ringed
the edge of the arroyo near the cabin, his thoughts filled with pictures
of incidents that had occurred to him during his stay in the West.
Nellie Hazelton appeared in every one of these pictures and therefore he
smiled often.

He had not liked the country when he had first come here; it had seemed
to offer him no field for the pursuit of his ambition. Certainly the
raising of cattle had never entered into his scheme of things. Yet he
now realized that there was plenty of room in this country for success
in this particular industry; all a man had to do was to keep up his end
until the law came. And now the law had come and he had been partly
responsible for its coming. The realization of this moved his lips into
a grim smile.

He filled and lighted his pipe, smoking placidly as he leaned against
the slender column, his gaze shifting to a clump of dense shrubbery that
skirted the trail within twenty feet of the cabin. He sat quiet, his
long legs stretched out to enjoy the warmth of the sun that struck a
corner of the porch floor. His pipe spluttered in depletion and he
raised himself and looked around for his pony, observing that the animal
was contentedly browsing the tops of some weeds at the edge of the
porch. Then, resigning himself to the sensation of languor that
oppressed him, he knocked the ash from the pipe, filled it again,
lighted it, and resumed his former reclining position.

During the past few days he had given much thought to Dunlavey. He was
thinking of the man now, as his gaze went again to the clump of
shrubbery that skirted the trail.

Some men's mental processes were incomprehensible. Dunlavey was one of
these men. What did the man hope to gain by defying the law? Would there
not be profit enough in the cattle business when conducted honestly?

He felt a certain contempt for the man, but mingled with it was a sort
of grim pity. No doubt Dunlavey felt justified in his actions, for he
had lived here a good many years, no doubt suffering the privations
encountered by all pioneers; living a hard life, dealing heavy blows to
his enemies, and receiving some himself. No doubt his philosophy of life
had been of the peculiar sort practiced by the feudal barons of the Old
World, before civilization had come, carrying its banner of justice,
which, summed up epigrammatically, though ironically, had been "Might is
Right." But might could never be right in this country. Dunlavey must
learn this lesson