whisky glass atLance. There was not more than a halfteaspoon in the glass, but the intent wasplain enough.

Lance walked up and knocked that youngman staggering half across the room,slapped with the flat of his hand anotherwho leered at him, whirled to meet someone who struck him a glancing blow on theear, and flung him after the first.

“You’re all of you drunk––it’s a one-sided fight all the way through,” he cried,parrying a blow from Kennedy, who hadgotten to his feet and came at him againmouthing obscenity. “But I’ll lick you, ifyou insist.”

His coat had hampered him until itobligingly slit up the back. He wriggledout of the two halves, tore off his cuffs,and went after the crowd with his barefists. Some one lifted a chairthreateningly, and Lance seized it and sent

it crashing through a window. Some oneelse threw a beer mug, but he ducked intime and broke a knuckle on the front teethof the thrower. He saw a gap in the teeth,saw the man edge out of the fray spittingblood while he made for the door, and feltthat the blow was worth a broken knuckle.

It was not a pretty fight. Such fights neverare pretty. Lance himself was not a prettysight, when he had finished. There hadbeen shooting––but even in Jumpoff onehesitated to shoot down an unarmed man,so that the bar fixtures suffered most.Lance came out of it with a fragment ofshirt hanging down his chest like a baby’sbib, a cut lip that bled all over his chin, acheek skinned and swelling rapidly, thebad knuckle and the full flavor of victory.

The saloon looked as though cattle hadbeen driven through it. Bill Kennedy laysprawled over a card table, whimperinginarticulately because he had lost his gunat the dance. The flushed youth who hadrashly claimed Mary Hope as his girl wasoutside with a washbasin trying to stop hisnose from bleeding. Others wereministering to their hurts as best theymight, muttering the thoughts that theydared not express aloud.

Lance looked up from examination of hisknuckle, caressed his cut lip with the tipof his tongue, pulled the fragment of shirtdown as far as possible, gently rubbed hisswelling cheek, and turned to thebartender.

“I never licked a man yet and sent him

home thirsty,” he said. “Set it out for theboys––and give me another highball. Thenif you’ll lend me a coat and a pair ofgloves, I’ll go home.”

Peace was ratified in whisky drunksolemnly. Lance paid, and turned to go.One of the vanquished wabbled up to himand held out his hand to shake.

“You damn Lorrigans, you got us comin’and goin’,” he complained, “but shake,anyway. I’m Irish meself, and I know arale fight when I see it. What we didn’t gitat the dance before we left, by heavins yougive us when we got into town––so I’mone that’s game to say it was a fine danceand not a dull momint anywhere!”

“That’s something,” Lance grinned wrylyand wriggled into the fur overcoat which

the bartender generously lent him. Herejected the gloves when he found that hishands were puffed and painful, and wentout to find breakfast.

Over a thick white cup of dubious coffeeand a plate of sticky hot-cakes hemeditated glumly on the generalunappreciativeness of the world ingeneral, and of the Black Rim inparticular. What had happened at theschoolhouse he could only surmise, butfrom certain fragmentary remarks he hadoverheard he guessed that the schoolhouseprobably had suffered as much as thesaloon. Black Rim, it would seem, wasdetermined that the Lorrigans should go onliving up to their reputations, howeverpeacefully inclined the Lorrigans might

be.

Two disquieting thoughts he took with himto the stable when he went after the pintoteam: Mary Hope would say that it wasnot a pleasant surprise which he had givenher at Cottonwood Spring. And Belle,––he was not at all sure whether he was toobig for Belle’s quirt to find the tenderplaces on his legs, but he was very surethat the Irishman spoke the truth. Therewould still be no dull moments for Lancewhen he confronted the owner of that pintoteam.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HE TACKLES ANOTHER

Much to the disgust of Rosa and Subrosa,their new driver turned them from themain trail just as they were beginning toclimb joyously the first grade of Devil’sTooth Ridge. Rosa and Subrosa weresubdued, plainly resentful of theirsubjection, and fretting to be in their ownstalls. Belle they could and did bully to acertain extent. They loved to fight thingsout with Belle, they never missed anopportunity for “acting up”––yet thismorning they had been afraid to do more

than nag at each other with bared teeth;afraid to lope when this big man said,“Hey––settle down, there!” with a gratingkind of calm that carried with it a new andunknown menace.

Some one had exuberantly fired theWhipple shack, and the pintos wanted towhirl short around in their tracks whenthey saw the smoking embers. They hadwanted to bolt straight out across therocky upland and splinter the doubletree,and perhaps smash a wheel or two, andthen stand and kick gleefully at the wreck.If head-shakings and flattened ears meantanything, Rosa and Subrosa were twodisgruntled pintos that morning. They hadnot dared do more than cut a small half-circle out of the trail when they passed the

blackened spot that had been the Whippleshack.

Now they turned down the rocky, half-formed trail to Cottonwood Spring,reluctantly but with no more than a half-hearted kick from Subrosa to register theirdisgust. And to that Lance gave no heedwhatever. He did not so much as twitch arein or yell a threat. He drove surely––with one hand mostly because of thebroken knuckle, which was painful in theextreme––ignoring the pintos for the mostpart.

He was meditating rather gloomily uponthe innate cussedness of human nature as itwas developed in Black Rim Country. Hewas thinking of Mary Hope––a little; ofher eyes, that were so obstinately blue, so

antagonistically blue, and then, quiteunexpectedly, so wistfully blue; of hervoice, that dropped quite as unexpectedlyinto pure Scottish melody; of herprimness, that sometimes was not prim atall, but quaintly humorous, or wistfullyshy.

He was thinking more often of the dancethat had started out so well and hadended––Lord knew how, except that itended in a fight. He remembered striking,in that saloon, faces that had beenpummeled before ever he sent a jab theirway. There had been eyes already closedbehind purple, puffy curtains of bruisedflesh. He had fought animosity that wasnone of his creating.

Thinking of the fight, he thought of the

wrecked saloon when the fight was over.Thinking of the wrecked saloon led him tothink of the probable condition of the nicenew schoolhouse. Thinking of that broughthim back to Mary Hope,––to her face as itlooked when she rode up to the place onMonday morning. Ride up to it she must, ifshe meant to go on teaching, for there wasno more Whipple shack.

“Rotten bunch of rough-necks,” hesummed up the men of Black Rim and ofJumpoff. “And they’ll blame the Devil’sTooth outfit––they’ll say the Lorrigans didit. Oh, well––heck!”

So he drove down into the hollow, tied thepintos to the post where they stood thenight before, crawled through the wirefence where Mary Hope had left a small

three-cornered fragment of the coat that“wasna” hers at all, and went over to theschoolhouse, standing forlorn in thetrampled yard with broken sandwichesand bits of orange peel and empty whiskyflasks accentuating the unsightliness anddisorder.

The door swung half open. The floor wasscored, grimy with dirt tracked in onheedless feet and ground into the wax thathad been liberally scattered over it tomake the boards smooth for dancing. Awindow was broken,––by some one’selbow or by a pistol shot, Lance guessed.The planks placed along the wall on boxesto form seats were pulled askew, thestovepipe had been knocked down and laydisjointed and battered in a corner. It was

not, in Lance’s opinion, a pleasant littlesurprise for the girl with the Scotch blueeyes.

He pulled the door shut, picked up theempty whisky flasks and threw them, oneafter the other, as far as he could sendthem into a rocky gulch where Mary Hopewould not be likely to go. Then herecrossed the enclosure, crawled throughthe fence, untied the pintos and drovehome.

The bunk house emanated a pronouncedodor of whisky and bad air, and muchsnoring, just as Lance expected. Thehorses dozed in the corral or tossedlistlessly their trampled hay; the housewas quiet, deserted looking, with thedoors all closed and the blinds down in

the windows of the room that had been thebirthplace of Belle’s three boys.

Lance knew that every one would beasleep to-day. The Devil’s Tooth ranchhad always slept through the day after adance, with certain yawning intermissionsat mealtimes.

He unhitched the pintos, turned them loosein the corral, caught his own horse, whichone of the boys must have led home, andtied it to a post. From the chuck-wagon,standing just where Riley had driven it toa vacant spot beside the woodpile, Lancepurloined a can of pork and beans, a loafof bread, and some butter. These things heput in a bag.

For a minute he stood scowling at thesilent house, undecided, wondering just

how soundly Belle was sleeping. He wasnot afraid of Belle; no real Lorrigan wasever afraid of anything, as fear is usuallydefined. But he wanted to postpone for atime her reckoning with him. He wanted toface her when he had a free mind, whenshe had slept well, when her temper wasnot so edgy. He wanted other things,however, and he proceeded to get thosethings with the least effort and delay.

He wanted soft cloths. On the clotheslinedangled three undershirts, three pair ofdrawers and several mismated socks. Theshirts and drawers were of the kind knownas fleece-lined––which means that theyare fuzzy on the inside. They were Riley’scomplete wardrobe so far as underwearwent, but Lance did not trouble himself

with unimportant details. He took them all,because he had a swift mental picture ofthe schoolhouse floor which would needmuch scrubbing before it would be clean.

He was ready to mount and ride awaywhen he remembered something else thathe would need. “Lye!” he muttered, andretraced his steps to the house. Now hemust go into the kitchen shed for what hewanted, and Riley slept in a little roomnext the shed. But Riley was snoring witha perfect rhythm that bespoke a body sunkdeep in slumber, so Lance searched untilhe found what he wanted, and added a fullbox of a much-advertised washing powderfor good measure. He was fairly wellburdened when he finally started up thetrail again, but he believed that he had

everything that he would need, even alump of putty, and a pane of glass whichhe had carefully removed from a windowof the chicken house, and which he hopedwould fit.

You may think that he rode gladly upon hiserrand; that the thought of Mary Hopeturned the work before him into a labor oflove. It did not. Lance Lorrigan was theglummest young man in the whole BlackRim, and there was much glumnessamongst the Rim folk that day, let me tellyou. He ached from fighting, from dancing,from sleeping on the pool table, fromhanging for hours to those darned pintos.His left hand was swollen, and pains fromthe knuckle streaked like hot wires to hiselbow and beyond. His lips were sore––

so sore he could not even swear with anycomfort––and even the pulling together ofhis black eyebrows hurt his puffed cheek.And he never had scrubbed a floor in hislife, and knew that he was going to hatethe work even worse than he hated themen who had made the scrubbingnecessary.

While he went up the Slide trail he wishedthat he had never thought of giving adance. He wished he had gone down toLos Angeles for his Easter holiday, as oneof his pals had implored him to do. Hewished Mary Hope would quit teachingschool; what did she want to stay in theBlack Rim for, anyway? Why didn’t sheget out where she could amount tosomething?

If there were any caressing cadences inthe voice of Lance Lorrigan, anyprovocative tilt to his eyebrows, anytenderness in his smile, anythingenigmatical in his personality, none ofthese things were apparent when he set thefirst bucket of water on the stove to heat.He had added to his charms a broad streakof soot across his forehead and a scratchon his neck, acquired while putting up thestovepipe. He had set his lip to bleedingbecause he forgot that it was cut, and drewit sharply between his teeth when thestovepipe fell apart just when he was sureit was up to stay. He had invented twonew cuss-words. What he had not donewas weaken in his determination to makethat small schoolhouse a pleasant surprisefor Mary Hope.

He did the work thoroughly, though awoman might have pointed out wetcorners and certain muddy splashes on thewall. He lost all count of the buckets ofwater that he carried from the spring, andit occurred to him that Mary Hope wouldneed a new broom, for the one Belle hadprovided was worn down to a one-sidedwisp that reminded him of the beard of abilly goat. He used two cans of condensedlye and all of the washing powder, andsneezed himself too weak too swear overthe fine cloud of acrid dust that filled hisnostrils when he sprinkled the powder onthe floor. But the floor was clean when hefinished, and so was the platform outside.

Of Riley’s underwear there was left theleg of one pair of drawers, which Lance

reserved for dusting the desks and theglobe that had by some miracle escaped.While the floor was drying he took out thebroken windowpane, discovered that theone from the chicken house was too short,and cut his thumb while he chipped off apiece of glass from the other to fill thespace. He did not make a very good job ofit. To hold the glass in place, he usedshingle nails, which he had to hunt for onthe ground where they had dropped fromthe roof during shingling, and when theyhad been driven into the frame––with thehandle of the screwdriver––they showedvery plainly from the inside. Then theputty did not seem to want to stickanywhere, but kept crumbling off in littlelumps. So Lance threw the putty at agopher that was standing up nibbling one

of Riley’s sandwiches, and went after thedesks.

These took some time to unwrap and carryinto place. There were only twelve, butLance would have sworn before a jurythat he carried at least fifty single desksinto the schoolhouse that afternoon, andscrewed them to the floor, and unscrewedthem because the darned things did notline up straight when viewed from theteacher’s desk, and he had a vividimpression that blue, blue eyes can bevery critical over such things as a crookedline of desks!

Perhaps it was because his head achedsplittingly and his injured hand throbbeduntil it was practically useless; at any ratethe cleaning of the schoolhouse, especially

the placing of the desks, became fixedafterward in his memory as the biggest,the most disagreeable incident in hiswhole vacation.

At four-thirty however the task wasaccomplished. At the spring, Lancescrubbed the water bucket clean, washedthe dipper, placed them behind the door.He got wearily into the borrowed fur coat,took a last comprehensive survey of theroom from the doorway, went back toerase certain sentences scrawled on theblackboard by some would-be humorist,took another look at the work of his achinghands, and went away with the coffeepotin his hand and the screwdriver showingits battered wooden handle from the top ofhis pocket. He was too tired to feel any

glow of accomplishment, any great joy inthe thought of Mary Hope’s pleasure. Hewas not even sure that she would feel anypleasure.

His chief emotion was a gloomysatisfaction in knowing that the place wasonce more presentable, that it was readyfor Mary Hope to hang up her hat and ringher little bell and start right in teaching.That what the Lorrigans had set out to do,the Lorrigans had done.

At the ranch he found Riley at the bunkhouse wrangling with the boys over hislost wardrobe. In Riley’s opinion it was adarned poor idea of a darned poor joke,and it took a darned poor man toperpetrate it. Lance’s arrival scarcelyinterrupted the jangle of voices. The boys

had bruises of their own to nurse, and theyhad scant sympathy for Riley, and theytold him so.

Lance went into the house. He supposedhe would have to replace Riley’s clothes,which he did, very matter-of-factly andwithout any comment whatever, restitutionbeing in this case a mere matter of sortingout three suits of his own underwear,which were much better than Riley’s, andplacing them on the cook’s bed.

“That you, Lance? Where in the worldhave you been all this while? I camemighty near going gunning after the manthat stole my team, let me tell you––and Iwould have, if Tom hadn’t found yourhorse tied up to the fence and guessedyou’d gone to take Mary Hope home. But I

must say, honey, you never followed anyshort cut!”

This was much easier than Lance hadexpected, so he made shift to laugh, thoughit hurt his lip cruelly. “Had to take her toJumpoff, Belle. Then I had to clean up thatcrowd of toughs that––”

“You cleaned up Tom’s leavin’s, then!”Belle made grim comment through Lance’sclosed door. “I didn’t think there wasenough left of ’em to lick, by the time ourboys got through. Haven’t you been to bedyet, for heaven’s sake!”

“I’m going to bed,” mumbled Lance,“when I’ve had a bath and a meal. And to-morrow, Belle, I think I’ll hit the trail for’Frisco. Hope you don’t mind if I leave afew days early. I’ve got to stop offanyway to see a fellow in Reno Ipromised––any hot water handy?”

There was a perceptible pause beforeBelle answered, and then it was not aboutthe bath water. She would not have beenBelle Lorrigan if she had permitted aquiver in her voice, yet it made Lance

thoughtful.

“Honey, I don’t blame you for going. Iexpect we are awful rough––and you’dnotice it, coming from civilized folks.But––you know, don’t you, that theLorrigans never spoiled your party foryou? It––it just happened that the Jumpoffcrowd brought whisky out from town. Wetried to make it pleasant––and it won’thappen again––”

“Bless your heart!” Clad with superbsimplicity in a bathrobe, Lance appearedunexpectedly and gathered her into hisarms. “If you think I’m getting so darncivilized I can’t stay at home, take a lookat me! By heck, Belle, I’ll bet there isn’t aman in the whole Black Rim that got asmuch fun out of that scrap as I did! But

I’ve got to go.” He patted her reassuringlyon the head, laid his good cheek againsthers for a minute and turned abruptly awayinto his own room. He closed the door andstood absent-mindedly feeling his swollenhand. “I’ve got to go,” he repeated underhis breath. “I might get foolish if I stayed.Darned if I’ll make a fool of myself overany girl!”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ABOUT A PIANO

In the lazy hour just after a satisfyingdinner, Lance stood leaning over an end ofthe piano, watching Belle while sheplayed––he listened and smoked acigarette and looked as though he hadn’t athing on his mind.

“I remember you used to sing that a lot forthe little Douglas girl,” he observed idly.“She used to sit and look at you––myword, but her eyes were the bluest, thelonesomest eyes I ever saw! She seemedto think you were next to angels when you

sang. I saw it in her face, but I was toomuch of a kid then to know what it was.”He lighted a fresh cigarette, placed itbetween Belle’s lips so that she need notstop playing while she smoked, andlaughed as if he were rememberingsomething funny.

“She always looked so horrified when shesaw you smoking,” he said. “And soadoring when you sang, and so lonesomewhen she had to ride away. She was aqueer kid––and she’s just as unexpectednow––just as Scotch. Didn’t you find herthat way, dad?”

“She was Scotch enough,” Tom mumbledfr o m his chair by the fire. “Humpin’hyenas! She was like handlin’ a wildcat!”

“The poor kid never did have a chance to

be human,” said Belle, and ceased playingfor a moment. “Good heavens, how shedid enjoy the two hours I gave her at thepiano! She’s got the makings of amusician, if she could keep at it.”

“We-ell––” Having artfully led Belle tothis point, Lance quite as artfully edgedaway from it. “You gave her all thechance you could. And she ought to beable to go on, if she wants to. I supposeold Scotty’s human enough to get hersomething to play on.”

“Him? Human!” Tom shifted in his chair.“If pianos could breed and increase into aherd, and he could ship a carload everyfall, Scotty might spend a few dollars onone.”

“It’s a darned shame,” Belle exclaimed,

dropping her fingers to the keys again.“Mary Hope just starves for everythingthat makes life worth living. And that olddevil––”

“Say––don’t make me feel like a great,overgrown money-hog,” Lance protested.“A girl starving for music, because shehasn’t a piano to play on. And a pianocosts, say, three or four hundred dollars.Of course, we’ve got the money to buyone––I suppose I could dig up the pricemyself. I was thinking I’d stake ourschoolhouse to a library. That’s somethingit really needs. But a piano––I wish youhadn’t said anything about starving. Iknow I’d hate to go hungry for music,but––”

“Well, humpin’ hyenas! I’ll buy the girl a

piano. I guess it won’t break the outfit topay out a few more dollars, now we’vestarted. We’re outlaws, anyway––might aswell add one more crime to the list. Only,it don’t go to the Douglas shack––it goesinto the schoolhouse. Lance, you go aheadand pick out some books and ship ’em onto the ranch, and I’ll see they get overthere. Long as we’ve started fixin’ up aschool, we may as well finish the job upright. By Henry, I’ll show the Black Rimthat there ain’t anything small about theLorrigans, anyway!”

“Dad, I think you’re showin’ yourself areal sport,” Lance laughed. “We-ell, ifyou’re game to buy a piano, I’m game tobuy books. We staked Black Rim to aschool, so we’ll do the job right. And by

the way, Belle, if you’re going to get me toJumpoff in time for that evening train,don’t you think it’s about time youstarted?”

That is how it happened that Mary Hopewalked into the schoolhouse one Mondayand found a very shiny new piano standingacross one corner of the room where thelight was best. On the top was a pile ofmusic. In another corner of the room stooda bookcase and fifty volumes; she countedthem in her prim, frugal way that she hadlearned from her mother. They were booksevidently approved by some Board ofEducation for school libraries, and did notinterest her very much. Not when a pianostood in the other corner.

She was early, so she opened it and ran

her fingers over the keys. She knew wellenough who had brought it there, and hermouth was pressed into a straight line, hereyes were troubled.

The Lorrigans––always the Lorrigans!Why did they do these things when no oneexpected goodness or generosity fromthem? Why had they built theschoolhouse––and then given a dancewhere every one got drunk and the wholething ended in a fight? Every one said itwas the Lorrigans who had brought thewhisky. Some one told her they had a five-gallon keg of it in the shed behind theschoolhouse, and she thought it must betrue, the way all the men had acted. Andwhy had they burned the Whipple shackand all the school books, so that she could

not have school until more books werebought?––an expense which the Swedes,at least, could ill afford.

Why had Lance taken her to Jumpoff,away from the fighting, and then gonestraight to the saloon and gotten so drunkthat he fought every one in town before heleft in the morning? Why had he nevercome near her again? And now that hewas back in California, why did he ignoreher completely, and never send so much asa picture postal to show that he gave her athought now and then?

Mary Hope would not play the piano thatday. She was more stern than usual withher pupils, and would not so much asanswer them when they asked her wherethe piano and all the books had come

from. Which was a foolish thing to do,since the four Boyle children were keenenough to guess, and sure to carry thenews home, and to embellish the truth intrue range-gossip style.

Mary Hope fully decided that she wouldhave the piano hauled back to theLorrigans. Later, she was distressedbecause she could think of no one whowould take the time or the trouble toperform the duty, and a piano she had toadmit is not a thing you can tie behind thecantle of your saddle, or carry under yourarm. The books were a different matter.They were for the school. But the piano––well, the piano was for Mary HopeDouglas, and Mary Hope Douglas did notmean to be patronized in this manner by

Lance Lorrigan or any of his kin.

But she was a music-hungry little soul,and that night after she was sure that thechildren had ridden up over the basin’sbrim and were out of hearing, Mary Hopesat down and began to play. When shebegan to play she began to cry, though shewas hardly conscious of her tears. Sheseemed to hear Lance Lorrigan again,saying, “Don’t be lonely, you girl. Takethe little pleasant things that come––” Shewondered, in a whispery, heart-acheyway, if he had meant the piano when hesaid that. If he had meant––just a piano,and a lot of books for school!

The next thing that she realized was thatthe light was growing dim, and that herthroat was aching, and that she was

playing over and over a lovesong that hadthe refrain:

“Come back to me, sweetheart, and loveme as before––

Come back to me, sweetheart, and leaveme nevermore!”

Which was perfectly imbecile, a song shehad always hated because of its sicklysentimentality. She had no sweetheart, andhaving none, she certainly did not wanthim back. But she admitted that there wasa certain melodious swing to the tune, andthat her fingers had probably strayed intothe rhythm of it while she was thinking ofsomething totally different.

The next day she played a little atnoontime for the children, and whenschool was over she played for two hours.

And the next day after that slipped away––she really had meant to ride over to theAJ, or send a note by the children, askingJim Boyle if he could please remove thepiano and saying that she felt it was tooexpensive a gift for the school to acceptfrom the Lorrigans.

On the third day she really did send a primlittle note to Jim Boyle, and she receiveda laconic reply, wholly characteristic ofthe Black Rim’s attitude toward theDevil’s Tooth outfit.

“Take all you can git and git all you canwithout going to jale. That’s what theLorrigans are doing, Yrs truly,

“J. A. Boyle.”

It was useless to ask her father. She hadknown that all along. When Alexander

Douglas slipped the collars up on thenecks of his horses, he must see wheremoney would be gained from the labor.And there was no money for the Douglaspocket in hauling a piano down theDevil’s Tooth Ridge.

But the whole Black Rim was talkingabout it. Mary Hope felt sure that theywere saying ill-natured things behind herback. Never did she meet man or womanbut the piano was mentioned. Sometimesshe was asked, with meaning smiles, howshe had come to stand in so well with theDevil’s Tooth. She knew that they wereall gossiping of how Lance Lorrigan hadtaken her home from the dance, with BelleLorrigan’s bronco team. She had beenobliged to return a torn coat to Mrs.

Miller, and to receive her own and a longlecture on the wisdom of choosing one’scompany with some care. She had beenobliged to beg Mrs. Miller not to mentionthe matter to her parents, and the word hadgone round, and had reached MotherDouglas––and you can imagine howpleasant that made home for Mary Hope.

