een sarcastic over Kate's escapade; Barb's own men were
laughing at him. He interrupted Kate: "Pack up your things," he said
ruthlessly.

She faced her father without flinching: "What do you mean?" she asked.

He tossed his head with as little concern as if he were discharging a
cowboy: "Don't want you around here any longer," he snapped. "Pack up.
Get out."

She looked at him in silence. Perhaps, as she turned defiantly away
and walked to her room, she thought of the man that had deserted her
mother when she herself was a baby in her mother's arms. At any rate,
anger fortified her against the shock. Her preparations were soon
made. A trunk held all she wished to take. She asked Bradley to get
up her pony. Bradley was hitched up for a trip to Sleepy Cat and,
putting her trunk in the wagon, was on the road ahead of Kate. She
spent a little time in straightening up her room and shortly afterwards
rode down the trail for town.

Absorbed in thoughts tinged with bitterness and anger, she rode toward
the creek as if casting things up again and again in her mind, but
reaching no conclusion. When her horse struck the Sleepy Cat road he
turned into it because he was used to doing so, not because she guided
him. In this haphazard way she was jogging on, her eyes fixed on
nothing more encouraging than the storm-worn ruts along her way when a
shout startled her. Looking up, she saw she was nearing the lower gate
of the alfalfa patch and across the road a party of horsemen had
stopped Bradley with the wagon. She recognized Harry Van Horn--his
smart hat, erect figure and scarlet neckcloth would have identified him
before she could distinguish his features; and he always rode the best
horse. Stone and three of the Texas men were with him. With the
exception of Van Horn, they had dismounted, and with their drooping
horses close at hand were stacking their rifles against the gate and
yelling at Bradley.

Swinging his hat, Van Horn dashed toward Kate just as she looked up
and, whipping out his revolver, pulled his horse to its haunches
directly in front of her: "You're held up!" he cried.

The shock on her reverie was sudden and Kate was too confused and
frightened to speak.

"You can't get by without giving up your tobacco, girlie," Van Horn ran
on in sing-song raillery. "Shell out!" He held out his left hand for
the spoil and poised his gun high--a picture of life and dash. "You
see what's happening to Bradle