Because she was lonely, and no oneseemed willing to take it away, she keptthe piano. She played it, and while sheplayed she wept because the Rim folksimply would not understand how littleshe wanted the Lorrigans to do things forher. And then, one day, she hit upon a planof redeeming herself, for regaining theself-respect she felt was slipping from herwith every day that the piano stood in the

schoolhouse.

She would give a series of dances––theywould be orderly, well-behaved dances,with no refreshments stronger than coffeeand lemonade!––and she would selltickets, and invite every one she knew,and beg them to come and help to pay forthe school piano.

Even her mother approved that plan,though she did not approve dances. “Butthe folk are that sinfu’ they canna bide wi’any pleasure save the hoppin’ aboot wi’their arms around the waist of a woman,”she sighed. “A church social wad be farmore tae my liking, Hope––if we had onlya church!”

“Well, since there isn’t any church, andpeople won’t go to anything but a dance, I

shall have to get the money with dances,”Mary Hope replied with some asperity.The subject was beginning to wear hernerves. “Pay for it I shall, if it takes all myteacher’s salary for five years! I wish theLorrigans had minded their own business.I’ve heard nothing but piano ever since itcame there. I hate the Lorrigans!Sometimes I almost hate the piano.”

“Ye shud hae thought on all that before yeaccepit a ride home wi’ young Lance, wi’a coat ye didna own on your back, anddisobedience in your heart. ’Tis the worstof them a’ ye chose to escort ye, Hope,and if he thought he could safely presumeto gi’ ye a present like yon piano, ye haebut yersel’ tae blame for it.”

“He didn’t give it!” cried Mary Hope, her

eyes ablaze with resentment. “He wasnahere when it came. I havena heard fromhim and I dinna want to hear from him. Itwas Belle Lorrigan gave the piano, as I’vesaid a million times. And I shall pay forit––”

“Not from your ain pocket will ye pay. Yecan give the dance––and if ye make it theFourth of July, with a picnic in the grove,and a dance in the schoolhouseafterwards, ’tis possible Jeanie may comeup from Pocatello wi’ friends––and twadollars wad no be too much to ask for aday and a night of entertainment.”

“Well, mother! When you do––” MaryHope bit her tongue upon the remainder ofthe sentence. She had very nearly told hermother that when she did choose to be

human she had a great head for business.

It was a fine, practical idea, and MaryHope went energetically about itsdevelopment. She consulted Mrs.Kennedy. Mrs. Kennedy also had friendsin Pocatello, and she obligingly gave thenames of them all. She strongly advisedwritten invitations, with a ticket enclosedand the price marked plainly. She said itwas a crying shame the way the Lorriganshad conducted their dance, and that MaryHope ought to be very careful and notinclude any of that rough bunch in thisdance.

“Look how that young devil, LanceLorrigan, abused my Bill, right beforeeverybody!” she cited, shifting heryoungest child, who was teething, to her

hip that she might gesticulate more freely.“And look how they all piled into ourcrowd and beat ’em up! Great way todo––give a dance and then beat up thefolks that come to it! And look at whatLance done right here in town––as if itwasn’t enough, what they done out there!Bill’s got a crick in his back yet, whereLance knocked him over the edge of acard table. You pay ’em for the piano,Hope; I’ll help yuh scare up a crowd. Butdon’t you have none of the Lorrigans, orthere’ll be trouble sure!”

Mary Hope flushed. “I could hardly askthe Lorrigans to come and help pay fortheir own present,” she pointed out in herprim tone. “I had never intended to ask theLorrigans.”

“Well, maybe not. But if you did ask them,I know lots of folks that wouldn’t go astep––and my Bill’s one,” said Mrs.Kennedy.

So much depends upon one’s point ofview. Black Rim gossip, which persistedin linking Mary Hope’s name with LanceLorrigan, grinned among themselves whilethey mentioned the piano, the schoolhouse,and the library as evidence of Lance’sbeing “stuck on her.” The Boyle childrenhad frequently tattled to Mary Hope whatthey heard at home. Lance had done it allbecause he was in love with her.

Denial did not mend matters, even if MaryHope’s pride had not rebelled againstprotesting that the gossip was not true.Lance Lorrigan was not in love with her.

Over and over she told herself so, fiercelyand with much attention to evidence whichshe considered convincing. Only twiceshe had seen him in the two weeks of hisvisit. Once he had come to mend the lockhis father had broken, and he had taken herhome from the dance because of thefighting. Never had he made love to her....Here she would draw a long breath andwonder a little, and afterwards shake herhead and say to herself that he thought nomore of her than of Jennie Miller. He––hejust had a way with him.

Mary Hope’s point of view was, I think,justifiable. Leaving out the intolerableimplication that Lance had showeredbenefits upon her, she felt that theLorrigans had been over-generous. The

schoolhouse and the books might beaccepted as a public-spirited effort to dotheir part. But the piano, since it had notbeen returned, must be paid for. And itseemed to Mary Hope that the Lorrigansthemselves would deeply resent beinginvited to a dance openly given for thepurpose of raising money to repay them. Itwould never do; she could not ask them tocome.

Moreover, if the Lorrigans came therewould be trouble, whether there waswhisky or not. At the house-warmingdance the Lorrigans had practicallycleaned out the crowd and sent them homelong before daylight. There had been noserious shooting––the Lorrigans hadfought with their fists and had somehow

held the crowd back from the danger-lineof gun-play. But Mary Hope feared therewould be a killing the next time that theJumpoff crowd and the Lorrigans cametogether.

She tried to be just, but she had heard onlyone side of the affair,––which was not theLorrigan side. Whispers had long beengoing round among the Black Rim folk;sinister whispers that had to do with cattleand horses that had disappearedmysteriously from the Rim range. MaryHope could not help hearing the whispers,could not help wondering if underneaththem there was a basis of truth. Her fatherstill believed, in spite of Tom’sexoneration, that his spotty yearling hadgone down the gullets of Devil’s Tooth

men. She did not know, but it seemed toher that where every one hinted at thesame thing, there must be some truth intheir hints.

All of which proves, I think, that MaryHope’s point of view was the only onethat she could logically hold, living as shedid in the camp of the enemy; having, asshe had, a delicate sense of propriety, andwanting above all things to do nothingcrude and common. As she saw it, shesimply could not ask any of the Lorrigansto her picnic and dance on the Fourth ofJuly.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE LORRIGAN VIEWPOINT

I have said that much depends upon one’spoint of view. Mary Hope’s viewpointwas not shared by the Devil’s Tooth. Theyhad one of their own, and to them itseemed perfectly logical, absolutelyjustifiable.

They heard all about the Fourth of Julypicnic and dance, to be held atCottonwood Spring and in theschoolhouse of their own building.Immediately they remembered thatCottonwood Spring was on Lorrigan land,

that Lorrigan money had paid for thematerial that went into the schoolhouse,that Lorrigan labor had built it, Lorrigangenerosity had given it over to the publicas represented by Mary Hope Douglas andthe children who came to her to be taught.In their minds loomed the fact thatLorrigan money had bought books for theschool, and that Tom Lorrigan himself hadpaid close to four hundred dollars for thepiano.

They heard that invitations were beingsent broadcast, that a crowd was comingfrom Pocatello, from Lava, fromJumpoff––invited to come and spend a dayand night in merry-making. Yet noinvitation came to the Devil’s Toothranch, not a word was said to them by

Mary Hope, not a hint that they wereexpected, or would be welcome.

Belle met Mary Hope in the trail one day,just a week before the Fourth. Mary Hopewas riding home from school; Belle wasdriving out from Jumpoff. It is the customof the outland places for acquaintances tostop for a bit of friendly conversationwhen they meet, since meetings are so farbetween. But, though Belle slowed thepintos to a walk, Mary Hope only nodded,said, “How do you do,” and rode on.

“She looked guilty,” Belle reportedwrathfully to Tom and the boys at thesupper table. “Guilty as sin. She seemedto be afraid I was going to ask her if Icouldn’t come to her dance. The littlefool! Does she think for a minute I’d go?

She hasn’t so much as thanked you for thatpiano, Tom. She hasn’t said one word.”

“Well, I didn’t put my name and ad-dresson it,” Tom palliated the ingratitude whilehe buttered a hot biscuit generously. “Andthere wasn’t any name on the books toshow who bought ’em. Maybe shethinks––”

“I don’t care what she thinks! It’s the wayshe acts that counts. Everybody in Jumpoffhas got invitations to her picnic and dance.They say it’s to pay us for the piano––andthey think she’s doing some wonderfulstunt. And we’re left out in the cold!”

“We never was in where it was rightwarm, since I can remember,” said Al.“Except when we made it warmourselves.”

“Sam Pretty Cow was sayingyesterday––” and Duke repeated a bit ofgossip that had a gibe at the Lorrigans forits point. “He got it over to Hitchcocks. Itcome from the Douglases. I guess MaryHope don’t want nothing of us––exceptwhat she can get out of us. We been agood thing, all right––easy marks.”

Duke had done the least for her andtherefore felt qualified to say the most.His last sentence did its work. Tom pulledhis eyebrows together, drew his lipbetween his teeth and leaned back in hischair, thinking deeply, his eyes glitteringbetween his half-closed lids.

“Easy marks, ay?” he snorted. “TheLorrigans have been called plenty ofthings, fur back as I can remember, but by

the humpin’ hyenas, they never was calledeasy marks before!”

That was Tom’s last comment on thesubject. Belle, not liking the look on hisface, because she knew quite well what itportended, passed him two kinds ofpreserves and changed the subject. Al andDuke presently left for the bunk house.Mary Hope’s party and her evidentintention to slight the Lorrigans was notmentioned again for days.

But Tom’s wrath was smoldering. He wasn o t hasty. He waited. He himself metMary Hope in the trail one day, lifted hishat to her without a word and rode on.Mary Hope let him go with a chilly nodand a murmured greeting which was nomore than an empty form. Certainly she

did not read Tom’s mind, did not dreamthat he was thinking of the piano,––andfrom an angle that had never oncepresented itself to her.

So, now that you see how both werejustified in their opinions, as formed fromdifferent points of view, let me tell youwhat happened.

Mary Hope had her picnic, with never athunderstorm to mar the day. Which isunusual, since a picnic nearly always getsitself rained upon. She had sent out morethan a hundred invitations––tickets twodollars, please––and there were morewho invited themselves and had to besupplied with tickets cut hastily out ofpasteboard boxes that had heldsandwiches.

Mary Hope was jubilant. Mother Douglas,as official hostess, moved here and thereamong the women who fussed over thebaskets and placated with broken piecesof cake their persistent offspring. MotherDouglas actually smiled, though her faceplainly showed that it was quiteunaccustomed to the expression, and tiltedthe smile downward at the corners.Mother Douglas was a good woman, butshe had had little in her life to bringsmiles, and her habitual expression wasone of mournful endurance.

It was sultry, and toward evening themosquitoes swarmed out of the lush grassaround the spring and set the horsesstamping and moving about uneasily. Butit was a very successful picnic, with all

the chatter, all the gourmandizing, all thegossip, all the childish romping instarched white frocks, all the innocuouspastimes that one expects to find atpicnics.

Mary Hope wondered how in the worldthey were all going to find room inside theschoolhouse to dance. She had been frugalin the matter of music, dreading to spendany money in hiring professionalmusicians, lest she might not have enoughpeople to justify the expense. Now shewished nervously that she had done asLance Lorrigan had done, and broughtmusicians from Lava. Of course, there hadbeen no piano when Lance gave his party,which was different. She herself meant toplay, and Art Miller had brought his

fiddle, and Jennie had volunteered to“chord” with him. But, Mary Hope feltmuch nervous apprehension lest thesePocatello and Lava people should think itwas just Scotch stinginess on her part.

Late in the afternoon a few of the ranchersrode hastily homeward to “do the chores,”but the Lava and Pocatello crowdremained, and began to drift up to theschoolhouse and drum on the piano thatwas actually going to pay for itself andfree Mary Hope’s pride from its burden.

By sundown a dozen energetic coupleswere waltzing while a Pocatello dentistwith a stiff, sandy pompadour chewedgum and played loudly, with much armmovement and very little rhythm; so verylittle rhythm that the shuffling feet

frequently ceased shuffling, andexpostulations rose high above histhunderous chords.

By dusk the overworked ranch women hadfed the last hungry mouth and put away thefragments of home-baked cakes and thicksandwiches, and were forming a solid lineof light shirtwaists and dark skirts alongthe wall. The dance was really beginning.

As before, groups of men stood aroundoutside and smoked and slapped atmosquitoes––except that at Lance’s partythere had been no mosquitoes to slap––and talked in undertones the gossip of theranges. If now and then the name ofLorrigan was mentioned, there was noLorrigan present to hear. At intervals the“floor manager” would come to the door

and call out numbers: “Number one, andup to and including sixteen, git yourpardners fer a two-step!” Whereuponcertain men would pinch out the glow oftheir cigarettes and grind the stubs into thesod under their heels, and go in to findpartners. With that crowd, not all coulddance at once; Mary Hope rememberedpridefully that there had been no dancingby numbers at the party Lance Lorrigangave.

What a terrible dance that had been! Aregular rowdy affair. And this crowd, bigas it was, had as yet shown no dispositionto rowdyism. It surely did make adifference, thought Mary Hope, what kindof people sponsored an entertainment.With the Devil’s Tooth outfit as the

leaders, who could expect anything buttrouble?

Then she caught herself thinking, with avague heaviness in her heart, how Lancehad taken her away from that other dance;of that long, wonderful, silent ride throughthe starlight; how careful he had been ofher––how tender! But it was only the wayhe had with him, she later remindedherself impatiently, and smiled over hershoulder at the whirling couples whodanced to the music she made; and thoughtof the money that made her purse heavy aslead, the money that would wipe out herdebt to the Lorrigans,––to Lance, if itreally were Lance who had bought thepiano.

A faint sound came to her through the open

window, the rattle of a wagon comingdown the hill in the dark. More peoplewere coming to the dance, which meantmore money to give to the Lorrigans. MaryHope smiled again and played faster; sofast that more than one young man shookhis head at her as he circled past, andpuffed ostentatiously, laughing at the paceshe set. She had a wild vision of otherdances which she would give––LaborDay, Thanksgiving, Christmas, NewYear’s––and pay the Lorrigans foreverything they had done; for the books,for the schoolhouse, everything. She feltthat then, and then only, could she faceLance Lorrigan level-eyed, cool, calm,feeling herself a match for him.

The rattle of the wagon sounded nearer,

circled the yard, came in at the gate. MaryHope was giving the dancers the fastesttwo-step she could play, and she laughedaloud. More people were coming to thedance, and there might not be coffee andsandwiches enough at midnight,––she hadover three hundred dollars already.

The dancers whirled past, parted to rightand left, stopped all at once. Mary Hope,still playing, looked over her shoulder––into the dark, impenetrable gaze of TomLorrigan, standing there in his workingclothes, with his big, black Stetson on hishead and his six-shooter in its holster onhis hip. Behind him Mary Hope saw Aland Duke and Belle, and behind themother Devil’s Tooth men, cowboys whomshe only knew slightly from meeting them

sometimes in the trail as she rode to andfrom school. The cowboys seemed to befacing the other way, holding back thecrowd near the door.

Mary Hope looked again into Tom’s face,looked at Belle. Her fingers strayeduncertainly over the keys, makingdiscords. She half rose, then sat downagain. The room, all at once, seemed verystill.

“I’m sorry to disturb yuh,” Tom said,touching his hat brim and lifting hiseyebrows at her, half smiling with his lipspulled to one side, like Lance––oh,maddeningly like Lance!––“but I’ve comeafter the piano.”

Mary Hope gasped. Her arms went outinstinctively across the keyboard, as if she

would protect the instrument from hisdefaming touch.

“I’ll have to ask yuh to move,” said Tom.“Sorry to disturb yuh.”

“I––I’m going to pay for it,” said MaryHope, finding her voice faint and husky.She had an odd sensation that this was anightmare. She had dreamed so often ofthe dance and of the Lorrigans.

“I paid for it long ago. I bought thepiano––I’ve come after it.”

Mary Hope slid off the stool, stood facinghim, her eyes very blue. After all, he wasnot Lance. “You can’t have it!” she said.“I won’t let you take it. I’m raising moneyto pay you for it, and I intend to keep it.”She reached for her purse, but Tom

restrained her with a gesture.

“It ain’t for sale,” he said, with thathateful smile that always made herwonder just what lay behind it. “I own it,and I ain’t thinking of selling. Here’s theshipping bill and the guarantee and all; Ibrought ’em along to show you, in caseyou got curious about whose piano it is.You see the number on the bill––86945.You’ll find it tallies with the number inthe case, if you want to look. Pete, Ed,John, take it and load it in the wagon.”

“Well, now, see here! This is an outrage!How much is the darn thing worth,anyway? This crowd is not going to standby and see a raw deal like this pulled off.”It was the Pocatello dentist, and he wasvery much excited.

“You saw a raw deal, and stood for it,when you saw the Lorrigans cold-shouldered out of the dance,” Belleflashed at him. “We’ve stood for a lot, butthis went a little beyond our limit.”

“We’re not going to stand for anything likethis, you know!” Another man––also fromLava––shouldered his way up to them.

“Git outa the way, or you’ll git trompedon!” cried Pete over his shoulder as hebacked, embracing the piano and gropingfor handholds.

The Lava man gripped Pete, trying to pullhim away. Pete kicked back viciouslywith a spurred heel. The Lava man yelledand retreated, limping.

Just how it happened, no two men or

women afterward agreed in the telling.But somehow the merrymakers, who weremerry no longer, went back and back untilthey were packed solidly at the sides andnear the door, a few squeezing through itwhen they were lucky enough to findroom. Behind them came four of theDevil’s Tooth men with six-shooters,looking the crowd coldly in the eyes.Behind these came the piano, propelled bythose whom Tom had named with the toneof authority.

The crowd squeezed closer against thewall as the piano went past them. Therewas not so much noise and confusion asone would expect. Then, at the last, slim,overworked, round-shouldered MotherDouglas, who had done little save pray

and weep and work and scold all her life,walked up and slapped Belle full on thecheek.

“Ye painted Jezebel!” she cried, her eyesburning. “Long have I wanted to smack yefor your wickedness and the brazen waysof ye––ye painted Jezebel!”

Blind, dazed with anger, Belle struckback.

“Don’t you touch my mother! Shame onyou! Shame on you all! I didna ask you foryour favors, for any gifts––and you gavethem and then you come and take them––”This was the voice of Mary Hope, shrillwith rage.

“You gave a dance in a house built for youby the Lorrigans, on Lorrigan land, and

you danced to the music of a Lorriganpiano––and the Lorrigans were not goodenough to be asked to come! Get outa myway, Hope Douglas––and take yourmother with you. Call me a paintedJezebel, will she?”

The piano was outside, being loaded intothe wagon, where Riley sat on the seat,chewing tobacco grimly and expectoratingcopiously, without regard for those whocame close. Outside there was also muchclamor of voices. A lantern held high by aDevil’s Tooth man who had a gun in theother, lighted the platform and the wagonbeside it.

At the last, Tom Lorrigan himself wentback after the stool, and the room silencedso that his footsteps sounded loud on the

empty floor. He looked at Mary Hope,looked at her mother, looked at thehuddled, whispering women, the gapingchildren. He swung out of his course andslipped one arm around Belle and so ledher outside, the stool swinging by one legin the other hand.

“A painted Jezebel!” Belle said under herbreath when they were outside the ring oflight. “My God, Tom, think of that!”

Mary Hope had never in her life sufferedsuch humiliation. It seemed to her that shestood disgraced before the whole world,that there was no spot wherein she mighthide her shame. Her mother was weepinghysterically because she had been “slappitby the painted Jezebel” and because Aleckwas not there to avenge her. The Pocatello

and Lava crowd seemed on the point ofleaving, and were talking very fast inundertones that made Mary Hope feel thatthey were talking about her. The rattle ofthe Lorrigan wagon hauling the pianoaway, the click of the horses’ feet as theDevil’s Tooth riders convoyed theinstrument, made her wince, and want toput her palms over her ears to shut out thesound of it.

But she was Scotch, and a Douglas. Therewas no weak fiber that would let herslump before this emergency. She wentback to the little platform, stood besidethe desk that held the globe and thedictionary and a can of flowers, andrapped loudly with the ruler from thePocatello hardware store. By degrees the

room ceased buzzing with excited talk, theshuffling feet stood still.

“I am very sorry,” said Mary Hopeclearly, “that your pleasure has––has beeninterrupted. It seems there has been amisunderstanding about the piano. Ithought that I could buy it for the school,and for that reason I gave this dance. But itseems––that––I’m terribly sorry the dancehas been spoiled for you, and if thegentlemen who bought tickets will pleasestep this way, I will return your money.”

She had to clench her teeth to keep herlips from trembling. Her hands shook sothat she could scarcely open her handbag.But her purpose never faltered, her eyeswere blue and sparkling when she lookedout over the crowd. She waited. Feet

scuffled the bare floor, voices whispered,but no man came toward her.

“I want to return your money,” she saidsharply, “because without the piano Isuppose you will not want to dance,and––”

“Aw, the dickens!” cried a big, good-natured cowpuncher with a sun-peelednose and twinkly gray eyes. “I guess weall have danced plenty without no pianomusic. There’s mouth harps in this crowd,and there’s a fiddle. Git yore pardners fora square dance!” And under his breath, tohis immediate masculine neighbors headded: “To hell with the Lorrigans andtheir piano!”

Mary Hope could have hugged thatcowpuncher who hastily seized her hand

and swung her into place as the firstcouple in the first set.

When the three sets were formed he calledthe dance figures in a sonorous tone thatswept out through the open windows andreached the ears of the Lorrigans as theyrode away.

“Honor yore pardner––and the lady onyour left!

Join eight hands, an’ a-circle to the left!Break an Indian trail home in the Indian

style, with thelady in the lead!

Swing the lady behind you once in awhile!––

The lady behind you once in a while!––Now your pardner, and go hog wild!”

The fiddle and two mouth harps were

scarcely heard above the rhythmicstamping of feet, the loud chant of thecaller, who swung Mary Hope clear of thefloor whenever he put his arm around her.

“A––second couple out, and a-cir-clefour!

Lay-dees do ce do!You swing me, an’ I’ll swing you––

And we’ll all dance in the same ole shoe!

“Same four on to the next!––dance theocean wave!

The same ole boys, the same ole trail,Watch that possum walk the rail!

Cir-cle six, and a-do ce do!Swing, every one swing, and a––

promenade home!”“Who wants a piano? Couldn’t hear it if

yuh’ had it!” he cried, while the twelvecouples paused breathless. Then he wipedhis face frankly and thoroughly with hishandkerchief, caught Mary Hope’s hand inhis, lifted his voice again in his contagioussing-song:

“Cir-cle eight, till you get straight!Swing them ladies, like swingin’ on a

gate!Left foot up, and-a-right foot down––

Make that big foot jar the ground!Prom-e-nade!

Swing yore corner, if you ain’t too slow!Now yore pardner, and around you go!For the––last time––and a-long time––You know where, and a-I don’t care!”

The dance was saved by the bigcowpuncher with the peeling nose and the

twinkly gray eyes. Mary Hope had neverseen him before that day, but whenevershe looked at him a lump came in herthroat, a warm rush of sheer gratitudethrilled her. She did not learn his name––two or three men called him Burt, but heseemed to be a stranger in the country.Burt saved her dance and kept thingsmoving until the sky was streaked with redand birds were twittering outside in thecottonwoods.

She wanted to thank him, to tell him alittle of her gratitude. But when she wentto look for him afterwards he was gone,and no one seemed to know just where hebelonged. Which was strange, when youconsider that in the Black Rim countryevery one knows everybody.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

PEDDLED RUMORS

In the smoking compartment of a Pullmancar that rocked westward from Pocatellotwo days after the Fourth, Lance sprawledhis big body on a long seat, his headjoggling against the dusty window, hismind sleepily recalling, round by round, acertain prize fight that had held him inReno over the Fourth and had cost himsome money and much disgust. Theclicking of the car trucks directlyunderneath, the whirring of the electric fanover his head, the reek of tobacco smoke

seemed to him to last for hours, seemedlikely to go on forever. Above it all, risingstridently now and then in a disagreeablemonotone, the harsh, faintly snarling voiceof a man on the opposite seat blendedunpleasantly with his dozing discomfort.For a long time the man had been talking,and Lance had been aware of a gratingquality of the voice, that yet seemedhumorous in its utterances, since his twolisteners laughed frequently and madebrief, profane comment that encouragedthe talker to go on. Finally, as he slowlyreturned from the hazy borderland ofs l umbe r, Lance became indifferentlyaware of the man’s words.

From under the peak of his plaid travelingcap Lance lifted his eyelids the length of

his black lashes, measured the men with ahalf-minute survey and closed his eyesagain. The face matched the voice. Aharsh face, with bold blue eyes, blackeyebrows that met over his nose, a mouthslightly prominent, hard and tilteddownward at the corners. Over theharshness like a veil was spread asardonic kind of humor that gave attractionto the man’s personality. In the monotoneof his voice was threaded a certain drywit that gave point to his observations. Hewas an automobile salesman, it appeared,and his headquarters were in Ogden, andhe was going through to Shoshone onbusiness connected with a delayedshipment of cars. But he was talking, whenLance first awoke to his monologue, of thesagebrush country through which the fast

mail was reeling drunkenly, making uptime that had been lost because of awashout that had held the train for an hourwhile two section crews sweated over abroken culvert.

“––And by gosh! the funniest thing I eversaw happened right up here in a stretch ofcountry they call the Black Rim. If I was astory writer, I sure would write it up. Talkabout the West being tame!––why, I cantake you right now, within a few hours’ride, to where men ride with guns on ’emjust as much as they wear their pants. Onlyreason they ain’t all killed off, I reckon, isbecause they all pack guns.

“Hard-boiled? Say, there’s a bunch upthere that’s never been curried below theknees––and never will be. They pulled off

a stunt the Fourth that I’ll bet ain’t everbeen duplicated anywhere on earth, andnever will be. I was in Pocatello, and Iwent on up with the crowd from there, andgot in on the show. And sa-ay, it wassome show!

“They’ve got a feud up there that’s rock-bottomed as any feud you ever heard of inKentucky. It’s been going on for years, andit’ll keep going on till the old folks all dieoff or move away––or land in the pen.Hasn’t been a killing in there for years,but that’s because they’re all so damntough they know if one starts shooting it’llspread like a prairie fire through drygrass.

“There’s an outfit in there––the Devil’sTooth outfit. Far back as the country was

settled––well, they say the first Lorriganwent up in there to get away from the draftin the Civil War, and headed a gang ofoutlaws that shot and hung more whitemen and Injuns than any outfit in theState––and that’s going some.

“They were killers from the first draw.Other settlers went in, and had to knuckleunder. The Devil’s Tooth gang had theBlack Rim in its fist. Father to son––theyhanded down the disposition––I could tellyuh from here to Boise yarns about thatoutfit.

“Now, of course, things have tamed down.As I say, there hasn’t been a Devil’sTooth killing for years. But it’s there, youknow––it’s in the blood. It’s all under thesurface. They’re a good-hearted bunch,

but it’ll take about four generations to livedown the reputation they’ve got, if they allturned Methodist preachers. And,” thegrating voice paused for a minute, so thatone caught the full significance of his hint,“if all yuh hear is true, religion ain’tstruck the Devil’s Tooth yet. It ain’t mybusiness to peddle rumors, and the time’spast when you can hang a man onsuspicion––but if you read about theDevil’s Tooth outfit some time in thepaper, remember I said it’s brewing. Thepresent Tom Lorrigan ain’t spending allhis time driving his cows to water. Hewas hauled up a few years ago, on acharge of rustling. An old Scotchman hadhim arrested. Tom was cleared––he hadthe best lawyer in the West––brought himfrom Boise, where they need good

lawyers!––and got off clear. And sincethen he’s been laying low. That’s the onemistake he’s made, in my opinion. Henever did a damn thing, never tried to killthe Scotchman, never acted up at all. Andwhen you think of the breed of cats he isyou’ll see yourself that the Black Rim issetting on a volcano.

“Tom Lorrigan has got more men workingfor him than any outfit in that country. Heruns his own round-up and won’t have arep––that’s a representative––from anyother outfit in his camp. His own men hazeoutside stock off his range. He’s gettingrich. He ships more cattle, more horsesthan anybody in the country. He don’t haveany truck with any of his neighbors, andhis men don’t. They’re outside men,

mostly. There ain’t a thing anybody canswear to––there ain’t a thing said out loudabout the Devil’s Tooth. But it’s hintedand it’s whispered.

“So all this preamble prepares you for thefunniest thing I ever saw pulled. But Iguess I’m about the only one who sawhow funny it was. I know the Black Rimdon’t seem to see the joke, and I know theDevil’s Tooth don’t.

“You see, it’s so big and neighbors are sofar apart that there ain’t any schooldistrict, and a few kids were gettingschool age, and no place to send ’em. So acouple of families got together and hiredthe daughter of this old Scotchman to teachschool. I ain’t calling her by name––she’sa nice kid, and a nervy kid, and I can see

where she thought she was doing the rightthing.

“Well, she taught in a tumble-down littleshack for a while, and one day this TomLorrigan come along, and saw how thegirl and the kids were sitting there halffroze, and he hazed ’em all home. Brokeup the school. Being a Lorrigan, all he’dhave to do would be to tell ’em to git––butit made a little stir, all right. Theschoolma’am, she went right back the nextmorning and started in again. Like shooinga setting hen off her nest, it was.

“Well, next thing they knew, the Devil’sTooth had built a schoolhouse and saidnothing about it. Tom’s a big-heartedcuss––I know Tom––tried to sell him acar, last fall. Darn near made it stick, too.

I figured that Tom Lorrigan was maybeashamed of busting up the school andmaking talk, so he put up a regularschoolhouse. Then one of his boys hadbeen away to college––only one of theoutfit that ever went beyond the Rim, asfar as I know––and he gave a dance; aregular house-warming.

“Well, I wasn’t at that dance. I wish I hadbeen. They packed in whisky by thebarrel. Everybody got drunk, andeverybody got to fighting. This youngrooster from college licked a dozen or so,and then took the schoolma’am and droveclear to Jumpoff with her, and lickedeverybody in town before he left. Sa-ay, itmusta been some dance, all right!

“Then––here comes the funny part.

Everybody was all stirred up over theLorrigans’ dance, and right in the middleof the powwow, blest if the Lorrigansdidn’t buy a brand new piano and haul itto the schoolhouse. They say it was thecollege youth, that was stuck on theschoolma’am. Well, everybody out thatway got to talking and gossiping––youknow how it goes––until theschoolma’am, just to settle the talk, goesand gives a dance to raise money to payfor the piano. She’s all right––I don’t thinkfor a minute she’s anything but right––andit might have been old Tom himself thatbought the piano. Anyway, she went andsent invitations all around, two dollars perinvite, and got a big crowd. Had a picnicin the grove, and everything was lovely.

“But sa-ay! She forgot to invite theLorrigans! Everybody in the country there,except the Devil’s Tooth outfit. I figurethat she was afraid they might rough thingsup a little––and maybe she didn’t like toask them to pay for something they’dalready paid for––but anyway, just whenthe dance was going good, here came thewhole Devil’s Tooth outfit with a four-horse team, and I’m darned if they didn’twalk right in there, in the middle of adance, take the piano stool right out fromunder the schoolma’am, and haul the pianohome! They––”

A loud guffaw from his friends halted thenarrative there. Before the teller of thetale went on, Lance pulled his cap downover his eyes, got up and walked out and

stood on the platform.

“They hauled the piano home!” Hescowled out at the reeling line oftelegraph posts. “They––hauled––thatpiano––home!”

He lighted a cigar, took two puffs andthrew the thing out over the rail. “Shedidn’t ask the Lorrigans––to her party.And dad––”

He whirled and went back into thesmoking compartment. He wanted to hearmore. The seat he had occupied was stillempty and he settled into it, his cap pulledover his eyes, a magazine before his face.The others paid no attention. The harsh-voiced man was still talking.

“Well, they can’t go on forever. They’re

bound to slip up, soon or late. And now,of course, there’s a line-up against them.It’s in the blood and I don’t reckon theycan change––but the country’s changing. Iknow of one man that’s in there now,working in the dark, trying to get thegoods––but of course, it’s not my businessto peddle that kind of stuff. I was tickledabout the piano, though. The schoolma’amwas game. She offered to give us back ourtwo dollars per, but of course nobody waspiker enough to take her up on it. We wentahead and had the dance with harmonicasand a fiddle, and made out all right. Looksto me like the schoolma’am’s all to thegood. She’s got the dance money––”

It was of no use. Lance found he could notlisten to that man talking about Mary

Hope. To strike the man on his fish-like,hard-lipped mouth would only makematters worse, so he once more left thecompartment and stood in the opendoorway of the vestibule just beyond. Thetrain, slowing to a stop at a tank station,jarred to a standstill. In the compartmentbehind him the man’s voice sounded loudand raucous now that the mechanicalnoises had ceased.

“Well, I never knew it to fail––what’s inthe blood will come out. They’ve livedthere for three generations now. They’rekillers, thieves at heart––human birds ofprey, and it don’t matter if it is all underthe surface. I say it’s there.”

At that moment, Lance had the hunger tokill, to stop forever the harsh voice that

talked on and on of the Lorrigans and theiringrained badness. He stepped outside,slamming the door shut behind him. Thevoice, fainter now, could still be heard.He swung down to the cinders, stood therestaring ahead at the long train, counting thecars, watching the fireman run with his oilcan and climb into the engine cab. Hecould no longer hear the voice, but he feltthat he must forget it or go back and killthe man who owned it.

In the car ahead a little girl leaned out ofthe window, her curls whipping acrossher face. Jubilantly she waved her hand athim, shrilled a sweet, “Hello-oh. Whereyou goin’? I’m goin’ to my grandma’shouse!”

The rigor left Lance’s jaw. He smiled,

showing his teeth, saw that a brakemanwas down inspecting a hot box on theforward truck of that car, and walkedalong to the window where the little girlleaned and waited, waving two stickyhands at him to hurry.

“Hello, baby. I know a grandma that’sgoing to be mighty happy, before long,” hesaid, standing just under the window andlooking up at her.

“D’you know my gran’ma? S’e lives in agreen house an’ s’e’s got five––hundredbaby kittens for me to see! An’ I’m goin’to bring one home wis me––but I do’nowhich one. D’you like yellow kittens, orlitty gray kittens, or black ones?”

Gravely Lance studied the matter, hiseyebrows pulled together, his mouth

wearing the expression which haddisturbed Mary Hope when he came tomend the lock on her door.

“I’d take––now, if your grandma has onethat’s all spotted, you might take that,couldn’t you? Then some days you’d lovethe yellow spots, and some days you’dlove the black spots, and some days––”

“Ooh! And I could call it all the nicenames I want to call it!” The little girlpressed her hands together rapturously.“When my kitty’s got its yellow-spottyday, I’ll call him Goldy, and when––”

The engine bell clanged warning, thewheels began slowly to turn.

“Ooh! You’ll get left and have to walk!”cried the little girl, in big-eyed alarm.

“All right, baby––you take the spottedone!” Lance called over his shoulder as heran. He was smiling when he swung up thesteps. No longer did he feel that he mustkill the harsh-voiced man.

He went forward to his own section, satdown and stared out of the window. Asthe memory of the little girl faded hedrifted into gloomily reviewing the thingshe had heard said of his family. Were theyreally pariahs among their kind? Outlawedbecause of the blood that flowed in theirveins?

Away in the back of his mind, pushedthere because the thought was notpleasant, and because thinking could notmake it pleasant, had been the knowledgethat he was returning to a life with which

he no longer seemed to be quite in tune.Two weeks had served to show him thathe had somehow drifted away from hisfather and Duke and Al, that he hadsomehow come to look at life differently.He did not believe in the harsh man’stheory of their outlawry; yet he felt areluctance toward meeting again theirsilent measurement of himself, theirintangible aloofness.

The harsh-voiced man had dragged it allto the surface, roughly sketching for thedelectation of his friends the very thingswhich Lance had been deliberatelycovering from his own eyes. He had donemore. He had told things that made Lancewince. To humiliate Mary Hope beforethe whole Black Rim, as they had done, to

take away the piano which he had wantedher to have––for that Lance could havethrottled his dad. It was like Tom to do it.Lance could not doubt that he had done it.He could picture the whole wretchedlycheap retaliation for the slight which MaryHope had given them, and the picturetormented him, made him writhe mentally.But he could picture also Mary Hope’sprim disapproval of them all, herdeliberate omission of the Lorrigans fromher list of invited guests, and toward thatpicture he felt a keen resentment.

The whole thing maddened him. The more,because he was in a sense responsible forit all. Just because he had not wanted thatlonely look to cloud the blue eyes of her,just because he had not wanted her to be

unhappy in her isolation, he had somehowbrought to the surface all those boorishqualities which he had begun to hate in hisfamily.

“Cheap––cheap as dirt!” he gritted once,and he included them all in thedenunciation.

Furiously he wished that he had gonestraight home, had not stopped in Reno forthe fight. But on the heels of that he knewthat he would have made the troubleworse, had he been at the Devil’s Toothon the day of the Fourth. He would havequarreled with Tom, but there was scanthope that he could have prevented thepiano-moving. Tom Lorrigan, as Lancehad plenty of memories to testify, was notthe man whom one could prevent from

doing what he set out to do.

At a little junction Lance changed to thebranch line, still dwelling fiercely uponhis heritage, upon the lawless environmentin which that heritage of violence hadflourished. He was in the mood to live upto the Lorrigan reputation when he swungoff the train at Jumpoff, but no mancrossed his trail.

So Lance carried with him the fullmeasure of his rage against Mary Hopeand the Devil’s Tooth, when he rode outof Jumpoff on a lean-flanked black horsethat rolled a wicked eye back at the riderand carried his head high, looking fortrouble along the trail.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

MARY HOPE HAS MUCH TROUBLE

Mary Hope, still taking her own point ofview, had troubles in plenty to bear. In herown way she was quite as furious as wasLance, felt quite as injured as did theDevil’s Tooth outfit, had all thehumiliation of knowing that the Black Rimtalked of nothing but her quarrel with theLorrigans, and in addition had certaindomestic worries of her own.

Her mother harped continually on thepiano quarrel and the indignity of havingbeen “slappit” by the painted Jezebel. But

that was not what worried Mary Hopemost, for she was long accustomed to hermother’s habit of dwelling tearfully onsome particular wrong that had been doneher. Mary Hope was worried over herfather.

On the day of the Fourth he had stayed athome, tinkering up his machinery, makingready for haying that was soon to occupyall his waking hours,––and they would beas many as daylight would give him. Hehad been doing something to an oldmower that should have gone to the junkheap long ago, and with the rusty sickle hehad managed to cut his hand very deeply,just under the ball of the thumb. He hadnot taken the trouble to cleanse the cutthoroughly, but had wrapped his

handkerchief around the hand and goneglumly on with his work. Now, on thethird day, Mary Hope had becomefrightened at the discoloration of thewound and the way in which his arm wasswelling, and had begged him to let herdrive him to Jumpoff where he could takethe train to Lava and a doctor. As might beexpected, he had refused to do anything ofthe kind. He would not spend the time, andhe would not spend the money, and hethought that a poultice would draw out theswelling well enough. Mary Hope had nofaith in poultices, and she was on the pointof riding to Jumpoff and telegraphing for adoctor when her father cannily read hermind and forbade her so sternly that shequailed before him.

There was another thing, which she mustdo. She must take the money she hadgotten from the dance and with it pay TomLorrigan for the schoolhouse, or stop theschool altogether. Jim Boyle, when shehad ridden over to the AJ to tell him, hadsaid that she could do as she pleasedabout paying for the schoolhouse; but ifshe refused to teach his kids, he would getsome one else who would. Jim Boyleseemed to feel no compunctions whateverabout accepting favors from the Devil’sTooth. As to Sederson, the Swede, he wasworking for Boyle, and did what his bosssaid. So the matter was flung back uponMary Hope for adjustment according tothe dictates of her pride or conscience,call it which you will.

Her mother advised her to keep the moneyand buy another piano. But Mary Hopedeclared that she would not use theschoolhouse while it was a Lorrigan gift;whereupon Mother Douglas yielded thepoint grudgingly and told her to sendHugh, the gawky youth, to the Devil’sTooth with the three hundred dollars and anote saying what the money was for. Buther father would not permit Hugh to go,reiterating feverishly that he needed Hughon the ranch. And with the pain rackinghim and making his temper somethingfearful to face, Mary Hope dared notargue with him.

So she herself set out with her money andher hurt pride and all her troubles, to paythe Devil’s Tooth outfit for the

schoolhouse––approximately, since shehad only a vague idea of the cost of thebuilding––and then be quit of the Lorriganpatronage forever.

It happened that she found Tom at homeand evidently in a temper not much milderthan her father’s. Two of the Devil’sTooth men were at the stable door whenshe rode up, and to them Tom was talkingin a voice that sent shivers over MaryHope when she heard it. Not loud anddeclamatory, like her father’s, but with acertain implacable calm that was harder toface than stormy vituperation.

But she faced it, now that she was thereand Tom had been warned of her comingby Coaley, who pointed his ears forwardinquiringly when she neared the stable.

The two cowpunchers gave Tom slantingglances and left, muttering under theirbreaths to each other as they led theirsweaty horses into a farther corral.

Tom lifted his hand to his hat brim in muterecognition of her presence, gave her aswift inquiring look and turned Coaleyinto the stable with the saddle on. MaryHope took one deep breath and, fumblingat a heavy little bag tied beside the fork ofher saddle, plunged straight into hersubject.

“I’ve brought the money I raised at thedance, Mr. Lorrigan,” she said. “Sinceyou refused to take it for the piano, I havebrought it to pay you for theschoolhouse––with Mr. Boyle’s approval.I have three hundred and twelve dollars. If

that is not enough, I will pay you thebalance later.” She felt secretly ratherwell satisfied with the speech, which wenteven better than her rehearsals of it on theway over.

Then, having untied the bag, she lookedup, and her satisfaction slumped abruptlyinto perturbation. Tom was leaning backagainst the corral rails, with his armsfolded––and just why must he lift hiseyebrows and smile like Lance? She wasgoing to hand him the bag, but her fingersbungled and she dropped it in the six-inchdust of the trail.

Tom unfolded his arms, moved forward apace, picked up the bag and offered it toher. “You’ve got the buying fever, lookslike to me,” he observed coldly. “I haven’t

got any schoolhouse to sell.”

“But you have! You built it, and––”

“I did build a shack up on the hill, awhileback,” Tom admitted in the samedeliberate tone, “but I turned it over to JimBoyle and the Swede and whoever elsewanted to send their kids there to school.”Since Mary Hope refused to put out herhand for the bag, Tom began very calmlyto retie it on her saddle. But she struck hishand away.

“I shall not take the money. I shall pay forthe schoolhouse, Mr. Lorrigan. Unless Ican pay for it I shall never teach schoolthere another day!” Her voice shook withnervous tension. One did not lightly andunthinkingly measure wills with TomLorrigan.

“That’s your business, whether you teachschool or not,” said Tom, holding the bagas though he still meant to tie it on thesaddle.

“But if I don’t they will hire anotherteacher, and that will drive me away fromhome to earn money––” Mary Hope hadnot in the least intended to say that, whichmight be interpreted as a bid for sympathy.

“Well, Belle, she says no strange womancan use that schoolhouse. They might notfind anything to teach school in, if theytried that.”

“You’ve got to keep that money.” MaryHope turned the Roman-nosed horse halfaway, meaning to leave Tom there withthe money in his hand.

Tom reached calmly out and caught thehorse by the bridle.

“I want to tell you something,” hedrawled, in the voice which she had heardwhen she came up. “I haven’t ‘got’ to doanything. But I tell you what I will do. Ifyou don’t take this money back and goahead with your school-teaching as ifnothing had happened, I’ll burn thatschoolhouse to the last chip in the yard.And this money I’ll take and throw downthat crevice under the Tooth, up there. Themoney won’t do nobody any good, and theschoolhouse won’t be nothing at all but ablack spot. You can suit yourself––it’s upto you.”

Mary Hope looked at him, opened her lipsto defy him, and instead gave a small sob.

Her Scotch blood chilled at the threat ofsuch wanton destruction of property andmoney, but it was not that which made herafraid at that moment of Tom Lorrigan,––held her silent, glaring impotently.

She trembled while he tied the money tothe saddle fork again, using a knot she hadnever seen tied before. She wanted to tellhim how much she hated him, how muchshe hated the whole Lorrigan family, howshe would die before she ever entered thedoor of that schoolhouse again unless itwas paid for and she could be free ofobligation to him.

But when his head was bent, hiding all ofhis face but the chin, she had a wildfleeting notion that he was Lance, and thathe would lift his head and smile at her.

Yet when he lifted his head he was justTom Lorrigan, with a hardness in his facewhich Lance did not have, and a glint inhis eye that told her his will wasinexorable, that he would do exactly whathe said he would do, and perhaps more, ifshe opposed him.

Without a word she turned back, crushedunder the sense of defeat. Uselessdestruction of property and money did notseem to mean anything at all to a Lorrigan,but to her the thought was horrible. Shecould not endure the thought of what hewould do if she refused to use theschoolhouse. Much less could she endurethe thought of entering the place againwhile it remained a Lorrigan gift.

Blindly fighting an hysterical impulse to

cry aloud like a child over her hurt, shereined Jamie into the shortcut trail of theSlide. Coming down she had followed thewagon road, partly because the longertrail postponed a dreaded meeting, andpartly because Jamie, being uncertain inhis temper and inclined to panicky spellswhen things did not go just right with him,could not safely be trusted on the Slidetrail, which was strange to him.

Until she reached the narrow place alongthe shale side hill she did not realize whattrail she was taking. Then, because shecould not leave the trail and take the roadwithout retracing her steps almost to thestable, she went on, giving Jamie animpatient kick with her heel and sendinghim snorting over the treacherous stuff in a

high canter.

“Go on and break your neck and mine too,if ye like,” she sobbed. “Ye needn’t thinkI’ll give an inch to you; it’s bad enough.”When Jamie, still snorting, still recklesswith his feet, somehow managed to passover the boulder-strewn stretch withoutbreaking a leg, Mary Hope choked backthe obstreperous lump in her throat andspoke again in a quiet fury of resentment.“Burn it he may if he likes; I shall not putmy foot again inside a house of theLorrigans!”

Whereat Jamie threw up his head, shied ata white rock on the steep slope beneath,loped through the sagebrush where thetrail was almost level, scrambled up asteep, deep-worn bit of trail, turned the

sharp corner of the switch-back andentered that rift in the cap-rock known asthe Slide.

Mary Hope had traveled that trail manytimes on Rab, a few years ago. She hadalways entered the Slide with a little thrillalong her spine, knowing it for a placewhere Adventure might meet her face toface––where Danger lurked and might oneday spring out at her. To-day she thoughtnothing about it until Jamie squatted andtried to whirl back. Then she looked upand saw Adventure, Danger and LanceLorrigan just ahead, where the Slide wassteepest.

Lance pulled up his hired horse, histhoughts coming back with a jerk from thesame disagreeable subject that had

engrossed Mary Hope. The hired horsejumped, tried his best not to sit down,lunged forward to save himself, foundhimself held back with a strength that didnot yield an inch, and paused wild-eyed,his hind feet slipping and scraping therock.

Jamie in that moment was behaving muchworse. Jamie, finding that he could notturn around, was backing down the Slide,every step threatening to land him in aheap. Mary Hope turned white, her eyesstaring up at Lance a little above her. Inthat instant they both remembered the shortturn of the switch-back, and the twelve-foot bank with the scrambling trail downwhich no horse could walk backwardsand keep his legs under him.

“Loosen the reins and spur him!” Lance’svoice sounded hollow, pent within thatrock-walled slit. In the narrow space hewas crowding his own horse against theright wall so that he might dismount.

Mary Hope leaned obediently forward,the reins hanging loose. “He always backsup when he’s scared,” she panted, whenJamie paid no attention.

Instinctively Lance’s hand felt for hisrope. On the livery saddle there didhappen to be a poor sort of grass-roperiata, cheap and stiff and clumsily coiled,but fortunately with a loop in the end.

“Don’t lasso Jamie! He always fights arope. He’ll throw himself!” Mary Hope’svoice was strained and unnatural.

Lance flipped a kink out of the rope. Inthat narrow space the loop must be a smallone; he had one swift, sickening vision ofwhat might happen if the little looptightened around her neck. “Put up yourhands––close to your head,” hecommanded her. “It’s all right. Don’t beafraid––it’s all right, girl––”

He shot the loop straight out and down ather, saw it settle over her head, slip overher elbows, her shoulders. “It’s all right––can you get off!”

She tried, but the space was too narrow torisk it, with Jamie still going backward ina brainless panic. He would havetrampled her beneath him had she done so.

“Stay on––but be all ready to jump whenhe leaves the Slide. Don’t be afraid––it’s

all right. He won’t hurt you; he won’t hurtyou at all.” He was edging closer to thehorse, holding the rope taut in his righthand, his left ready to catch Jamie by thebridle once he came near enough. His onefear was that the horse might fall before hewas out of the gash, and in falling mightcrush Mary Hope against the rocks.

As Lance came on, Jamie backed faster,his haunches dropped, his feet slippingunder him. Lance dared not crowd him,dared not reach for the bridle, still morethan an arm’s length away. So Jamie cameout of the Slide backwards, saw with asudden panic-stricken toss of his head thathe had open daylight all around him,whirled short and gave one headlong leapaway from the place that had terrified him

so.

Lance jumped, reaching for Mary Hope asthe horse went over the bank. By thelength of his hand he missed her, but therope pulled her free from Jamie, and shefell prone on the trail and lay still.

“Are you hurt? Good God! are you hurt?”Lance gathered her in his arms and carriedher to where the rock wall made a shadyband across the steep slope.

Mary Hope was very white, very limp,and her eyes were closed. On her cheekshe saw where tears had lately been. Hermouth had a pitiful little droop. He satdown, still holding her like a child, andfelt tentatively of her arms, her shoulders,vaguely prepared to feel the crunch of abroken bone. There was no water nearer

than the ranch. Jamie, having rolled overtwice, was lying on his side near ascraggly buck-brush, looking back up thehill, apparently wondering whether itwould be worth while to get up. The hiredhorse, having found a niche wherein to sethis hind feet, stood staring down throughthe Slide, afraid to come farther, unable toretreat.

One side of Mary Hope’s face was dusty,the skin roughened with small scratcheswhere she had fallen. With hishandkerchief Lance very gently wipedaway the dust, took off her hat and fannedher face, watching absently two locks ofhair that blew back and forth across herforehead with the breeze made by theswaying hat brim.

She was not dead! She could not be dead,with that short fall. Then he saw that shewas breathing faintly, unevenly, and inanother minute he saw her lashes quiveragainst her tanned cheek. But her eyes didnot open, the color did not flow back intoher face.

“Oh, girl––girl, wake up!” With a littleshake he pulled her close to him. “Openyour eyes. I want to see your eyes. I wantto see if they are just as blue as ever.Girl––oh, you poor little girl!”

He had been hating her, furious at theinsult she had given his family. Angry ashe was with the Lorrigans, resentingfiercely what they had done, he had hatedMary Hope Douglas more, because thehurt was more personal, struck deep into a

part of his soul that had grown tender. Buthe could not hate her now––not when shelay there in his arms with her tear-stainedcheek against his heart, her eyes shut, andwith that pathetic droop to her lips. Gentlyhe tucked back the locks of hair that keptblowing across her forehead. Verytenderly, with a whimsical pretense atself-pity, he upbraided her for the troubleshe was giving him.

“Must I go clear down to the ranch andpack up water in my hat, and slosh it onyour face? I’ll do that, girl, if you don’topen your eyes and look at me. You’re nothurt; are you hurt? You’d better wake upand tell me, or I’ll have to take you rightup in my arms and carry you all the waydown to the house, and ride like heck for a

doctor, and––”

“Ye will not!” she retorted faintly, andunexpectedly he was looking into hereyes, bluer than he had remembered them;troubled, questioning––but stubbornagainst his suggestion. She moveduneasily, and he lifted her to the bankbeside him and put one arm behind her, sothat she leaned against him.

“Oh, very well––then I will not. You’llwalk with me to the house, and we’ll letBelle––”

“I will not! Never in my life will I enterthe house of a Lorrigan!” Mary Hopebrushed a palm against her forehead,straightened herself as if she resented herweakness, wished to hold herself alooffrom him. She did not look at Lance, but

stared across the narrow valley to thesage-clothed bluff beyond.

“Why not? You’ve just come from theLorrigans, haven’t you?” Lance studiedher face. “You must have, or you wouldn’tbe on this trail.”

“I went down to pay for the schoolhouse,since your father took the piano away.––And he would not take the money, and hesaid he would burn the house if I don’tteach in it––and I’ll die before ever I’llopen the door again, unless he takes themoney. And he said if I left the money hewould throw it down the creviceyonder––and he would do it! And do youthink I’ll be under any obligation to TomLorrigan? You called my father hard, butyour father is the hardest man that ever

lived. The Lorrigans shall not––”

Lance laughed, set her hat wrong sidebefore on her head, tucked the elastic bandunder her chin, laughed again when shepettishly removed it and set the hatstraight. “I wouldn’t worry over theschoolhouse right now––nor TomLorrigan either,” he said. “Look at yourhorse down there. If you’re all right, I’llgo down and see how many bones he’sbroken. You had a chance for a nasty pile-up. Do you know that?”

“I’m grateful,” said Mary Hope soberly.“But it was Lorrigan meanness brought mehere; it was a Lorrigan got me into thetrouble now, and a Lorrigan got me out ofit. It’s always the Lorrigans.”

“Yes, and a Lorrigan’s got to see you a

little farther before you’re through withthem, so cheer up.” Lance laughed again,an amused little chuckle that wascalculated to take the droop out of MaryHope’s lips, and failed completely.

He saw her cheeks were reddening, sawtoo that her face gave evidence of noparticular bodily pain. She had probablyfainted from fright, more than anythingelse, he decided, and her fright was nowforgotten in her animosity. He slid off thebank, went down to where Jamie lay, tookhim by the bridle and urged him to stand.Which Jamie, after one or two scramblingattempts, managed to do. But the horsewas hurt. He could scarcely hobble to thetrail.

Without paying any visible attention to

Mary Hope, Lance removed her saddlefrom Jamie, and brought it up to where shesat dispiritedly watching him. His mannerwas brisk, kind enough, but had analoofness which made her keenly awarethat he accepted her adherence to the feudand tacitly took his own place with theLorrigans. Over this emergency she feltthat he had unspokenly set a flag of truce.His attitude depressed her.

“There are just two things to do,” he said,laying the saddle at her feet. “You mayride that livery horse back home, and I’llcome along to-morrow and pick him upand take him in with me to Jumpoff; or youcan let me go down to the ranch and bringup a gentle horse, and you can ride thathome. I can get him when I come out to-

morrow with my traps. I advise you totake the gentle horse from the ranch, afterthe shake-up you’ve had. This town horseis not easy gaited, by any means. Yourhorse I’ll manage to get down to the ranchand do what I can for him. It’s hisshoulder, I think, from the way he acts. Hemay be all right after a while.”

Mary Hope looked distressfully at Jamie,standing dejected where Lance had lefthim, his head sagging, every line of himshowing how sick of life he was. Sheglanced swiftly up at Lance, bent her headsuddenly and pressed the tips of herfingers along her cheek bones, wipingaway tears that came brimming over hereyelids.

“You’d better let me bring up a horse and

take you home,” Lance urged, thecaressing note creeping into his voice.

“Oh, no! I can’t! I––what do I care how Iget home? But if your father won’t take themoney––You don’t know! The whole Rimtalks and gossips until I wish I were dead!And I can’t go on using the schoolhouse––and Tom Lorrigan says if I don’t––” Shewas crying at last, silently, miserably, herface hidden behind her hands.

“He’ll take the money.” Lance, after anindeterminate minute while he watchedher, laid his hand lightly on her shoulder.“I’ll see that dad takes it. And I’ll giveyou a bill of sale that ought to shut theBlack Rim mouths. I’m a Lorrigan and I’mnot going to apologize for the blood that’sin me, but I want you to know that if I had

been home on the night of the Fourth theLorrigans wouldn’t have done the rottencheap thing they did.”

Mary Hope heard him tearing a leaf out ofhis memorandum book, looked up at himwhile he wrote rapidly. Without anycomment whatever he gave her the paper,went up to where the hired horse stood,and coaxed it down through the Slide.Quickly, with the deftness that told oflifelong intimacy with horses and saddles,he set her own saddle on the hired horse,while Mary Hope read the terse bill ofsale that set forth the legal “Ten dollarsand other valuable considerations,” andwas signed “Thomas Lorrigan, per L. M.Lorrigan.” It all seemed very businesslike,and heartened her so much that she was

willing to be nice to Lance Lorrigan. ButLance remained strictly neutral.

“I’ll lead him up the Slide for you,” hesaid unemotionally when the horse wasready. “After he’s over that, I think you’llbe all right; you’re a good rider. And youneed not feel under any obligations then tothe Lorrigans. I was practically throughwith the horse, anyway, and it will be notrouble at all to drive by your place andget him to-morrow.”

“I can lead him up––” Mary Hope began,but Lance had already turned the horse andstarted him up the Slide, so there wasnothing for her to do but follow.

At the top she gave him the money bag,which he took without any wordswhatever on the subject. He held the horse

until she had mounted, made sure that shewas all right, chilled by his perfectpoliteness her nervous overture toward amore friendly parting, lifted his hat andturned immediately to go back down theSlide.

Mary Hope glanced back over hershoulder and saw his bobbing hat crown.“Ah, he’s just a Lorrigan, and I hate themall. But he let me pay––I’m quits withthem now––and I’ll never in my life speakto one of them again!”

CHAPTER TWENTY

AS HE LIVED, SO HE DIED

Belle Lorrigan, with Lance beside her onthe one seat of the swaying buckboard,swung through the open gate of theDouglas yard and drove to the sun-baked,empty corral. In the doorway of the house,as they dashed past, the bent body ofMother Douglas appeared. She stoodstaring after them, her eyes blurred withtears. “It’s that huzzy, the Lorriganwoman,” she said flatly, wiping her faceon her checked apron, stiffly starched andvery clean. “Do you go, Mary Hope, and

get them the horse they’ve come for. IfHugh were here––”

From somewhere within the house thevoice of Aleck Douglas rose suddenly in ahigh-keyed vindictive chanting. MotherDouglas turned, but the old man came witha rush across the floor, brushed past herand went swaying drunkenly to the corral,shouting meaningless threats. After himwent Mary Hope, her eyes wide, her skirtflapping about her ankles as she ran.

“Oh, please do not pay any attention tofather!” she cried, hurrying to overtakehim before he reached the buckboard.“He’s out of his head with pain, and hewill not have a doctor––Father! listen!They only came for the horse I borrowedyesterday––they’re going directly––come

back and get into your bed, father!”

Aleck Douglas was picking up a brokenneck yoke for a weapon when Lancesprang out over a wheel and grappledwith him. The old man’s right arm wasswollen to twice its natural size andbandaged to his shoulder. His eyes werebloodshot, his breath fetid with the feverthat burned him when he turned his faceclose to Lance.

“It’s his arm makes him crazy,” said MaryHope breathlessly. “Last night it began,and mother and I cannot keep him in hisbed, and we don’t know what to do! Hewill not have a doctor, he says––”

“He’d better have,” said Belle shortly,hanging to the pintos that danced andsnorted at the excitement. “I’ll send one

out. Lance, you better stay here and lookafter him––he’ll kill somebody yet. Aren’tthere any men on the place, for heaven’ssake?”

Mary Hope said there wasn’t, that Hughwas not expected back before night. Theyhad bought a horse from the Millers, and ithad jumped the fence and gone home, andHugh had gone after it. Then she ran to dowhat she could to calm her father. Scotty,it would seem, wanted to drive theLorrigans off his land because they werethieves and cutthroats and had come thereto rob him boldly in the broad light of day.

“Bat him on the head if you have to,Lance,” Belle called, cold-eyed butcapable. “He’ll get sunstroke out here inthis heat. And if you can get him into the

house you had better tie him down till adoctor comes.” Then she left, with thepintos circling in a lope to get out throughthe gate and into the trail.

The last she saw of them, Lance and MaryHope were both struggling with the oldman, forcing him foot by foot to the house,where Mother Douglas stood on thedoorstep crying, with her apron to herface.

She had the tough little team in a whitelather, with their stubborn heads hanginglevel with their knees, when she stoppedat the little railroad station and sent aperemptory wire to the Lava doctor whowas most popular in the Black Rim. Shewaited until he arrived on the train whichhe luckily had time to catch, and then, the

pintos having somewhat recovered underthe solicitous rubbing-down of a hollow-chested stableman, she hustled the doctorand his black case into the buckboard andmade the return drive in one hour and fiftyminutes, which was breaking even herown record, who was called the hardestdriver in the whole Rim country.

They found Lance with his coat off and theperspiration streaming down his face,battling with Aleck Douglas who wasraving still of the Lorrigans andthreatening to kill this one who would notleave him alone to die in peace. MaryHope and her mother were in the hot littlekitchen where the last of the sunlightstreamed through the faded green mosquitonetting that sagged in and out as the breeze

of sundown pushed through lazily.

The Lava doctor did not say much. Hequieted the raving with his hypodermicneedle, removed the amateurish bandagefrom the hand and the arm, looked at thewound, applied a cooling lotion, anddexterously wound on a fresh bandage. Itseemed very little, Mary Hope thoughtdully, for a doctor to come all the wayfrom Lava to do.

He would stay all night, he said. And theLorrigans went home silent, depressed,even Belle finding nothing to say.

“I’ll ride over in the morning and see howhe is,” Lance observed, as the tired littleteam climbed the Devil’s Tooth Ridge.“I’ll have to get the horse, anyway.”

The next morning, when he arrived ratherearly, he learned from Mary Hope that herfather had died just before daylight, andthat Hugh had not come back, and thedoctor wanted to be taken to Jumpoff, andshe could not leave her mother therealone, and a coffin must be ordered, andshe did not know what to do. She was pasttears, it seemed to Lance. She was whiteand worn and worried, and there wassomething in her eyes that made them tootragic to look at. He stood just outside thekitchen door and talked with her in a lowvoice so that Mother Douglas, weepingaudibly in the kitchen, need not know hewas there.

“The doctor can ride that livery horse in,”he said soothingly. “And I’ll wire to Lava

for anything that you want, and notify anyfriends you would like to have come andsee you through this.” He was very carefulnot to accent the word friends, but MaryHope gave him a quick, pathetic glancewhen he said it.

“You’ve been kind––I––I can’t say justwhat I would like to say––but you’ve beenkinder than some friends would be.”

She left the doorstep and walked with himto the stable, Lance leading his horse andslowing his pace to match her wearysteps. “It––seems unreal, like somethingI’m dreaming. And––and I hope you won’tpay any attention to what father––said. Hewas out of his mind, and while he had thebelief, he––”

“I’d rather not talk about that,” Lance

interrupted quietly. “Your father believedthat we’re all of us thieves, that we stolehis stock. Perhaps you believe it––I don’tknow. We’ve a hard name, got when thecountry was hard and it took hard men tosurvive. I don’t think the Lorrigans, whenyou come right down to it, were anyworse than their neighbors. They’re noworse now. They got the name of beingworse, just because they were––well,stronger; harder to bully, harder to defeat.The Lorrigans could hold their own andthen some. They’re still holding their own.There never was a Lorrigan ever yetbacked down from anything, so I’m notgoing to back down from the name the Rimhas given us. I’m glad I’m a Lorrigan. ButI’m not glad to have you hate me for it.”

They were at the stable door, which MaryHope pulled open. The hired horse stoodin the second stall. Lance dropped thereins of his own horse, turned to MaryHope and laid his hands on her shoulders,looking down enigmatically into herupturned, troubled face.

“Girl, don’t let us worry you at all.You’ve got trouble enough, and I’m goingto do all I can to help you through it. I’llsend out friends; and then the Lorriganswon’t bother you. We won’t come to thefuneral, because your father wouldn’t liketo see us around, and your motherwouldn’t like to see us around, andyou––”

“Oh, don’t!” Mary Hope drooped her faceuntil her forehead rested on Lance’s arm.

Lance quivered a little. “Girl––girl, whatis it about you that drives a man mad withtenderness for you, sometimes?” Heslipped his free arm around her shoulders,pressed her close. “Oh, girl––girl! Don’thate Lance––just because he’s a Lorrigan.Be fairer than that.” He bent his head tokiss her, drew himself suddenly straight,his brows frowning.

“There––run back and ask your motherwhat all she would like to have done forher in town, and tell the doctor that I’llhave the horse ready for him in about twominutes. And be game––just go on beinggame. Your friends will be here just assoon as I can get them here.” He turnedinto the stable and began saddling thehorse.

Mary Hope, after a moment of indecision,went back to the house, walking slowly,as though she dreaded entering again totake up the heavy burden of sorrow thatmust be borne with all its sordid details,all the meaningless little conventions thatattend the passing of a human soul. Shehad not loved her father very much. Hewas not a man to be loved. But his goingwas a bereavement, would leave adesolate emptiness in her life. Her motherwould fill with weeping reminiscence thehours she would have spent incomplaining of his harshness. She herselfmust somehow take charge of the ranch,must somehow fill her father’s place thatseemed all at once so big, so important inher world.

She looked back, wistfully, saw Lanceleading out the horse. He had told her tobe game––to go on being game. Shewondered if he knew just how hard it wasgoing to be for her. He had said that theLorrigans were strong, were harder todefeat, had always held their own. He wasproud because of their strength! She liftedher head, carefully wiped the tears fromher cheeks––Mary Hope seemed alwaysto be wiping tears from her cheekslately!––and opened the door. TheLorrigans? Very well, there was also theDouglas blood, and that was not weakerthan the Lorrigan.

She was quite calm, quite impersonalwhen she gave Lance a list of the pitifullysmall errands she and her mother would

be grateful if he would perform for them.Her lips did not quiver, her hands did nottremble when she took her father’s old redmorocco wallet from the bureau drawerand gave Lance money to pay for thethings they would need. Or if he wouldjust hand the list to the Kennedys, she toldhim, they would be glad to attend toeverything and save him the bother. Theywould come out at once, and perhaps Mrs.Smith would come. She thanked himcivilly for the trouble he had already takenand added a message of thanks for Belle.She thanked him for the use of the horseand for attending to the schoolhouse matterfor her. She was so extremely thankful thatLance exploded in one two-word oathwhen he rode away. Whereupon thedoctor, who knew nothing of Lance’s

thoughts, looked at him in astonishment.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

LANCE TRAILS A MYSTERY

Lance, rising at what he considered anearly hour––five in the morning may wellbe considered early,––went whistlingdown to the corral to see what plans wereon for the day. It was the day of AleckDouglas’s funeral, but the Devil’s Toothoutfit would be represented only by awreath of white carnations which Bellehad ordered sent up from Pocatello. Whitecarnations and Aleck Douglas did notseem to harmonize, but neither did theDevil’s Tooth and Aleck Douglas, and the

white wreath would be much lessconspicuous and far more acceptable thanthe Lorrigans, Lance was thinking.

He paused at the bunk-house and lookedin. The place was deserted. He walkedthrough it to the kitchen where the boysate––the chuck-house, they called it––andfound nothing to indicate that a meal hadbeen eaten there lately. He went out anddown to the stable, where Sam Pretty Cowwas just finishing his stall cleaning.Shorty, who now had a permanently lameleg from falling under his horse up in theLava Beds a year ago, was limping acrossthe first corral with two full milk bucketsin his hands.

“Say, what time does this ranch get up, forheck sake?” Lance inquired of Sam Pretty

Cow, stepping aside so that Sam mightcarry in a forkful of fresh hay.

“I dunno––long time ago.” Sam PrettyCow turned the hay sidewise and went into stuff his fragrant burden into themanger.

“I was going out with the boys, if theywent anywhere. Where have they allheaded for, Sam? I could overtake them,maybe.”

Sam Pretty Cow, returning to the doorway,shifted a quid of tobacco from one cheekto the other and grinned.

“I dunno, me,” he responded amiably.

“You don’t know? Didn’t dad sayanything? Didn’t the boys?” And then,with faint exasperation, “Doesn’t any one

ever talk any more on this ranch?”

Sam Pretty Cow gave him a swift, obliqueglance and spat accurately at a greathorsefly that had lighted on a board end.

“Not much, you bet. Nh-hn.”

Lance called to Shorty, who had set hismilk buckets down that he might open thelittle gate that swung inward,––the gatewhich horses were not supposed to knowanything about.

“Oh-h, Shorty! Where did dad and theboys go this morning?”

Shorty turned slowly, pulling the gateopen and propping it with a stick until hehad set the buckets through. Deliberationwas in his manner, deliberation was in hisspeech.

“Las’ night, you mean. They hit out rightafter midnight.”

“Well, where did they go?” Lance groundhis cigarette under his heel.

“You might ask ’em when they git back,”Shorty suggested cryptically, and closedthe gate just as carefully as if fortyfreedom-hungry horses were millinginside the corral.

Lance watched him go and turned to SamPretty Cow who, having thrust his hay forkbehind a brace in the stable wall, waspreparing to vary his tobacco-chewingwith a smoke.

“What’s the mystery, Sam? Where didthey go? I’m here to stay, and I’m one ofthe family––I think––and you may as well

tell me.”

Sam Pretty Cow lipped the edge of hiscigarette paper, folded it down smoothlyon the tiny roll of tobacco, leaned hisbody backward and painstakingly drew amatch from the small pocket of his grimyblue overalls.

“I’m don’ know nothing,” he vouchsafedequably. “I’m don’ ask nothing. I’m don’hear nothing. You bet. Nh-hn––yore damnright.”

From under his lashes Lance watched SamPretty Cow. “I was over helping hold oldScotty in his bed, the other day,” he saidirrelevantly. “He was crazy––out of hishead. He kept yelling that the Lorriganswere stealing his stock. He kept sayingthat a few more marks with a straight

branding iron would turn his Eleven intoan NL, ANL, DNL, LNL––any one of theDevil’s Tooth brands. Crazy with fever,he was.”

Sam Pretty Cow studied the match,decided which was the head of it, anddrew it sharply along his boot sole.

“Yeah––yo’re damn right. Crazy, you betyore life. Uh-huh.”

“He said the Miller’s Block brand couldeasily be turned into the N Block––Belle’s brand. He said horses had beenrun off the range––”

“He’s dead,” Sam observedunemotionally. “You bet. He’s gettin’fun’ral to-day.”

“How long will the boys be out?” Lance

pulled a splinter off the rail beside himand began separating the fibers with hisfinger nails that were too well cared for tobelong to the Black Rim folk.

“I dunno, me.”

“Scotty sure was crazy, Sam. He triedtwice to kill me. Once he jumped up andran into the kitchen and grabbed a butcherknife off the table and came at me. Hethought I was there to rob him. He calledme Tom.”

“Yeah,” said Sam Pretty Cow, blowingsmoke. “He’s damn lucky you ain’t Tom.Uh-huh––you bet.”

Lance lifted his eyebrows, was silentwhile he watched Shorty limping downfrom the house, this time with table scraps

for the chickens.

“Scotty was certainly crazy,” Lance turnedagain to Sam. “Over and over he keptsaying, while he looked up at the ceiling,‘The Lorrigan days are numbered. Thoughthe wicked flourish like a green bay tree,they shall perish as dry grass. The daysare numbered––their evil days arenumbered.’”

Sam Pretty Cow smoked, flicked the ashfrom his cigarette with a copperyforefinger, looked suddenly full at Lanceand grinned widely.

“Uh-huh. So’s them stars numbered, allright. I dunno, me. Tom Lorrigan’s damnsmart man.” He reached down for an oldbridle and grinned again. “Scotty, I guesshe don’ say how many numbers them days

is, you bet.” He started off, trailing hisbridle reins carelessly in the dust.

“If you’re going to catch up a horse, Sam,I wish you’d haze in the best one on theranch for me.”

Sam Pretty Cow paused, half turned, spatmeditatively into the dust and jerked athumb toward the stable.

“Me, I dunno. Bes’ horse on the ranch isin them box stall. Them’s Coaley. I guessyou don’ want Coaley, huh?”

Lance bit his lip, looking at Sam PrettyCow intently.

“You needn’t catch up a horse for me,Sam. I’ll ride Coaley,” he said smoothly.Which brought a surprised grunt from SamPretty Cow, Indian though he was,

accustomed though he was to the ways ofthe Lorrigans.

But it was not his affair if Lance and hisfather quarreled when Tom returned.Indeed, Tom might not return very soon, inwhich case he would not hear anythingabout Lance’s audacity unless Lancehimself told it. Sam Pretty Cow wouldnever mention it, and Shorty would not saya word. Shorty never did say anything ifhe could by any means keep silence.

Lance returned to the house, taking longstrides that, without seeming hurried, yetsuggested haste. He presently came downthe path again, this time with a blanket rolland a sack with lumpy things tied in thebottom. He wore chaps, his spurs, carrieda yellow slicker over his arm. On his head

was a black Stetson, one of Tom’sdiscarded old hats.

He led Coaley from the box stall where hehad never before seen him stand, saddledhim, tied his bundles compactly behind thecantle, mounted and rode down the trail,following the hoof prints that showedfreshest in the loose, gravelly sand.Coaley, plainly glad to be out of hisprison, stepped daintily along in a rockinghalf trot that would carry him more milesin a day than any other horse in the countrycould cover, and bring him to thejourney’s end with springy gait and headhe l d proudly, ears twitching, ready formore miles if his rider wanted more.

The tracks led up the road to the Ridge,turned sharply off where the brush grew

scanty among the flat rocks that justshowed their faces above the surface ofthe arid soil. Lance frowned andfollowed. For a long way he skirted therim rock that edged the sheer bluff. Ascant furlong away, on his right, a trail ranwest to the broken land of Indian Creek.But since the horsemen had chosen to keepto the rocky ground along the rim, Lancefollowed.

He had gone perhaps a mile along thebluff when Coaley began to toss up hishead and perk his ears backward, turningnow and then to look. Lance was sunk toodeep in bitter introspection to observethese first warning movements whichevery horseman knows. He was thinkingof Mary Hope, who would be waking now

to a day of sorrowful excitement.Thinking, too, of old Aleck Douglas andthe things that he had said in his raving.

What Douglas had shouted hoarsely wasnot true, of course. He did not believe,––and yet, there was Shorty’s enigmaticalanswer to a simple question; there wasSam Pretty Cow, implying much while heactually said very little; there was thisunheralded departure of all the Devil’sTooth riders in the night, in the seasonbetween round-ups. There was Coaleyfeeling fit for anything, shut up in the boxstall while Tom rode another horse; andhere was Lance himself taking the trail ofthe Devil’s Tooth outfit at a little aftersunrise on a horse tacitly forbidden to allriders save Tom.

Coaley, in a place where he must pick hisway between boulders, paused and liftedhis head, staring back the way they hadcome. Lance roused himself from gloomyspeculations and looked back also, but hecould not see anything behind them save acircling hawk and the gray monotone ofthe barren plateau, so he urged Coaley inamong the boulders.

There must be something back there, ofcourse. Coaley was too intelligent a horseto make a mistake. But it might be somedrifting range stock, or perhaps a strayhorse. Certainly it was no one from theDevil’s Tooth, for Sam Pretty Cow hadset off to mend a fence in the lowerpasture, and Shorty never rode a horsenowadays for more than a half mile or so;

and six o’clock in the morning would berather early for chance riders from anyother ranch. With a shrug, Lancedismissed the matter from his mind.

Where a faint, little-used trail wentobliquely down the bluff to the creekbottom, Lance saw again the hoofprintswhich the rocky ground had failed toreveal. He could see no reason for takingthis roundabout course to go up the creek,but he sent Coaley down the trail, reachedthe bottom and discovered that the tracksonce more struck off into rocky ground.His face hardened until his resemblance toTom became more marked than usual, butwhere the tracks led he followed. Toooften had he trailed stray horses in the pastto be puzzled now, whether he could see

the hoofprints or not.

They must have made for the other side ofthe creek, gone up Wild Horse gulch orthe Little Squaw. There was just one placewhere they could cross the creek withoutbogging in the tricky mud that was almostas bad as quicksand. He therefore pulledout of the rocky patch and made straightfor the crossing. He would soon know ifthey had crossed there. If they had not,then they would have turned again upSquaw Creek, and it would be short workcutting straight across to the only possibletrail to the higher country.

He had covered half of the distance to thecreek when Coaley again called hisattention to something behind him. Thistime Lance glimpsed what looked very

much like the crown of a hat moving in adry wash that he had crossed not morethan five minutes before. He pulled up,studied the contour of the ground behindhim, looked ahead, saw the mark of a shodhoof between two rocks. The hoof markpointed toward the crossing. Lance,however, turned down another smalldepression where the soil lay bare andCoaley left clean imprints, trotted along ituntil a welter of rocks made bad footingfor the horse, climbed out and went onlevel. Farther up the valley an abruptcurve in Squaw Creek barred his waywith scraggly, thin willow growth that hadwinding cow trails running through it. Intoone of these Lance turned, rode deep intothe sparse growth, stopped where the trailswung round a huge, detached boulder,

dismounted and dropped Coaley’s reins tothe ground and retraced his steps somedistance from the trail, stepping on rockshere and there and keeping off damp spots.

He reached the thin edge of the grove,stood behind a stocky bush and waited. Intwo or three minutes––they seemed ten toLance––he saw the head and shoulders ofa rider just emerging from the gully hehimself had so lately followed.

Back on Coaley, following the windingtrail, Lance pondered the matter. The wayhe had come was no highway––no trailthat any rider would follow on anybusiness save one. But just why should hebe followed? He had thought at first thatsome one was trailing the Devil’s Toothoutfit, as he had been doing, but now it

seemed plain that he himself was thequarry.

He flicked the reins on Coaley’s satinyneck, and the horse broke at once into aspringy, swift trot, following thepurposeless winding of the cow path.When they emerged upon the other sidewhere the creek gurgled over a patch ofrocks like cobblestones, Lance stoppedand let him take a sip or two of water,then struck off toward the bluff, lettingCoaley choose his own pace, taking carethat he kept to low ground where he couldnot be seen.

For an hour he rode and came to thejunction of Mill Creek and the Squaw.Then, climbing through chokecherrythickets up a draw that led by winding

ways to higher ground, Lance stopped andscrutinized the bottomland over which hehad passed. Coaley stood alert, watchingalso that back trail, his ears turnedforward, listening. After a moment, hebegan to take little mincing stepssidewise, pulling impatiently at the reins.As plainly as a horse could tell it, Coaleyimplored Lance to go on. But Lancewaited until, crossing an open space, hesaw a rider coming along at a shamblingtrot on the trail he had himself latelyfollowed.

He frowned thoughtfully, turned Coaleytoward home and rode swiftly in a long,distance-devouring lope.

He reached the ranch somewhere near teno’clock, surprising Belle in the act of

harnessing her pintos to a new buckboardat which they shied hypocritically. Bellestared at him round-eyed over the backs ofher team.

“My good Lord, Lance! You––you couldbe Tom’s twin, in that hat and on thathorse! What you been doing––doubling forhim in a lead?”

Lance swung down and came toward her.“Belle, where did dad and the boys go?”

“Oh––fussing with the stock,” said Bellevaguely, her eyes clouding a little. “We’regetting so many cattle it keeps Tom on thego day and night, seems to me. And he willkeep buying more all the while. Did––didyou want to go with them, honey? I guessTom never thought you might. You’vebeen away so long. You’d better not ride

Coaley, Lance. Tom would just aboutmurder you if he caught you at it. Andwhere did you get hold of that hat?”

Lance laughed queerly. “I just picked it offthe table as I came out. Mine is too newand stiff yet. This seemed to fit. AndCoaley’s better off under the saddle thanhe is in the stable, Belle. He’s a peach––Ialways did want to ride Coaley, but Inever had the nerve till I got big enough tolick dad.”

He caught Belle in a quick, breath-takinghug, kissed her swiftly on the cheek andturned Coaley into the corral with thesaddle still on.

“Are you going over––to the funeral?” heasked as he closed the gate.

“I’m going to town, and I’ve got the lettersyou left on the table to be mailed. No, I’mnot going to the funeral. I don’t enjoyhaving my face slapped––and being calleda painted Jezebel,” she added dryly.

Under his breath Lance mutteredsomething and went into the house, notlooking at Belle or making her any reply.

“Lance,” said Belle to the pintos, “thinkswe’re rough and tough and just about halfcivilized. Lord, when you take a Lorriganand educate him and polish him, you surehave got a combination that’s hard to goup against. Two years––and my heavens, Idon’ t know Lance any more! I neverthought any Lorrigan could feaze me––butthere’s something about Lance––”

In the house Lance was not showing any of

the polish which Belle had mentionedrather regretfully. He was kneeling beforea trunk, throwing books and pipes andsocks and soft-toned silk shirts over hisshoulder, looking for something which heseemed in a great haste to find. When hisfingers, prying deep among his belongings,closed upon the thing he sought, he broughtit up, frowning abstractedly.

A black leather case, small and curved,opened when he unbuckled the confiningstrap. A binocular, small but extremelyefficient in its magnifying power hewithdrew, dusting the lenses with thesleeve of his shirt. He had bought theglasses because some one had advisedhim to take a pair along when he wentwith a party of friends to the top of Mount

Tamalpais one Sunday. And because hehad an instinctive dislike for anything butthe best obtainable, he had bought thehighest-priced glasses he could find inSan Francisco,––and perhaps the smallest.He buckled them back into their case,slapped them into his pocket and closedthe trunk lid with a bang. From the mantelin the living room he gleaned a box ofcartridges for an extra six-shooter, whichhe cleaned and loaded carefully andtucked inside the waistband of histrousers, on the left side, following aninstinct that brought him close to hisgrandfather, that old killer whom all menfeared to anger.

“The horse and the hat; he thought it wasdad he was trailing!” he said to himself,

with his teeth clamped tight together. “Oh,well, when it comes to that kind of agame––”

He went out and down to the corral,watered Coaley and mounted again, takingthe trail across pastures to Squaw Creek.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

LANCE RIDES ANOTHER TRAIL

With a two-days’ growth of beard on hischin and jaws, a new, hard look in hiseyes and the general appearance of a manwho has been riding long and has slept inall his clothes, Lance rode quietly up tothe corral gate and dismounted. A certainstiffness was in his walk when he ledCoaley inside and turned a stirrup up overthe saddle horn, his gloved fingersdropping to the latigo. Lance was tired––any one could see that at a glance. That hewas preoccupied, and that his

preoccupation was not pleasant, was alsoevident to the least observing eye.

Tom, coming out of the bunk house,studied him with narrowed lids as hecame walking leisurely down to thecorral. Tom’s movements also betrayed aslight stiffness of the muscles, as though hehad ridden hard and long. He did nothurry. Lance had pulled off the saddle andthe sweaty blanket and the bridle, and hadturned Coaley into the corral before heknew that some one was coming. Eventhen he did not turn to look. He wasstaring hard at a half-dozen horsesgrouped in the farther corner of thecorral,––horses with gaunt flanks and thewet imprint of saddles. They werehungrily nosing fresh piles of hay, and

scarcely looked up when Coaley trottedeagerly up to join them. Six of them––alittle more than half of the outfit that hadridden away the other night.

“Well! I see you helped yourself to a newsaddle horse,” Tom observedsignificantly, coming up behind Lance.

“Yes. Coaley acted lonesome, shut up inthe box stall. Thought a little riding woulddo him good.” Lance’s eyes met Tom’scalmly, almost as if the two were mereacquaintances.

“You give him a plenty, looks like. Whereyuh been?”

“I? Oh––just riding around.” Lancestooped indifferently to untie his slickerand blanket from the saddle.

“Thought I’d like to use him myself.Thinking some of riding into town thisafternoon,” Tom said, still studying Lance.

“Well, if you want to ride Coaley, he’sgood for it. I’d say he has more miles inhim yet than any of that bunch over there.”With slicker and blanket roll Lance startedfor the house.

Tom did not say anything. He wasscowling thoughtfully after Lance whenBelle, coming from the chicken house witha late hatching of fluffy little chicks in herhat, looked at him inquiringly. To her Tomturned with more harshness than he hadshown for many a long day.

“Schoolin’ don’t seem to set good on aLorrigan,” he said. “How long’s he goin’to stay this time?”

“Why, honey, don’t you want Lancehome? He rode Coaley––but that’s nocrime. Lance wouldn’t hurt him, he’s toogood a rider and he never was hard onhorses. And Coaley just goes wild whenhe has to stand shut up all day––”

“Oh, it ain’t riding Coaley, altogether. Hecan ride Coaley and be darned. It’s thenew airs he’s putting on that don’t setgood with me, Belle. You wanted to makesomething of Lance, and now, by Henry,you’ll have to name the job you’ve madeof him––I’d hate to!”

Belle put a hand into the cheeping huddlein her hat, lifted out a chick and held it toher cheek. “Why, you’re just imaginingthat Lance is different,” she contended,stifling her own recognition of the change.

“He’ll settle right down amongst theboys––”

“The boys ain’t cryin’ to have him, Belle.Black Rimmers had ought to stay BlackRimmers, or get out and stay out. Lanceain’t either one thing or the other.”

“Why, Tom Lorrigan!” Belle dropped thechick into her hat and tucked the hat underher arm. Her eyes began to sparkle a little.“ I don’t think Lance liked it about thepiano, but he’s the same Lance he alwayswas. I’ve watched him, and he hasn’t saida thing or done a thing outa the way––he’sjust the dearest great big fellow! And Ican’t for the life of me see why you andthe whole outfit hang back from him likehe was a stranger. Education ain’tcatching, Tom. And Lance don’t put on

any airs at all, so why in the name ofheaven you all––”

“Well, well, don’t get all excited, Belle.But if education was ketching, a lot of theboys would be rollin’ their beds. I’mgoing to town. Anything yuh want broughtout?”

Belle did not answer. She went away tothe house with her hatful of chicks, and putthem into a box close to the stove until themother hen made sure whether the fourother eggs were anything more than juststale eggs. It would have been hard forBelle to explain just what the heaviness inher heart portended. Certainly it was notin her nature to worry over trifles,––yetthese were apparent trifles that worriedher. On the surface of the Devil’s Tooth

life only faint ripples stirred, but Bellefelt somehow as though she were floatingin a frail boat over a quiet pool fromwhose depths some unspeakable monstermight presently thrust an ominous headand drag her under.

In the crude yet wholly adequate bathroomshe heard a great splashing, and guessedthat it was Lance, refreshing himself afterhis trip. That, she supposed, was anotherpoint that set him apart from the otherboys. From June to September, wheneverany of the male inhabitants of the Devil’sTooth felt the need of ablutions beyond thescope of a blue enamel wash basin, hetook a limp towel and rode down acrossthe pasture to the creek, and swam for halfan hour or so in a certain deep pool.

Sometimes all of the boys went, atsundown, and filled the pool with theirsplashings. Only Lance availed himself oftub and soap and clean towels, and shavedevery morning before breakfast.

She heard him moving about in his room,heard him go into the kitchen and askRiley what the chances were forsomething to eat. She did not follow him,but she waited, expecting that he wouldcome into the living room afterwards. Shewent to the piano and drummed a few barsof a new dance hit Lance had broughthome for her, and with her head turnedsidewise listened to the sound of hisfootsteps in the next room, his occasional,pleasantly throaty tones answering Riley’shigh-pitched, nasal twang.

Her eyes blurred with unreasoning tears.He was her youngest. He was so big, sohandsome, so like Tom,––yet so different!She did not believe that Tom could reallysee anything to cavil at in Lance’spresence, in his changed personality. Tom,she thought, was secretly as proud ofLance as she was, and only pretended tosneer at him to hide that pride. Theconstraint would soon wear off, and Lancewould be one of the boys again.

The screen door slammed. With a lump inher throat, Belle went to a window andlooked out. Lance, in his new Stetson anda fresh shirt and gray trousers tucked intohis riding boots, was on his way to thestable again. She watched him pick up arope and go into the far corral where a

few extra saddle horses dozed through thehot afternoon. She saw him return, leadinga chunky little roan. Saw him throw hissaddle on the horse. Saw him ride off––the handsomest young fellow in all theBlack Rim––but with apparently never athought that his mother might like a wordwith him, since he had been gone for twodays without any explanation or anyexcuse. Which was not like Lance, whohad always before remembered to be niceto Belle.

Up the Slide trail Lance rode, perhaps twohours behind Tom. The marks of Coaley’shoofs were still fresh in the trail, butLance did not appear to see them at all.He let the roan scramble over the shale ashe would, let him take his own pace

among the boulders and up through theSlide. At the top he put him into an easylope which did not slacken until hereached the descent on the other side ofthe Ridge.

Presently, because the roan was anambitious young horse and eager to reachthe end of the trail, and Lance was toopreoccupied to care what pace hetraveled, they arrived at CottonwoodSpring, circled the wire fence andwhipped in through the open gate at agallop.

The little schoolhouse was deserted.Lance dismounted and looked in, saw itstill dismal with the disorder of the lastunfortunate dance. It was evident that therehad been no school since the Fourth of

July.

Then he remembered that Mary Hope’sfather had been sick all of the week, and itwas now only two days since the funeral.She would not be teaching school so soonafter his death.

He closed the door and remounted, hisface somber. He had wanted to see MaryHope. Since the morning after Scotty diedhe had fought a vague, disquieting sense ofher need of him. There had been timeswhen it seemed almost as though she hadcalled to him across the distance; that shewished to see him. To-day he had obeyedthe wordless call. He still felt her need ofhim, but since she was not at the school hehesitated. The schoolhouse was in ameasure neutral ground. Riding over to the

Douglas ranch was another matterentirely. Too keenly had he felt the coldanimosity of Mother Douglas, the wild,impotent hate of old Scotty mouthingthreats and accusations and vagueprophecies of future disaster to theLorrigans. He rode slowly out through thegate and took the trail made by the Devil’sTooth team when they hauled down thematerials for the schoolhouse. The chunkyroan climbed briskly, contentedly rollingthe cricket in his bit. The little burringsound of it fitted itself somehow to thethought reiterating through Lance’s tiredbrain. “She wouldn’t want me––to come.She wouldn’t––want me––to come.”

The roan squatted and ducked sidewise,and Lance raised his head. Down the

rough trail rode a big cowpuncher withsun-reddened face and an air of greatweariness. His horse plodded wearily,thin-flanked, his black hair sweat-roughened and dingy. The rider looked atLance with red-veined eyes, the inflamedlids showing sleepless nights.

“How’r yuh?” he greeted perfunctorily, asthey passed each other.

“Howdy,” said Lance imperturbably, androde on.

Lance’s eyebrows pulled together. He hadno need of looking back; he had seen agreat deal in the one glance he had giventhe stranger. He scrutinized the trail,measured with his eyes the size and theshape of the horse’s footprints.

After a little he left the wagon road andput the roan to the steep climb up the trailto the great Tooth of the ridge. He stillfrowned, still rode with bent head, hiseyes on the trail. But now he was alert,conscious of his surroundings, thinking ofevery yard of ground they covered.

At a little distance from the base of theTooth he dismounted, tying the restiveroan to a bush to prevent him fromwandering around, nibblinginvestigatingly at weeds, bushes, all thethings that interest a young horse.

Slowly, walking carefully on rocks, Lanceapproached the Tooth. A new look was inhis face now,––a look half tender, halfangry because of the tenderness. Severaltimes he had met Mary Hope here at the

Tooth, when he was just a long-leggedyouth with a fondness for teasing, and shewas a slim, wide-eyed little thing in shortskirts and sunbonnet. Always the meetingshad pretended to be accidental, andalways Mary Hope had seemed very muchinterested in the magnificent outlook andvery slightly interested in him.

From the signs, some one else was muchinterested in the view. Lance came upon aplace where a man had slipped with onefoot and left the deep mark of his boot inthe loose, gravelly soil. Sitting on aboulder, he made a leisurely survey of theplace and counted three cigarette stubsthat had fallen short of the crevice towardwhich they had evidently been flung. Howmany had gone into the crevice he could

not tell. He slid off the boulder and,walking on a rock shelf that jutted outfrom the huge upthrust rock, examined theplace very thoroughly.

At a certain spot where Mary Hope hadbeen fond of sitting on the rock shelf withher straight little back against the Tooth’ssmooth side, a splendid view of theDevil’s Tooth ranch was to be had. Thehouse itself was hidden in a cottonwoodgrove that Belle had planted when shewas a bride, but the corrals, the pastures,the road up the Ridge was plainly visible.And in the shallow crack in the rock wasanother cigarette end, economicallysmoked down to a three-quarter-inch stub.

Lance returned by way of the shelf to theoutcropping of rocks that would leave no

trace of his passing. He untied andmounted the roan and circled the vicinitycautiously. Two hundred yards away,down the slope and on a small level placewhere the brush grew thick, he foundwhere a horse had stood for hours. Helooked at the hoofprints, turned back androde down the schoolhouse trail again,following the tracks of the fagged blackhorse.

When another fifty yards would bring thebasin in sight, Lance turned off the trailand dismounted, tied the roan again andwent forward slowly, his eyes intent onthe tops of the trees around CottonwoodSpring. A rattler buzzed suddenly, and hestopped, looked to see where the snakewas coiled, saw it withdraw its mottled

gray body from under a rabbit weed anddrag sinuously away, its ugly head lifted alittle, eyes watching him venomously. Anunwritten law of the West he broke byletting the snake go. Again he movedforward, from bush to bush, from boulderto boulder. When all of the basin and thegrove were revealed to him, he stopped,removed his gray range hat and hung it ona near-by bush. He took his small fieldglasses from his pocket, dusted the lensesdeliberately and, leaning forward across arock with his elbows steadied on the stoneand the glasses to his eyes, he swept footby foot the grove.

He was some minutes in discovering ablack horse well within the outer fringe ofthe cottonwoods, switching mechanically

at the flies and mosquitoes that infestedthe place, and throwing his headimpatiently to his side now and then whenthe sting was too sharp to ignore. With theglasses he could see the sweat-roughenedhide ripple convulsively to dislodge thepestering insects, could see the flaringnostrils as the horse blew out the dustgathered from his hungry nosing amongstthe coarse grass and weeds. The manLance did not at once discover, but after alittle he saw him rolled in canvas toprotect himself from the mosquitoes. Heseemed already fast asleep.

“He needs it,” said Lance grimly, with histwisted smile, and went back to the roan.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

LANCE PLAYS THE GAME

That night Lance sauntered into the bunkhouse, placidly ignoring the fact that Tomwas there, and that some sort ofintermittent conference was taking place.Cool and clean and silk-shirted andfreshly shaved, the contrast was sharpbetween him and the men sprawled ontheir beds or sitting listlessly around thetable playing keno. Tom lifted an eyebrowat him; Lance sent him a look to match andwent over to the card players.

They did not want him in the bunk house.

He who had spent nearly all of his life onthe Devil’s Tooth ranch knew that he wasnot wanted. They did not want him toknow that he was not wanted, and by theirvery effort to hide it did they betraythemselves.

“Didn’t go to Jumpoff after all, dad,”Lance remarked idly, a rising inflectionturning the phrase into a question.

Tom grunted and got up to go. His mencast furtive glances at one another, lookedat Lance from under their brows, noted thesilk shirt and the low, tan Oxfords, and thetexture and cut of his gray trousers withthe tan leather belt that had a small silverbuckle. Plain as it was they knew thatbuckle was silver. They saw how clean-cut was the hairline at the back of his head

and over his ears––sure sign that he was“citified.” And toward the man who iscitified your purely range-bred productcherishes a distinct if secret grudge. Hisimmaculate presence made them all feelfrowsy and unwashed and ill-clad. And tohide how conscious he was of his owndeficiencies, the man who sat nearestLance lifted his hat and rumpled his hairstill more.

“Duke and Al didn’t get in yet, eh?” Lancepicked up an extra deck of cards andbegan to shuffle them absent-mindedly butnevertheless dexterously.

“Nope––they stayed out,” replied a blondman named Winters. They called him“Chilly.”

“Hot weather for working cattle,” Lance

observed indifferently.

“Yeah––sure is,” responded Ed Moran,who was low-browed and dark and hadan ugly jaw.

“Yeah––damn hot,” testified Jim Bloom.“How’s Californy for weather?”

“Oh-h––it has all kinds, same as here.”Lance did not want to talk aboutCalifornia just then, but he followed thelead easily enough. “You can get anythingyou want in California. In two hours youcan go from twenty-five feet of snow toorange groves. You can have it all green,f r u i t trees and roses blooming inmidwinter, or you can hit into desertworse than anything Idaho can show.”

“Yep––that’s right, all right. Great place,

Californy,” Chilly tried to make his voicesound enthusiastic, and failed. “Greatplace.”

“Speaking about climate––” Lance satdown on a corner of the table, eased histrousers over his knees, crossed his tanOxfords and began a story. It was a longstory, and for some time it was not at allapparent that he was getting anywherewith it. He shuffled the deck of cardswhile he talked, and the keno game,interrupted when he began, trailed off into“Who’s play is it?” and finally ceasedaltogether. That was when Lance’s Jewishdialect began to be funny enough to makeeven Chilly Winters laugh. At the endthere was a general cachinnation.

“But that’s only a sample of the stuff they

pull out there, on tourists,” said Lance,when the laughter had subsided to a fewbelated chuckles. “There’s another one. Itisn’t funny––but I’m going to make itfunny. You’ll think it’s funny––but it isn’t,really.”

He told that one and made them think itwas funny. At least they laughed, andlaughed again when he had finished.

“Now here’s another. This one really isfunny––but you won’t feel like laughing atit. I’ll tell it so you won’t.”

He told that story and saw it fall flat.“You see?” He flipped the cards, tossedthem on the table with a whimsicalgesture. “It isn’t what you do in thisworld––it’s how you do it that counts. I’msitting on your keno game, am I? All right,I’ll get off.”

He went out as abruptly as he had entered,and he paused long enough outside toknow that a silence marked his going.Then he heard Ed Koran’s voicedepreciating him. Frankly he listened,lighting a cigarette.

“Aw––his mother was an actress, wasn’tshe? That guy ain’t going to cut no icearound here whatever.”

“Looks an awful darn lot like Tom,”ventured Chilly. “I dunno––you take a

Lorrigan––”

“Him? Lorrigan? Why, say! He may looklike a Lorrigan, but he ain’t one. Tom’sdamn right. He don’t set in. Why, like asnot he’d––”

“Aw, cut out the gabbling!” Ed’s voicegrowled again. “It’s yore play, Bob.”

Stepping softly, Lance went on to thehouse. “I just––look like one!” herepeated under his breath. “Fine! At anyrate,” he added dryly, “I’ve proved that Ican go into the bunk house now and then.”

He went up and sang songs with Bellethen, until after ten o’clock. He wouldhave sung longer, but it happened that inthe middle of a particularly pleasing“Ah-ee, oh-ee, hush-a-bye-ba-by” yodel,

Tom put his head out of the bedroom andimplored Lance to for-the-Lord-sake goup on the Ridge to howl. So Lance forboreto finish the “ah-ee, oh-ee,” much toBelle’s disappointment.

“But you know Tom’s been out riding hardand not getting much sleep, so I guessmaybe we better cut out the concert,honey,” she told Lance, getting up andlaying her plump, brown arms across hisshoulders. “My heavens, Lance, you kindamake me think the clock’s set back thirtyyears, when I look at you. You’re Tom, allover––and I did think you were going tobe like me.”

Lance scowled just a little. “No, I’m notTom all over––I’m Lance all over.”

“You’re Lorrigan all over,” Belle

persisted. “And you’re just like Tom whenhe was your age. Good Lord, how timedoes slip away! Tom used to be so full offun and say such funny things––and nowit’s just ride and ride and work, and eatand sleep. Honey, I want you to know thatI’m glad you learned something a littledifferent. What’s the use of having amillion, if you work yourself to deathgetting it? Look at the boys––look at Aland Duke. They’re like old men, the lastyear or two. We used to have such goodtimes on the ranch, but we don’t anymore––nobody ever thinks of anything butwork.”

She lowered her voice to a whisper, herarms still lying on Lance’s shoulders, herclouded blue eyes looking up into his.

“That trouble with Scotty Douglas kindof––changed Tom and the boys. You wentaway. You’ve changed too, but in adifferent way. It soured them, just a little.Tom wants to make his million quick andget outa here. I was glad when you stirredthings up a little, last spring, and gave thatdance. Or I was glad, till it ended up theway it did. It was the first dance we’dbeen to since you left, Lance! And Ithought it would kind of patch up a littlemore friendliness with the folks aroundhere. But it didn’t. It just made a lot of talkand trouble––and, Lance, honey, I’mawfully darn sorry about that piano. It’sdown in the chicken house this minute.Tom wouldn’t even have it in the house.And now, I don’t suppose there ever willbe any chance to make friends with any

one. Tom––well, all of us were so darnmad to think she never even asked us––”

“Don’t care any more about that, Belle.Please don’t. And by the way, I took themoney Mary Hope wanted to give dad forthe schoolhouse. Perhaps he didn’t tellyou, but he threatened to burn the housedown if she left the money, so I took it andgave her a bill of sale in his name. I wishyou’d keep the money. And some day,maybe dad will take it.”

“Tom never told me a word about it,”Belle whispered pitifully, dropping herforehead on Lance’s broad chest. “Honey,it never used to be this way. He used totell me things. But now, he doesn’t––much. Last spring, when he built theschoolhouse and all, I was so glad! It was

more like old times, and I thought––but thefight turned him and the boys again, andnow they’re just as far off as ever. Lance,I don’t whine. You never heard Bellewhine in your life, did you, honey? But I’lltell you this: The only things that haven’tchanged, on the Devil’s Tooth, are Rileyand the pintos. And even they let you drive’em to Jumpoff and back last springwithout busting things up. They’re gettingold, I guess. Maybe we’re all getting old.Still, Rosa and Subrosa are only ten past,and I haven’t had a birthday for years––

“It’s––Lance, do you mind if Belle lets goand tells you things, just this once?You’ve changed, some, but not like therest. Please, Lance, I want to lean againstyou and––and feel how strong you are––”

A great tenderness, a great, overwhelmingdesire to comfort his mother, who hadnever let him call her mother, seizedLance. His arms closed around her and hebacked to an armchair and sat down on it,holding her close.

“Don’t care, Belle––it’s all right. It’sgoing to be all right. I’m just Lance, butI’m a man––and men were made to takecare of their women. Talk to me––tell mewhat’s been eating your heart out, lately.It’s in your eyes. I saw it when I camehome last spring, and I see it now everytime I look at you.”

“You’ve seen it, honey?” Belle’s whisperwas against his ear. She did not look at hisface. “There’s nothing to see, but––onefeels it. Tom’s good to me––but he isn’t

close to me, any more. The boys are goodto me––but they’re like strangers. Theydon’t talk about things, the way they usedto do. They come and go.”

Lance’s big, well-kept hand went up tosmooth her hair with a comforting,caressing movement infinitely sweet toBelle. “I know,” he said quietly.

“And it isn’t anything, of course. But theold boys have gone, and these new ones––Lance, what is the matter with the Devil’sTooth ranch? Tell me, for heaven’s sake,if I’m getting to be an old woman withnotions!”

“You’ll never be an old woman,” saidLance in the tone Mary Hope built herday-dreams around. “Age has nothing todo with you––you just are. But as to

notions––well, you may have. Women dohave them, I believe.” He kissed her hairand added, “What do you think is thematter with the ranch?”

“I don’t know. When I try to pin it to onething, there’s nothing to put a pin in. Not athing. You remember Cheyenne? I wasafraid Tom would kill him, after the trial.You know it was practically proven thathe was a spy, and was working to getsomething on the outfit. I was on thewarpath myself, over that trial. I would ashot up a few in that courtroom if Tom hadbeen convicted. You know and I know thatTom didn’t have a thing to do with thatdarned, spotted yearling of Scotty’s.

“But Cheyenne just––just faded out ofexistence. Tom’s never mentioned him

from the day of the trial to this. And Iknow he hates the whole Rim, and won’thave anything much to do with anybody––but he acts just as if nothing had happened,as if nobody had ever tried to make himout a cow thief. He won’t talk about it. Hewon’t talk about anything much. Whenwe’re alone he just sits and thinks. Andhoney, the Lorrigans have always beenmen that did things.

“He and the boys woke up, and the ranchacted human about the schoolhouse, butit’s other times, when there’s noexcitement around, that I feel as if––Idon’t know what. It’s somethingunderneath. Something that never comes tothe top. Something that’s liable to reach upand grab.” She put a hand up and patted

Lance’s lean, hard jaw. “I’d shoot any onethat said Belle Lorrigan’s afraid––butthat’s about what it amounts to,” shefinished with a little mirthless laugh.

“Belle Lorrigan’s not afraid. There’snothing to be afraid of. You’ve lived inthe Rim too long, Belle, and you’ve beenwatching dad and the boys chasing thatmillion. I’ve seen other men working at it,and it always gets hold of them until theydon’t seem to care for anything else. Now,I know an ageless lady who’s going to bedand forget all about her nerves and hernotions. Or if she doesn’t forget, she’llremember too that she has somebodyaround who knows––and who cares aheap for his mother.” Lance pulled herclose and kissed her comfortingly.

“That helps,” whispered Belle. “You’vechanged, too––but not like the rest, thankGod. And I thought maybe you had noticedthings––”

“I have noticed that the Devil’s Tooth ismighty busy chasing dollars on the hoof,”soothed Lance. “It has left our Belle alonetoo much, and it has gotten on her nerves.Go to bed, woman––and dream ofpleasant things.”

He took her by the shoulders and pushedher playfully to the very door of herbedroom, gave her another kiss and turnedthe knob for her, and watched her go inwith a smile on her face. His own smilelasted only until the door was closed. Hewent to the lamp, blew it out and enteredhis own room, removed his shoes and

dropped them on the floor with more noisethan was considerate of his father’sslumber, lighted his lamp and movedaimlessly about the room for a time.

He sat down on the edge of the bed whilehe smoked a cigarette, his elbows on hisknees, his thoughts traveling far trails.Abruptly he rose, put on a pair of well-worn tennis shoes, opened a door leadingoutside and went quietly down to thecorrals.

The first corral he crossed and found itempty of any horses save the pintos andCoaley. The second corral held threehorses, one of them the chunky roan he hadridden that afternoon. The third and largestcorral was empty, the gate swinging open.

“All right––no horses caught up for night-

riding––yet,” he said to himself, andreturned to the house, leaving thestraighter path to pass close to the bunkhouse. He listened there for a full twominutes, decided that it would take at leastfive men to do all of that snoring, andwent to bed thankful for the comfort of afelt mattress under his tired body.

The next day passed without any incidentssave trivial ones that did not count. Lancerode to the creek with his trout-rod andreel––more citified innovations which theranch eyed askance––and spent four hoursloitering along the bank, his fly floatinguselessly over shallow pools where wasnever a fish. It was not the right time ofday for fishing, but Lance seemed to haveforgotten the lore he had learned along that

same creek and others farther away.

Sometimes he could be seen from theranch buildings, more often he could not.When he could not be seen was when hewas crouched among the rocks, studyingthe Devil’s Tooth Ridge with his powerfulglasses.

“Hope he’s comfortable,” he said once,when, satisfied that his guess was correct,he put the glasses away and settled downseriously to fishing.

He rode home with four trout, and Rileyfried them for supper. During supperLance criticized Squaw Creek, and hintedthat Mill Creek and Lava Creek werebetter fishing waters, and that he meant totry them.

That night at eleven o’clock he madeanother silent tour of the corrals and wentto bed feeling pretty sure that the ranchwould show its present complement ofmen in the morning.

On the second day, four of the hiredcowboys rode in at sundown, and withthem came Al. Their horses were fagged.They themselves were dirty, hungry, tired.Their faces were glum––and the glumnessremained even after they had washed andeaten ravenously. Al did not come to thehouse at all, but stayed down in the bunkhouse, whither Tom presently went. Lancedid not follow.

Belle looked worried and asked Lanceconstrainedly if he knew why Duke hadnot come with the others. Lance laughed.

“Duke? Oh––he’s on the trail of anotherdollar. By heck, Belle, I’m afraid you’veraised one son to be a shirk. I don’t seemto need all of that dollar chasing to makeme happy.”

Tom came in then, glanced swiftly fromone to the other, said somethingunimportant, rolled a cigarette withelaborate care, and observed that Dukewould find it hot, riding all the way toShoshone, and that he’d be darned if he’dgo that far for any girl. He sat down anddisposed himself comfortably, got up,muttered something about forgetting to turnCoaley out, and left the house.

Belle turned and looked at Lance. “Honey,it’s that kind of thing––”

“I used to think, Belle, that you had the

bluest eyes in the whole world,” Lancedrawled quizzically. “They’re blueenough, in all conscience––by heck,Belle! Does a Lorrigan always love blueeyes?”

“I was going to say that––”

“You were going to say that you were notgoing to say a darned thing, madam. Youneed a vacation, a trip somewhere. Whydon’t you beat it, and get your nervessmoothed down a little?”

“Lance, you don’t believe Duke––”

“Belle, your boys are old enough to thinkof girls a little bit, now and then. Evenyour baby thinks of girls––a little bit.Now and then. I’m going fishing, Belle.I’m going to fish where there are fish. And

if I’m not back by the clock, for heck’ssake don’t get yourself excited and call mea mystery.”

She called after him. “Lance, come backhere and tell me the truth! You don’tbelieve––”

“Belle, I’ll tell you the truth. Sure, I’ll tellyou the truth. I tell you to cut out thisworrying over nothing. Why, don’t youknow the world is plumb full of realthings to worry about?” He came close,patting her on the shoulder as one pats achild who feels abused for slight cause.“This notion of yours––it’s all damnednonsense. Cut it out.”

He went off whistling, and Belle gazedafter him dubiously, yet reassured in spiteof herself. After all, there was nothing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

WHEN A LORRIGAN LOVES

Followed a day of sweltering heat, whenthe horses in the corral switched flies andsweated doing nothing; when all of thechickens crawled under the coolest shelterthey could find, and panted with theirwings spread away from their bodies;when the wind was like a blast from anopen furnace, and no man of his ownchoice remained in the sun.

In the shade of the biggest haystack, Tomand Al squatted on their boot heels withtheir faces toward the corral and the

houses beyond, and talked for two hoursin low monotones while they broke spearsof fragrant hay into tiny bits and snappedthe bits from them with thumb and finger.From the house porch Lance saw themthere and wondered what they weretalking about so long. He even meditatedcommitting the crime of eavesdropping,but he decided against it. Even if there hadbeen any point from which he couldapproach the two unseen, his soul rebelledagainst such tactics employed in coldblood.

Devil’s Tooth Ranch dragged somehowthrough its third day of inaction, and thatnight prepared itself to sleep if possible,though the hot wind still blew half a galeand the sky was too murky to show any

stars.

Daylight found Lance awake and broodingas he had done ever since his return. Heheard no sound in the house, and after awhile he dressed and went down to thebunk house. It was empty. No extra horseshad been corralled the night before, of thathe was sure. Yet the boys were goneagain, and with them had gone Tom andAl. He looked and saw Coaley in the boxstall.

On this morning Lance asked no questionsof Sam Pretty Cow or Shorty, whopresently appeared and went listlesslyabout their tasks. He returned to the house,heard Riley grinding coffee, and dressedfor riding while he waited for breakfast.He was drinking his first cup of coffee

when Belle appeared in a thin bluekimono and a lacey breakfast cap whichLance knew had been ordered from thebig, dog-eared catalogue on the livingroom table. He roused himself fromscowling meditation and gave her a smile.

“Sleep any?”

“Not much,” sighed Belle. “Tom––” shestopped and looked at Lance hesitatingly.“Tom had to push the cattle back fromLava Bed way––he says this weather’sdrying up Lava Creek and the stock’llsuffer if they’re left drifting up and downthe mud-holes where they’ve watered allsummer. He took the boys and startedabout two in the morning––to get out of theheat. I––I didn’t think you’d want to go,honey––”

“You thought right. I didn’t want to go; it’stoo hot,” Lance assured her, and refrainedfrom looking at her face and the patheticcheerfulness she was trying so hard tomake real.

“It’s sultry. I thought yesterday I couldn’tstand another hour of that wind––but nowI wish it would blow. It’s going tostorm––”

“Yes. It’s going to storm.” Lance set downhis empty cup. “I may go fishing, Belle.Don’t look for me back––I may ride overand see how the AJ is making out. Thelittle Boyle girl is not married yet, Ihope?”

“Oh––no. No, she isn’t. Lance, honey––”

Lance waited beside her chair, but Belle

seemed to forget that she had anything tosay. She sat leaning her head on one hand,the other stirring her coffee absent-mindedly. “Don’t get caught out,” she saidapathetically.

“I won’t.” Lance lifted the lace frill of thecap and kissed her temple lightly. “Goback to bed. It’s too early for you to beup.”

At the stable Sam Pretty Cow looked aquestion, grunted and went on with hisstall cleaning. Lance saddled Coaley, tiedon an emergency ration of grub.

“Fishin’s good t’day. Storm’s coming. Uh-huh––you bet,” Sam Pretty Cow observedas Lance mounted.

“Maybe,” Lance assented non-committally

and rode away.

There were no horse tracks in the trail, yetLance followed it doggedly, the new-risensun burning his back through two thinshirts. He seemed in no doubt this morningas to the course he should take. Hescarcely gave a glance at the trail. Hiseyes were staring straight before him at asullen row of blue-black “thunder heads”that showed above the gray skyline. Yet hedid not see them, did not give a thought totheir meaning.

He was thinking poignantly of Mary Hope,fighting the vivid impression which adream last night had left with him. In hisdream Mary Hope had stood at her door,with her hands held out to himbeseechingly, and called and called:

“Lance! Oh, Lance! I dinna hate youbecause you’re a Lorrigan––Oh, Lance!”It had been a curious dream from start tofinish. Curious because, in various forms,this was the third time he had seen herstand with hands outstretched, calling tohim. He did not believe in dreams. He hadneither patience for presentiments norfaith in anything that bordered on theoccult.

It had been against much inner protest thathe had ridden to the schoolhouse inobedience to the persistent idea that sheneeded him. That he had not found herthere seemed to him conclusive proof thatthere was nothing in telepathy. Thedreams, he felt sure, were merely acontinuation of that persistent idea––and

the persistent idea, he was beginning tobelieve, was but a perverse twist given tohis own longing for her.

“––And I can’t go to her––not yet. Notwhile the Lorrigan name––” What camebefore, what came after those incompletephrases he would not permit his mind toformulate in words. But he could notshake off the effect of the dream, could notstifle altogether the impulse that pluckedat his resolve.

For more than an hour he rode and tried tofix his mind upon the thing he had set outto do. He knew perfectly well where hewas going––and it was not to see MaryHope. Neither was his destination LavaCreek nor the drying range on either side.His first two days of hard riding had been

not altogether fruitless, and he had enoughto think of without thinking of Mary Hope.Certain cold facts stared at him, andgibbered their sinister meaning, and daredhim to ride on and discover other facts,blood-brothers of these that haunted himo’ nights.

Coaley, feeling his rider’s mood, sensingalso the portent of the heavy, heat-saturated atmosphere and the rollingthunder heads, slowed his springy trot to awalk and tossed his head uneasily fromside to side. Then, quite without warning,Lance wheeled the horse short around andtouched the reeking flanks with his heels.

“I’m seventeen kinds of a damn fool––butI can’t stand any more of this!” hemuttered savagely, and rode at a sharp trot

with his back to the slow-gathering storm.

He found Mary Hope half a mile from theDouglas house, at the edge of the meadowround which Hugh was driving a mower,the steady, metallic clicking of the shuttle-like sickle sounding distinct from thefarther side of the motionless greenexpanse. Mary Hope was standing leaningagainst one lone little poplar tree, her hatin her hand, and her eyes staring dully intothe world of sorrowful thoughts. Reliefand a great, hungry tenderness flooded thesoul of Lance when he saw her. He pulledup and swung off beside her.

“Girl––thank the good God you’re allright,” he said, and took her in his arms,the veins on his temples beating full withhis hot blood. “I had to come. I had to see

you. You’ve haunted me. Your voice hascalled me––I was afraid––I had tocome––and now I’m not going to let yougo. Oh, girl, you’re mine! By all thepowers of heaven and earth, you’re mine!The Lorrigan name––what does it matter?You’re mine––I love you. You’ll love me.I’ll make you love me. You’ll love me tillyou won’t care who I am or who you are,or whether there are any other people inthe world––you’ll love me so! And I’lllove you always, always,––to death andbeyond, and beyond what lies after that.Girl, girl––you do need me! You need mylove. You need it because it’s the biggestthing in the world––and your love is goingto match it. We’ll get married––we’llmake a world of our own, just you and I.We won’t care where we make it––it will

be our world, the world of our love. Areyou game? Are you game to love Lancethe way Lance loves you? Oh, girl, tellme!”

A chill breath swept them like the memoryof her father’s hate. A deep, basso rumbledrowned whatever reply she stammered.He sheltered her in his arms, kissed herlips, her eyes, her hair, went back to herlips again.

“Oh, girl––when a Lorrigan loves––!” Hecried softly, exultantly. “I tried not to––butI had to love you. It’s Fate. Are you afraidto love me back? Are you afraid?”

“No Lorrigan can cry coward to aDouglas,” Mary Hope panted. “But––butmy mother will be that––”

“My mother will be that––all of that, andmore,” Lance stopped her, still exulting inher love. “All the Lorrigans––what does itmatter? Life’s for you and me to live, yougirl with the bluest eyes in the world.When will you marry me? To-day? Tellme to-day!”

“Oh!” gasped Mary Hope, breathless stillfrom the suddenness of it all. “Oh, not to-day––oh, but the headlong way you have!I––I canna think. I––”

“I don’t want you to think. I didn’t ask youto think. Just love me––that’s all. Andmarry me soon, Girl-with-the-blue-eyes.Soon. It must be soon––sooner than to-morrow––”

Splittingly the thunder crashed closebehind them, a vivid white line cleaving

sharply the snarling clouds. Like a sleeperLance opened the eyes he had closedagainst her hair and lifted his head. “Imust take you home,” he said more calmly.“It’s going to storm––hard. But let me tellyou, sweetheart,––it can’t storm as hard asI can love. I’ll take you home, and thenyou’ll marry me.”

Mary Hope’s face was pale and radiant.She did not say that she would marryhim––nor did she say that she would not.Her eyes were misty with tears until shewinked hard, when they shone softly.Lance had never seen them so blue. Shestood still, her hands clasped togethertightly while he gathered up the reins andmounted. He pulled his foot from the leftstirrup, reached down to her and smiled.

Never had she seen him smile like that.Never had she seen that look in his eyes.She breathed deep, reached up and caughtthe saddle horn, put her foot in the stirrupand let him lift her beside him.

Against Coaley’s nervous pull at the bitLance held a steadying hand and laughed.“It’s Fate, girl. Let the storm come. We’llbeat it––it can’t hurt us. Nothing can hurtus now.” He had to shout above thecrashing thunder. “Do you love me,sweetheart?” His eyes, close to her own,flamed softly, making Mary Hope thinkdizzily of altar fires.

“I do––I do!” She gasped. “Oh, I cannotthink how I love you––it scares me tothink!” Her arm was around his neck, herface was turned to his.

He saw her lips form the words, guessedwhat it was she was saying. The crash oncrash of thunder beat the sound of hervoice to nothingness. The white glare ofthe lightning flashes blinded them. Coaley,quivering, his nostrils belling until theyshowed all red within, his big eyesstaring, forged ahead, fighting the bit.

“He’s rinning away wi’ us!” shoutedLance, his lips close to her ear, andlaughed boyishly.

“Mother––” he heard her say, and pulledher higher in his arms, so that he could besure that she heard him.

“I’ll just pick your little old mother up inmy arms and make her love me, too!” hecried. “Nothing can spoil ourlove––nothing!”

As though the gods themselves chided histemerity, the very heavens split andshattered all sound with rending uproar.Coaley squatted, stopped and stoodshaking, his heart pounding so that Lancefelt its tremulous tattoo against his thigh.The rumbling after-note of the thunderseemed like silence.

“It struck close. That shed––look!”Lance’s voice was no longer the voice ofthe young male whose love wouldoverride Fate itself. It was the voice of theman who will meet emergencies quietly,unflinchingly, and soothe the woman’sfear. “Don’t be afraid––it’s all right,sweetheart.”

He forced Coaley to go on. He smiled atMary Hope’s pallor, he reassured her as

they neared her home. A shed, sufficientlydetached to keep its fire to itself, wasblazing. The wind puffed suddenly fromnowhere and waved the high, yellowflames like torn ribbons. Great globules ofwater splashed upon them from the penttorrent above. Coaley galloped through thegate, passed the house, shied at somethinglying on the ground, stopped abruptlywhen Lance pulled sharply on the bit.

“Girl––sweetheart––be game!” Lancesaid sternly when Mary Hope screamed.

He let her to the ground, swung off andpassed her, running to the pitifully stilllittle figure of Mother Douglas lying in thepathway, her checked apron flapping, itsstarchy stiffness showing limp dark spotswhere the raindrops splashed.

“She’s only shocked. She’s all right––stopthat screaming! Good God, girl, where’syour nerve?”

His severity steadied her. Mary Hopestopped screaming, both hands held tightlyover her mouth. Lance was already on hisway to the house, carrying MotherDouglas like a sleeping child in his arms.And the rain came, a white curtain ofwater that drenched them to the skin in thefirst ten seconds.

On the bed where Aleck Douglas hadstared at the ceiling, and raved, and died,Lance laid her carefully as though hefeared to waken her. He tore open thefaded calico dress at the throat, laid hisear upon her heart.

“She’s alive, sweetheart,” he said

hearteningly. “It’s only a shock. Bring abasin of water. We’ll have her all right inno time.”

He worked over the old woman, using allthe means he could remember or invent,while the house shook with the fury of thewind, and the lightning dazzled them andthe rain drummed incessantly on the roof.Mary Hope watched him, her eyes wide,her lips refusing to form any words. Forher own sake he sent her on many littleerrands, kept her busy at useless littletasks. After what seemed an interminabletime he stood looking down at the gentlyheaving breast.

“How game is my girl?” he asked, takingMary Hope in his arms. “Is she gameenough to stay here while Lance goes for a

doctor? It won’t be long––” He pausedwhile he made a rapid mental calculationof the distance, and of what a horse mayendure. “Three hours. Will my girl bebrave enough to stay here three hours? I’llcall the man who was mowing––if I canfind him. But that will take minutes. Threehours––and you won’t weaken, will you,dear?”

Mary Hope leaned against him, clutchedhim, shivered at the crashing thunder. “It’sawful,” she moaned. “I’m afraid you mightbe hit––”

“Afraid? A Douglas not as game as aLorrigan?” He shook her, lifted hiseyebrows at her, pursed his lips at her,shook her again and kissed her. “I can’tlove a girl who’s afraid of thunder. Your

mother’s all right, you know. We sawwhere that bolt struck––fifty yards,almost, from where she was. She got ashock, that’s all. But we’ll have a doctorhere and make him take the responsibility.And I’ll be back in three hours, and you’regoing to be game––just as game as you’vealways been.”

He pulled his hat down over his eyes,buttoned his wet coat to the chin, laid hishand for a minute over the faintly pulsatingheart of Mother Douglas, swept MaryHope up in his arms and kissed her again,pulled open the door and was gone.

Through a rain-blurred window MaryHope saw him run to the stable, lead outCoaley who had taken refuge there, vaultinto the saddle without troubling about the

stirrup, and come thundering back past thehouse and out of the gate, his head bent tothe storm.

She looked at the clock. Three hours? Hecould never do it in three hours! She wentback and knelt beside the bed, and prayedas her mother had taught her to pray. Andnot all of her petition was for her mother.Every lightning flash, every crack, everydistant boom of the thunder made hercringe. Lance––Lance was out in thestorm, at the mercy of its terrible sword-thrusts that seemed to smite even theinnocent. Her mother––even her ownmother, who had held unswervingly to herfaith––even she had been struck down!

A mile down the road Lance was leaningforward, encouraging Coaley to more

speed, because there the trail ran leveland fairly free from rocks. Later, he pulledthe horse down to a walk, breathing himup a hill; let him trot down the slopebeyond, picked him into a swift gallopwhen they again struck the level. Hegauged, with coldblooded attention tocertain rough miles in the journey, justhow swiftly Coaley could cover groundand live. He knew horses. He knewCoaley, and he knew that never yet hadCoaley been pushed to the actual limit ofhis endurance. But the girl Lance loved––ah, it was a Lorrigan who loved!––wasback there alone, and she would becounting the minutes. It might be that hemight return to find her weeping over herdead. So Lance counted miles and ahorse’s strength, and bent to the storm and

rode.

Ten minutes past the hour, and he wassnapping orders to the telegraph operator.The storm, happily, had swept on downthe canyon and had given Jumpoff littlemore than a wetting and a few lightningflashes.

“And order out a special engine andcoach,––what do I care what it will cost?I’ll pay. Wire your Lava chief that themoney is here. Send the doctor on aheadof the regular train––can’t wait for that.”

He had the Lorrigan habit of carrying agood deal of money on his person, and hecounted out banknotes until the operatorlifted his hand and said it was enough. Heslammed out, then, mounted and rode to alivery stable and gave orders there.

“––And I’ll buy the damn team, so kill’em if you have to. Only get the doctor outthere.” He was in the saddle and goneagain before the stableman had recoveredfrom his sag-jawed astonishment.

“Guess there’s something in that talk ofhim and the Douglas girl,” the stablemangossiped to a friend while he harnessedhis swiftest team.

In ten minutes under the three hours Lancestopped at the house, went in and saw thatMary Hope was still being game, and wasvery glad to be in his arms, and thatMother Douglas was alive and staring upat the ceiling, her face set in a deadly kindof calm.

“She moves her eyes to me, sometimes––she’s been awake for almost an hour. But

she hasn’t moved––” Her voice broke.

“It’s all right––the doctor is on his way.And I’m here, sweetheart––you won’t bealone again. Where’s that man of yours?I’ll send him over with a note to Belle.She’ll come––she’s a wonder with sickfolks.”

“Mother––I’m afraid mother wouldn’t lether––she’s that set!”Lance looked at the corpse-like figurewith the wide-open eyes and a flicker ofthe lids now and then to show that she wasalive, and swallowed a lump in his throat.Mother Douglas would probably not knowwho was with her, he thought.

Coaley, the proud-spirited, shambledslowly to the stable, his head drooping,

his eyes dulled with exhaustion. He haddone his part. Lance rubbed him down,blanketed him, working swiftly, histhoughts with Mary Hope and her love andher fresh grief. He found Hugh, scribbleda note to Belle and got him started onJamie.

Mother Douglas moved her eyes, stared athim sharply when he went to her. But shedid not speak, did not move a muscle ofher face. The heart of Lance went heavy,but he could smile still at Mary Hope andtell her that it was all right, and that thedoctor ought to be there in an hour or so,and that Belle would come, and that heloved her, loved her, loved her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

BELLE LORRIGAN WINS

In the second-best suit of Aleck Douglas,with his wrists showing strong andshapely below the coat sleeves, andwrinkles across his back, Lance turned hisown steaming apparel before the kitchenfire and waited to hear what the doctorhad to say.

In his mind was a great wonder at theinscrutable operations of Fate, that hadtwice brought tragedy into the Douglashouse while he himself was permitted tobring all his love, which without the

tragedies might have been rejected; whichhad sent him hurrying to Mary Hope onthis day of all the days when he hadlonged to come. He could not believe thatblind Chance had irresponsibly twistedthe threads of Mary Hope’s life so thatthese things had come upon her. He wasabashed, humbled, filled with awe of thetremendous forces that rule our destinies.For perhaps the first time in his life hestood face to face with something beyondhis understanding, something againstwhich his arrogant young strength waspowerless.

The doctor presently came to him,beckoned him to the doorway andpreceded him into the rain-washed yard,where the late afternoon sun shone with

dazzling brightness after the storm.

“I think she’ll live through this,” thedoctor began abruptly. “It was not thelightning, altogether, though sheundoubtedly did receive a severe shock.There has been a predisposition toparalysis, which is the true nature of thisattack. Her right side is completelyparalyzed, and so far as I can determineafter a more-or-less superficialexamination, her vocal chords are alsoaffected, making speech impossible. Herleft arm is not affected, and her mindseems fairly normal. Too much work, toomuch worry, too much monotony––and shehas reached the time of life when thesethings are most apt to occur. Herhusband’s death was undoubtedly a

contributary cause. With proper medicalattention she may recover from thisattack––partially, at least. She should beremoved to a good hospital, or a trainednurse placed in charge of the case here.That will be expensive. Do you knowwhether the family can afford––”

“The family can afford anything she needs,anything that will give her a chance,”Lance told him brusquely.

“She will probably be an invalid as longas she lives,” the doctor went on. “Shewill be a great care. Are there anyrelatives, other than the girl? It’s atremendous burden to fall on hershoulders, Mr. Lorrigan.”

“The burden,” said Lance, “will not fallon her shoulders. I don’t mind telling you

that Miss Douglas and I will be marriedvery soon. As soon as possible.”

The doctor brightened visibly.“Congratulations, Mr. Lorrigan! I shouldstrongly advise you, then, to have the oldlady removed to a nice, quiet hospital.You will not want the care of her––youngpeople should not be handicapped in thatway. I can make the necessaryarrangements. She should not be subjectedto the discomforts of the journey just atpresent––it’s a long way by team, and along way by train. I should like to haveher as quiet as possible for a few days, atleast.”

“We’ll look after that,” said Lance, andhurried in to tell Mary Hope that hermother was not going to die, and that

Belle was coming––he could hear therattle of the buckboard.

“I don’t know what mother will say,”Mary Hope began, and stopped and hidher eyes behind her hands. Her mother,poor soul, could not say anything. Itseemed terrible to Mary Hope that hermother must lie there and endure thepresence of the painted Jezebel in herhome, and be unable to utter one word ofdenunciation, one bitter reproach. It waslike a judgment; and she could not bear thethought that her mother must suffer it. Ajudgment, or treachery on her part,––theterrible treason of a child betraying hermother.

“It’s all right, girl; you don’t know ourBelle. We’ll just leave it to her. She’ll

find a way. And I’ll go out now and tellher all about it, and leave her to manage.”

“I’ll go,” Mary Hope decidedunexpectedly. “I have things to say––youshall not go, Lance Lorrigan. You willplease let me see her alone––first. I’m thatafraid of Belle Lorrigan I could creepunder the table and hide! And so I shall goalone to her.”

Lance surrendered, and rolled a cigaretteand smoked it in the kitchen, andwondered if a cigarette had ever beensmoked in that house before, and whetherthe ghost of Aleck Douglas wassomewhere near, struggling vainly againstthe inevitable. It certainly wasunbelievable that a Lorrigan should bethere, master––in effect, at least––of the

Douglas household, wearing the shoddygarments of Aleck Douglas, and findingthem at least three sizes too small.

They were an unconscionably long timeout there,––those two women who meantso much to him. He glanced in at MotherDouglas, in bed now and looking terriblyshrunken and old. The doctor was withher, sitting close to the bed and leaningforward a little, watching her eyes whilehe talked soothingly. Lance was notwanted there, either. He returned to thekitchen and put more wood in the stove,and felt tentatively his drying clothes.

Belle came in, holding Mary Hope by thehand. The eyes of both were moist,shining, blue as the sky outside.

“Lance, honey, I’m glad,” she whispered,

kissing him on the cheek. “Hope told me.And don’t you two kids worry about me.I’ll win my way somehow. I alwayshave––and I guess maybe you’ve got it inyou, too, Lance. It sure took somethingmore than Lorrigan nerve to win MaryHope––though I’ll admit Lorrigan nervewon me. No, I won’t go in there now.Don’t tell her I’m here, we’ll waitawhile.”

It was dusk, and the lamp had not yet beenlighted. Through the unshaded windowMother Douglas could look out at the firstpale stars. The doctor had gone. Thehouse was very quiet, the snapping of thekitchen fire, the steady tick-tock, tick-tockof the old-fashioned clock blending with,rather than breaking, the silence.

Mother Douglas closed her eyes. Hergroping left hand ceased its aimlessplucking at a yarn knot in the patchworkcomforter. Her breath came evenly––MaryHope wondered if she slept. A hand fellon Mary Hope’s shoulder, though she hadnot heard a footfall. She seemed prepared,seemed to know what she must do. Sheslipped out of the chair, and Belle slippedinto it. Mother Douglas opened her eyes,turned them that way; infinite wearinessmarked the glance. Her left hand resumedagain its vague groping, the work-wornfingers plucking at the coverlet.

Sitting there in the dusk, her fingers faintlyoutlined in the old wooden armchair inwhich Aleck Douglas had been wont to sitand brood somberly over his work and his

wrongs, Belle began softly to sing:

“Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon,How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?”

The withered hand lay still, the fingersclutching tightly a fold of cotton cloth.Mother Douglas looked and closed hereyes. Leaning close, when the song wasfinished, Belle saw that the grim lips weretrembling, that tears were slipping downthe too calm face. With her handkerchiefshe wiped away the tears, and sang again.The “Girl with a Thousand Songs” hadmany Scottish melodies in her repertoire,and the years had not made her forget.

At the last, the groping left hand reachedpainfully across, found Belle’s handwaiting, and closed on it tightly.

Whenever Belle stopped singing the handwould clutch hers. When she began againthe fingers would relax a little. It was notmuch, but it was enough.

In the kitchen Mary Hope moved quietlyabout, cooking supper, straining andputting away the milk Hugh brought in. Inthe kitchen Lance sat and watched her, andmade love to her with his big eyes, withhis voice that made of the mostcommonplace remark a caress.

But that night, when Mary Hope wasasleep and Belle was dozing beside thestricken woman, Lance saddled Jamie andled Coaley home. And while he rode,black Trouble rode with him and Lovecould not smile and beat back the spectrewith his fists, but hid his face and

whimpered, and was afraid.

For Lance was face to face again with thatsinister, unnamed Something that hungover the Devil’s Tooth ranch. He mightforget it for a few hours, engrossed withhis love and in easing this new trouble thathad come to Mary Hope; he might forget,but that did not make his own trouble anythe less menacing, any the less real.

He could not tell her so, now while shehad this fresh worry over her mother, butLance knew––and while he rode slowlyhe faced the knowledge––that he could notmarry Mary Hope while the cloud hungover the Devil’s Tooth. And that therewas a cloud, a black, ominous cloud fromwhich the lightning might be expected tostrike and blast the Lorrigans, he could not

deny. It was there. He knew it, knew justhow loud were its mutterings, knew that itwas gathering swiftly, pushing up over thehorizon faster than did the storm of themorning.

He would not put Coaley down the Slidetrail, but took him around by the wagonroad. They plodded along at a walk,Coaley’s stiffened muscles giving him thegait of an old horse. There had been nourgent need to take Coaley home at once,but it was an excuse, and Lance used it.He could not think,––he could not face hisown trouble when he was near MaryHope. She drove everything else from hismind, and Lance knew that some thingsmust not be driven from his mind. He hadset himself to do certain things. Now, with

Mary Hope loving him, there was all themore reason why he should do them.

The ranch seemed deserted, though ofcourse it was late and he knew that everyone would be in bed. He found a lantern,put Coaley into the box stall again, andspent a long time rubbing him down andcarrying him fresh hay and water. He wentup then and roused Sam Pretty Cow, whowas sleeping in the small cabin he hadelected to make his own private habitationon the ranch. Sam Pretty Cow told him thatno one had come home as yet.

“Two, three days, I dunno. Mebby Tomcomes then,” he hazarded, blinking atLance. “This too quick. Nobody comesback same day, you bet.”

Lance stood looking down at him,

scowling thoughtfully. “Sam, you’ve beena long time with the outfit. You’ve been agood man. You aren’t crippled up––andyou’re the best rider of the bunch of us.Why don’t you go out any more?”

Sam lighted a cigarette, blew out theblazing match and laid the burnt stubcarefully on a box. He smoked stolidly,gazing at the dingy wall before him.

“Bust them bronks in the corral,” he saidat last, grinning briefly. “You stay long,you see me ride. Uh-huh––yo’ bet.”

“Well, yes. That’s all right. But why don’tyou go with the outfit?” Lance leanedagainst the wall, arms folded, studyinghim. It was almost hopeless, trying to getanything out of Sam Pretty Cow; still,Lance tried it.

Sam Pretty Cow looked up at him, lookeddown at his bare feet that he had swungout of bed when Lance wakened him.

“Uh-huh. That’s why. That all right, I’mgo. That ain’t all right, I’m don’ go. Youbet.”

Lance tap-tapped his right arm with thefingers of his left hand, chewed his lip andlooked at Sam Pretty Cow.

“Still, dad lets you stick around theoutfit,” he drawled meaningly.

Sam Pretty Cow shot a quick glancetoward him, looked at the door, relaxedagain and studied his toes which hewriggled on the dirty floor.

“I’m good man, you bet. I’m mind mybusiness.” He drew a long breath, glanced

again from the door to Lance’s face.“Tom’s damn smart man––me, I’m mebbysmarter. I dunno.”

Lance looked down at him, smilingstrangely. “Sam, I’m minding my business,too. I’m doing it by––not minding my ownbusiness. Tom Lorrigan’s a smart man––but I’m Tom Lorrigan’s son.”

Sam turned his foot over, looked criticallyat the calloused sole of it, turned it backagain and blew a mouthful of smoke.“Yeah––uh-huh. You damn smart––youdon’t like them damn jail. I’m don’t. Weboth smart, you bet.”

Lance lifted an eyebrow. “What’s thePiegan word for accomplice, Sam?” heasked softly.

Sam Pretty Cow considered. “Me, I’mdon’ know them damn word,” he decided.

“It’s a word that sends smart men to jail,Sam. It means the man that stays at homeand––knows.”

Sam Pretty Cow tucked his feet under thethin blanket, laid his half-smoked cigaretteon the box, with the burning end out overthe edge.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. You bet.” He looked up atLance, for the first time meeting his eyessquarely. “I’m know them damn word youcall. Nh-hn. Long time I’m got that what itmean on my heart. You’re damn right.” Hewaited a minute, saw the Lorrigan look onLance’s face, on his lips that smiledenigmatically. “Them Californy got bronksto bust?”

“Surest thing you know, Sam. But that’sall right. You stay.”

Sam Pretty Cow looked doubtful as anIndian may ever be expected to look.

“You stay, Sam. There’ll be bronks to buston the Devil’s Tooth for a long while yet.”He moved to the door, pulled it open andstood looking out. Only a few miles awayMary Hope lay asleep, loving him in herdreams, please God. Here, the Shadowhung black over the Devil’s Tooth. Heturned to Sam Pretty Cow whose handwas stretched toward the smoky lamp.

“You forget that word, Sam. It doesn’tmean anything at all––to a Piegan. AndSam, if I’m not around to-morrowmorning, you ride over to the Douglasranch, and take back the horse I borrowed.

Belle may want to send you to town. She’sthere.”

Sam Pretty Cow’s eyes widenedappreciably. “Uh-huh––all right. I’m go,”he promised, and blew out the light.

Lance went slowly up to the house and layface downward on his bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

THE DOPE

Traveling lightly, Lance had covered ahundred and fifty miles in four days,through country where trails were few andrough. He had made wide detours, hadslept on the ground in his slicker, hadeaten bacon and bannocks cooked in thesmall frying pan which he carried in thesack with his meager rations. He hadmissed altogether the Devil’s Tooth outfit,and was swinging back now by way of theLava Beds, where Tom had said that theywere going. It was because Tom had

named that as his destination that Lancehad ridden elsewhere to find him; goodreasoning, but so far unproductive ofresults.

Four days, and he had not heard fromMary Hope, had learned nothingconclusive, either for or against theDevil’s Tooth. Some clues he hadgleaned, some evidence that strengthenedhis suspicions, but nothing to make himfeel that the trip had been worth thehardship.

Without knowing just why, he had riddenout expecting to learn the best or the worstand have done with nagging suspicion. Ithad seemed to him that Fate meant to bekind, that his destiny and Mary Hope’spointed the way to happiness. Now he

was beginning to doubt. How washappiness possible, if the outlaw blood ofthe Lorrigans ran at high pressure throughthe veins of his family? He did not knowto a certainty that it did, but until he knewthat it did not he could never marry MaryHope. He had to know. It had been puremadness, going to her as he had gone.While his horse plodded up the hill towhere the lava outcroppings began, Lancemeditated gloomily on the madness thathad driven him to her. He had felt so sureof himself and his future, so much themaster of his destiny and hers! Yet, evenwhile he wooed her tempestuously he hadknown that it was madness, that Troublewas reaching even then to pluck him bythe sleeve. Mary Hope and her stern,Scotch integrity linked to the blackened

Lorrigan name that might soon stand on theroster of the State’s prison? It wasimpossible, inconceivable. He had been ahound to say to her what he had said.

True, when her mother was stricken hehad been there to help her, to comfort her.But it would be small comfort to MaryHope when the storm broke over theDevil’s Tooth.

“And I said Fate was with us––I saidnothing could hurt her! And it will hurt herall her life.”

His sweaty horse paused to breathe,heaving a great sigh, lookingdiscouragedly at the climb yet before him.Lance came to himself and swung off,giving the horse an apologetic slap on theshoulder. “You ought to kick me cold,

Sorry, for making you pack my hulkingcarcase up this hill. Why didn’t you stopat the bottom?”

Sorry looked at him, waited for Lance totake the lead, and climbed after him morebriskly. He was a big-boned, well-muscled animal, but two hundred poundshad been a heavy load to carry up hill, andhe was glad to be rid of it.

At the top Lance did not remount. Thethickly strewn flat rocks made treacherousfooting, and more than one man had takena nasty fall because he had chosen to ridethat mile of lava when he should havewalked. It was somewhere along thisstretch of rock outcropping that Shorty hadbroken his knee so that he would neverride again to the round-up.

Lance was walking along with his headdown, brooding over his trouble, when hefancied he heard a faint halloo. Sorrystopped and craned his head. But Lancecould see nothing save the barren stretchof lava and the monotonous wildernessbeyond, with mountains in the farbackground and the Black Rim stretchinggrim on the left of him. He started on,thinking that perhaps some animal or birdwas responsible for the sound. But he hadgone but a short distance when it cameagain, more distinctly because he was halflistening for it.

He waited, made a guess at the location ofthe person who shouted, and turned thatway, changing the reins from his righthand to his left and pulling his holstered

six-shooter within easy reach of his hand.This was not the country, his was not theerrand, for carelessness, and Lance wastaking no risk.

As he walked his eyes roved continuallyover the brown expanse of rocks andstunted juniper that formed the Lava Beds.Behind him came Sorry, his worn shoesslipping now and then on a smooth rock,his head bobbing patiently, close toLance’s shoulder. As so often happens, itwas the horse that first discovered theobject of their search. He pulled awayfrom the direct line, looking and looking atwhat Lance, keen-eyed though he was,mistook for a black rock with a juniperbush growing beside it.

Lance turned that way, focussed his

glasses upon the object and saw what hadhappened. A horse had fallen with itsrider, the two lying together, the manpinned under the horse. A black horsewhich he recognized, and a big, red-facedcowpuncher with gray eyes that did nottwinkle. While Lance looked, the manlifted his head, seemed to be staringstraight into Lance’s face, opened hismouth and contorted his pain-racked facein a shout. It was strange to have the soundreach Lance’s ears thinned and weakenedby distance, while the glasses brought theinjured man so close that he could see thewild look of entreaty in his eyes. Lanceput up the glasses and began running, withSorry stumbling and slipping behind him.

“I been here since morning,” the big

cowpuncher chattered feverishly whenLance came up to him. “I’m fixed, allright! I was dozing and I didn’t jump andhe caught me when he fell. I guess his legis broke, but so is mine, fur’s that goes. Icome down hard on a rock and I guess Ibroke some ribs or something. Hurt likehell for a few hours––it ain’t so bad now.Look out when you go to make him gitup––if he rolls on me it’s all off. I guessit’s all off, anyway, but I don’t want to besquashed to death.”

Lance bit his lip. It was hard to hear theman talking, talking, in that rapid,headlong fashion, while his leg lay underthe full weight of the black horse and thesun blazed on his uncovered head. It washard to see his shirt all blood-soaked on

the left side where he had fallen across anuptilted, thin-edged rock.

The horse, too, was in sorry state. Aweed-grown crevice had cheated him withits semblance to sound footing, and he laywith front leg broken, groaning a littlenow and then while the man talked andtalked. And while he examined the two itseemed to Lance that Fate was pointing,and saying that here, too, was one of theinscrutable instruments by which heworked out the destinies of men. Aslippery rock, a man riding that way halfasleep––

“I’ll have to shoot this horse, I’m afraid,”Lance said pityingly. “His leg is broken––it’s the most merciful thing I can do. Andif I try to lift him off you while he’s alive

he may struggle––”

“Sure thing! Go on and shoot him! Iwoulda done it myself if you hadn’t comealong purty soon. I knowed it would be alloff with us both if we had to lay out allnight, so I was going to finish us both off,when I seen you. Thought I’d take agambling chance till dark––but the sun hasbeen baking me to a crisp––”

“It’s all right––I’ll get you to a ranch.We’ll fix you up, so don’t think about thefinish.” A little of the color had leftLance’s face. Shooting a horse was to himnext thing to shooting a human. He had todo it, though. There was no other way.

He took the horse by the cheek-piece ofthe bridle, spoke to him gently, turned thehead a little away from him so that the

horse could not look him in the eyes.“Poor old fellow, it’s all I can do foryou,” he muttered when he pulled his gunfrom the holster.

“Maybe you better do the same for me,”said the man, still speaking in the rapidtone which told of fever. “You ain’t ableto heave him off me, are you?”

“Sure, I’m able to. Lie still, now, and grityour teeth, old man. It may hurt, when I lifthim off your leg. I’ll raise him up and puta rock under, and pull you out. Can youstand that?”

“Me? Hell, yes. Ain’t I been standing painsince before daylight? Me, I can standanything if I have to!”

Yet he fainted when Lance took him by the

shoulders and pulled him free, and Lanceused half the water in the canteen on thesaddle in bringing him back toconsciousness. When the fellow openedhis eyes, Lance remembered that he hadhalf a pint of whisky in his coat pocket,and offered it to the injured one.

“Golly, that’s a life-saver!” he ejaculatedwhen he had taken two swallows. Hereached down and felt his crushed leg,grimacing at the pain of returningcirculation.

“She’s busted all right. Busted right, ifI’m any judge. And my side––things areall busted up in there. I know it. Say,oldtimer, how do you figure you’re goingto get me outa here? Do you know it’s allof ten miles to the nearest ranch? I’ve got

a map of the whole country in my coatpocket. I’ll show yuh if you don’t know.You’re a stranger, I guess. I don’trecollect seeing yore horse before. Ialways know horses. What’s his brand?”

Lance did not say. He himself waswondering how he was going to get theman out of there. If the fellow thought hewas a stranger, all the better. Still, it didnot matter much. Already the whisky waswhipping the man’s brain to quickeraction, loosening his tongue that hadalready been set wagging by fever.

“Think you can stand it to ride?” he askedsolicitously. “I can heave you into thesaddle, if you can stand being moved. I’dride to the next ranch and bring a wagon––but the country’s too rough. A rig couldn’t

get within five miles of here.”

“You’re right. Not even Belle Lorrigan’sbuckboard could make it across thatcanyon on beyond. Say, speaking of theLorrigans––” he hesitated, then plungedrecklessly on. “I’m going to pass yousome dope I’ve got on that outfit. Thechances are I’m done for. The way myinsides feel––and you do something forme, will you? If I cash in, you turn in thisdope. We may as well ’tend to thisbusiness right now, before I tackle the jobof riding.”

Lance stood looking down at him while hefumbled in his pocket, pulled out a smallleather notebook and some papers.

“I’m a stock detective, see. My name’sBurt Brownlee. I was just about ready to

turn in the dope and have the whole outfitpulled. Well, it’s all here. They beenrustling right and left, see. But they’recute––they’re damn cute. We been tryingto work up the case on the outside, and itseemed like somebody in the Black Rimwas sending stock out, and so I’ve beenworking on this end. Now here’s the data.I followed ’em, and I’ve got the dope. Iknow now how they work it, and myevidence and this dope here, that can beverified later on when the time comes,will put the whole bunch over the road,see. They’re outlaws––always havebeen––but they won’t be by the time theyget outa the pen.”

“You better keep that,” Lance cut ingruffly. “Man, that’s nothing you want to

be gabbling to a stranger. Shut up, and letme put you on my horse.”

“No, I want to tell yuh,” Burt insisted withall the obstinacy of a man half crazy withpain and whisky. “I want to tell yuh, andI’m going to tell yuh! Get down here andlisten. Here’s a map, and here’s thebrands they worked, and here’s how theyworked ’em. And here’s the dates.”

On one knee Lance kneeled and listened,his jaws set hard together. Fast as the mantalked the thoughts of Lance flew ahead,snatched at the significance of everydetail, every bit of evidence. Some thingspuzzled Burt Brownlee, but Lance knewthe answer to the puzzle while Burt talkedand talked. Finally he laid his hand overthe finely traced maps that showed secret

trails, unguessed, hidden little drawswhere stolen stock had been concealed,all the fine threads that would weave thenet close around the Lorrigans.

“Here, put that stuff up. This is not gettingyou to a doctor, and this can wait. Put itup.”

“No, you take it. And if I don’t pullthrough, you turn it in. You keep it. I don’twant to be found dead with that dope onme––you can’t tell who might get hold ofit.” He thrust the papers and the bookeagerly into Lance’s unwilling hand.

“No-o, you can’t tell who might get holdof it,” Lance admitted, biting his lip.“Well, let me take your riding outfit offthis horse and then we’ll go.”

While he pulled saddle and bridle off thedead horse, Burt Brownlee talked andtalked and talked. He wanted morewhisky, which Lance promised him heshould have when he was ready to get onthe horse. He told further evidence againstthe Devil’s Tooth, told how he hadfollowed Tom for two days only to seehim later at the ranch where he hadreturned while Burt had for a time lost thetrail. On that trip, he said, he would havegotten the full details of one “job” had henot turned off to follow Tom Lorrigan.

While he worked Lance listened stoically.When he was ready to start he led Sorryclose, lifted the fellow as tenderly as hecould, saw him faint again with the pain,and somehow got him on the horse while

he was still unconscious. Burt Brownleewas a big man, but he was not of greatweight. Lance bound him to the saddlewith his own riata, revived him with alittle more whisky, and started forConley’s, who lived nearest.

It was ten miles to Conleys, as ridersguessed the distance. Lance walked andled Sorry, and tried to hold Burt Brownleein the saddle, and listened to his ramblingtalk, and gave him more whisky when heseemed ready to die. During certainintervals when Burt seemed lucid enoughto realize his desperate condition, Lanceheartened him with assurance that theywere almost there.

On the way into the canyon Burt Brownleesuffered greatly on the steep trail, down

which the horse must go with forwardjoltings that racked terribly the man’scrushed side. The whisky was gone; hehad finished the scanty supply at thecanyon’s crest, because he begged for itso hard that Lance could not steel himselfto refuse. At the bottom Lance stoppedSorry, and put an arm around Burt.Lance’s face was set masklike in itsforced calm, but his voice was verytender, with the deep, vibrant note MaryHope loved so ardently.

“Lean against me, old man, and rest aminute. It’s pretty tough going, but you’regame. You’re dead game. You’ll make it.Wait. I’ll stand on this rock––now leanhard, and rest. Ho, there’s no whisky––water will have to do you, now. I’ve a

little in my canteen, and when you’verested––”

“I’m going,” said Burt, lurching againstLance’s steady strength. “You’re a whiteman. That Lorrigan dope––don’t forgetwhat I told you––turn it in––”

Lance’s mouth twisted with suddenbitterness. “I won’t––forget,” he said.“I’ll turn it––in.”

“I’m––a goner. Just––stand and let me––lean––”

Lance stood, and let him lean, and with hishandkerchief he very gently dried Burt’scold, perspiring face. It seemed an endlesstime that he stood there. Now and thenBurt clutched him with fingers thatgripped his shoulders painfully, but Lance

never moved. Once, when Sorry turned hishead and looked back inquiringly,wondering why they did not go on, Lancespoke to the horse and his voice was calmand soothing. But when it was all over,Lance’s underlip was bleeding at thecorner where he had bitten into it.

He walked into Conley’s yard an hourafter that, his face drearily impassive, adead man lashed to the saddle. He askedfor paper and a pen, and in a firm, evenhandwriting he described tersely themanner of Burt Brownlee’s death, toldwhere the dead horse and the saddlewould be found, and as an afterthought,lest there be trouble in locating the spot,he drew a sketch of that particular part ofthe Lava Beds. He signed the statement,

and had the excited Conleys, shaking manand half hysterical wife, sign also aswitnesses. His matter-of-fact treatment ofthe affair impressed them to the point ofreceiving his instructions as though theywere commands which must on no accountbe disobeyed in any particular.

“I’ll be back and tell the coroner. He’llwant to see the horse and saddle, perhaps.Mr. Conley, you can find them without anytrouble. If he wants an inquest, tell him I’llbe on hand. Thank you, Mrs. Conley,––no,I’ll not wait for anything to eat. I’m nothungry. I must get home. Good-by––sorry Ican’t do any more for you.”

He mounted Sorry, pricked him into agallop, and presently disappeared arounda bend of the trail that led in the direction

of the Devil’s Tooth ranch.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

HOW ONE TRAIL ENDED

Darkness falls late on the Black Rimcountry in midsummer. It was justdeepening from dusk when Lance rode upto the corral gate, pulled the saddle andbridle off Sorry with swift jerks thatbespoke a haste born of high nervoustension, and strode up to the house. Fromthe bunk house, when he passed, came themurmur of low-keyed voices. The outfit,then, was at home once more. From theshaded window of Belle’s bedroom a thinsilver of light shone, where the blind was

curled back at the edge, but the rest of thehouse was dark. He went in, movingsoftly, but Belle must have heard his stepon the porch, for she came out with herbedroom lamp in her hand, the otherraised to impress quiet upon him.

“Lance, honey! Where on earth have youbeen?” She set the lamp down on the tableand came close, putting her arms aroundhim, her eyes searching the impenetrablecalm of his face, the veiled purposebehind his eyes. It was the Lorriganfighting look; she had seen it once ortwice in Tom’s face and it had frightenedher. She was frightened now, but her ownintrepid soul pushed back her fear.

“Sh-sh, honey,” she whispered, thoughLance had neither moved nor spoken since

she touched him. “Sh-sh––Mary Hope andher mother are here, and they’re bothasleep. I––honey, we were so worried,when you didn’t come back. That note yousent didn’t say a thing, and I was afraid––And I was between the devil and the deepsea, honey. I couldn’t stay away fromhere, when I didn’t know––and I couldn’tleave Hope there, and the women thatcame flocking when they heard the newswere just cows for brains. And the oldlady won’t have a nurse and she wouldn’tlet me out of her sight––she keeps mesinging about all the time she’s awake, orreciting poetry––Bobbie Burns, mostly,and Scott. Would you ever think she’dstand for Bobbie Burns? But I can do it asScotch as she can, and she likes it.

“So she wouldn’t let me leave, and Icouldn’t stay––and I had Hugh make up abed in the spring wagon, and brought herover here. If you and Hope are going to bemarried right away, the old lady will needto be here, anyway. The doctor tried totalk hospital––he just tried. The old ladycan write now with her left hand so wecan make it out, and when he said hospitalto her she––she almost swore.

“So it’s all right, Lance, honey––my God,Lance, what is it? Have you heard fromDuke?” She broke down suddenly, andclutched him in a way that reminded himpoignantly of that dying man in the canyon.Her whisper became sibilant, terrified.“What is it? What has happened? Lance,tell me! Tom is here, and Al; they were

here when we came, to-day––”

Lance took a deep breath. Very gently heleaned and kissed her on the forehead,reached back and pulled her hands awayfrom his shoulders.

“It’s nothing, Belle. I’m––tired. Andyou––you surprised me. Will it wakenthem if I––clean up a little before I go tobed? I’ll––be careful.” He forced hiseyes, his lips, to smile at her. “Good girl,Belle. I’m––you’re a trump. Now go backto bed. Lance is on the job––Lance won’tleave again like that––he’ll––settledown.”

He sat down on the nearest chair andpulled off his boots. He made animperative gesture toward her bedroom,and Belle, giving him a strange, searching

look, went in and closed the door afterher. He gave a sigh of relief when she wasgone, never dreaming how little he hadimposed upon her.

In his stocking feet he went to the kitchen,found hot water in the teakettle, carried itto his room and shaved, cleansing hisbody as well as he could from the dust ofthe trip without making any sound thatmight disturb the sleeping invalid andMary Hope. He dressed himself carefullyas though he were going to meet guests.The set look was still in his face when hestood before the dresser mirror, knottingthe blue tie that harmonized best with theshirt he wore. He pulled the tan leatherbelt straight, so that the plain silver bucklewas in the middle, took something off the

bed and pushed it carefully inside thewaistband of his trousers, on the left side,taking great care that its position was rightto the fraction of an inch. He took his tanOxford shoes in his hand, pulled open hisdoor as quietly as any burglar could havedone, stepped down upon the ground andput on the shoes, lacing them carefully,tucking in the bow ends fastidiously.

Then, moving very softly, he went downthe path to the bunk-house, opened thedoor and walked in, never dreaming thatBelle was no more than a dozen stepsbehind him, or that, when he closed thedoor, she was standing just outside,listening.

The blood of his actress mother carriedhim insouciantly over the pregnant silence

that received him. He leaned negligentlyagainst the wall beside the closed door,his arms folded, his eyebrows tiltedupward at the inner ends, his lips smilingquizzically.

“I’ve another funny story to tell youfellows,” he drawled, just before thesilence became awkward. “Glad you’reall here––it’s too good to keep, too goodto waste on part of the outfit. I want youall to get the kick. You’ll enjoy it––beingcattlemen. It’s a joke that was pulled on anoutfit down in Arizona.”

Like a trained monologist, he had themlistening, deceived by his smiling ease,waiting to hear the joke on the Arizonaoutfit. Tom and Al, at the table with somepapers before them, papers that held

figures and scribbled names, he quiteoverlooked. But they, too, listened to thestory, were imposed upon by thatquizzical smile, by his mimicry, by thebold, swift strokes with which he paintedword pictures which their imaginationsseized upon as fast as they were made.

It was Tom who first felt a suspicion ofLance’s purpose, and shifted his positiona little, so that his right hand would befree. As he did so, without looking towardhim Lance’s left fingers began tapping,tapping the muscles of his right arm; hisright hand had sagged a little. Tom’seyebrows pulled together. Quite well heknew that pose. He waited, listened withcloser attention to the story.

Lance paused, as your skillful raconteur

usually does pause before the climax. Hisglance went impersonally over the facesof his audience. Most of them wereleaning forward, a few were breathinghard. They were listening, strainingunconsciously to get the meaning hewithheld from them. Lance’s right handsagged another half inch, his lips pulledsidewise in the enigmatical smile of theLorrigans.

“I lied, of course––about the outfit thisjoke is on. It’s really the Devil’s ToothI’m talking about. But the kick remains, solisten, folks, just listen.

“I’m a Lorrigan. Two of you areLorrigans, and you know what I meanwhen I say that. The rest of you had betterguess what I mean, if you don’t know––

and guess right!

“I’m talking to you with my back againstthe wall––in more ways than one. Don’tthink I’m fool enough not to know it. Butyou’re listening with your backs againstanother wall; I believe it is of stone,usually, and the windows have bars. Idon’t think you’re such fools you fail tograsp my meaning. I’m talking––andyou’re going to listen.

“What I said––well, I have the dope, youknow. I know where you took that lastbunch of stolen horses, and I know thedate when you turned them over. I have amap or two––I know those secret trailsyou made, that lead into that hidden littlebasin that the Rim has not discovered yet.I’ve dope enough to indict the whole outfit

on five separate counts––and any one ofthem will put every man of you in the penfor a term of years––well, from five to tenup to fifteen or twenty––a mere detail.

“I know why Duke didn’t come back.There’s a yellow streak in Duke, and helost his nerve and drifted to partsunknown. Where, I’m not curious todiscover. It doesn’t matter, so long as hisdestination remains unknown.

“That’s the story. And now, here’s thepoint: Others, detectives working at theother end of the business, have an inklingof some of this dope. They haven’t gotwhat I’ve got, but they may possibly get it.They may––possibly. And if they do––wel-ll––” He smiled at them, hiseyebrows pointing his meaning, his fingers

tapping, tapping on his arm.

“You’ve got to quit. Now, without turningthe deal you’re working on, you’ve got toquit. Get that. Get it right into your souls.You men that have been hired to steal,you’ve got to drift. Where, does notconcern me at all. Where Duke went isgood––Parts Unknown. Or if it’s to hell––why, the going is good. Never better.You’ll go quicker, but there won’t be anycoming back, so I advise––PartsUnknown.

“You two Lorrigans––I’m not thinking ofyou now as my brother and my father––thesame advice applies to you. You’reLorrigans. You’d rather fight it out thanpull out, but you won’t. You’d rather killme than go. That’s all right; I understand

perfectly. But––I’m Lorrigan, too. You’llgo, or I’ll kill you. Tom Lorrigan, yourhand is pret-ty close to your gun! But so ismine. You’d kill me, because I stand in thetrail you’ve been traveling. But youwouldn’t kill me a damn bit quicker thanI’d kill you! I do stand in the trail––andyou’re going to take another, both youLorrigans.

“You had a debt––a bill of damagesagainst the Black Rim. Wel-ll,” he smiled,“you’ve collected. Now, to-night, youwrite ‘paid’ across that bill. You tried tobe honest, and the Black Rim wouldn’tgive you credit for it; they tried to framesomething on you, tried to send you ‘overthe road’ on a damned, measly charge youweren’t small enough to be guilty of. I

understand. The trail ends right here. Youquit. You sit there ready to kill. But I’mjust as ready as you are. You’ll quit, orI’ll kill you!”

He waited, watching Tom. Tom, watchingLance, got up and faced him cold-eyed,unafraid, weighing not chances, but valuesrather.

“You’d kill me, would you!” he asked, hisvoice matching the drawl of Lance.

“Sure, I’d kill you!” Lance smiled back.

Eyes on a level, the two stared at eachother, smiling that deadly, Lorrigan smile,the smile of old Tom Lorrigan the killer.

“You would, all right,” Tom said. Thenhis stiffened muscles relaxed. A twinklecame into his eyes. “If you’re game

enough to do that, kid, by God, I’m gameenough to quit!”

Lance unfolded his arms, reached out withhis open right hand and met Tom’s hand ina close grip. “That’s the stuff, dad! I knewyou had it in you––I knew it!”

Outside the door, Belle hugged her six-shooter to her breast and leaned againstthe wall, her knees shaking under her.“Thank God! Oh, thank God a Lorrigancan be bigger than all the Lorrigan bloodthat’s in him!” she whispered. “Oh, Lance,honey––oh, thank God!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THE MAKING OF NEW TRAILS

At the corral, that time-honoredconference ground of all true range men,the three Lorrigans leaned their backsagainst the rails and talked things over intrue range style: laconic phrases thatstated their meaning without frills ormental reservations, and silences thatcarried their thoughts forward to the nextutterance.

“Al can take the outfit and drift,” saidTom, as though he were discussing somedetail of the round-up. “He knows

where––and they can scatter, I’ll give ’ema horse apiece as a––a kinda bonus. I’llhave to stay, looks like. Fall round-up’scoming on.”

“Wel-ll,” said Lance, throwing an armover a rail and drumming with his fingers,“I was raised on round-ups. I don’tsuppose I’ve forgotten all about it. Youmight turn the management over to me fora year or so, and take a trip. Belle needsit, dad. I think I could keep things ridingalong, all right.”

“Sounds kinda like you had that idea for ajoker up your sleeve,” Al observedmeaningly. “Are you plumb sure of thatdope, Lance?”

Lance removed his arm from the corralrail, and reached into his pocket. “I didn’t

think you had it in you, Al, to be that big afool. But since you’ve said it, here’s thedope. Take it, dad. I said I’d turn it in, butI didn’t say who’d receive it. The stockdetective that’s been camping on your trailfor the last few weeks was killed on theLava Beds to-day. I found him. He’s atConley’s, now, waiting for the coroner.You might ride over, Al, and see foryourself. And on the way, you might rideup the Slide trail and take a look aroundthe Tooth. You’ll see signs where he’swatched the ranch from up there. And youcan go on down and find where he campedseveral times at Cottonwood Spring.

“The coroner won’t get on the job beforeto-morrow or next day, and it will take alittle time, I suppose, for Brownlee’s

employers to wake up and wonder whatbecame of the evidence he was sent tocollect. You’ll have, perhaps, a week inwhich to make your getaway. They’rewaiting outside the Rim for the evidencethis Burt Brownlee was collecting, so thatthey could make one big clean-up.

“I’m not setting myself up as a judge, oranything like that––but––well, the going’sgood, right now. It may not be so good ifyou wait.”

He lighted a match and held it up so thatTom could glance at the maps and skimthe contents of the memorandum book. Bythe blaze of the match Lance’s face stilllooked rather hard, determined to see thething through.

“You’d better burn that stuff, dad. And in

the morning––how would it be if we wentto town and got the legal end of my newjob straightened out! I’ll want a Power ofAttorney. You may be gone for some time.I suppose you know,” he added, “thatMary Hope and I are going to be married.So you and Belle can take a tripsomewhere. They say it’s worth whilegoing down to the big cattle country in theArgentine––South America, you know.”

Tom did not reply. He had lighted asecond match and was studying attentivelythe data in Burt Brownlee’s book. Thethird match told him enough to convincehim. He gave a snort when darknessenveloped them again.

“I sharpened my pencil pretty darn finewhen I made out my bill against the Black

Rim a few years ago––and by the humpin’hyenas, these figures here kinda go toshow I overcharged ’em. Some. Not sodamn much, either, if you look at my side.Better get up the horses, Al, and you’n theboys take the trail. The kid’s right. Thegoin’s dern good, right now. Better’n whatit will be.”

In the scuffed sand before the corral gateTom made a small fire, with a fewcrumpled papers and one small book,which he tore apart and fed, leaf by leaf,to the flames. The light showed him grimlysmiling, when he tilted his head andlooked up at Lance who watched him.

“So you’n the Douglas kid is figuring ongetting hitched! Well, don’t ever try to eyeher down like you done to yore dad.

She’ll brain yuh, likely––if you wait longenough for her to make up her mind.”

Lance laughed. Up at the house Belleheard him and caught her breath. Shestared hard at the three forms silhouettedlike Rembrandt figures around the littlefire, started toward them and stopped. Shewas a wise woman, was Belle. Somethings a woman may know––and hide theknowledge deep in her heart, and in thehiding help her mate.

Black Rim folk, who always knew somuch of their neighbors’ affairs, oncemore talked and chortled and surmised,and never came within a mile of the truth.The young college rooster had come hometo the Devil’s Tooth, they gossiped, andhad a row with Al; so Al left home, and

Duke too. The Lorrigans always had beenhard to get along with, but that Lance––hesure must be a caution to cats, the wayhe’d cleaned off the ranch.

Marrying the Douglas girl, and taking thatparalyzed old lady right to the ranch, hadprobably had a lot to do with it. Lancemight be willing to forget that old troublewith Scotty, but the rest of the Lorriganssure never would. And it was queer, too,how all that rustling talk petered out.Mebby there hadn’t been much in it, afterall.

Not even Mary Hope guessed why she andLance were left so completely in charge ofthe ranch. Sometimes, when the invalidwas captious and showed too plainly thatshe preferred Belle’s playing and singing

to the musical efforts of her own daughter,and scrawled impatient questions aboutBelle’s return, Mary Hope would wonderif Tom Lorrigan really hated her, and ifher coming had practically driven him outof his own home. She would cry a little,then,––unless Lance happened to besomewhere near. If he were, there was nocrying for Mary Hope.

“He’s a good son,” Mother Douglas oncewrote, “I wish Aleck was alive, to seehow the Lord has changed the Lorrigans.”

THE END

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