a hasty step as Macdonald
offered his hand, in the frank and open manner of an equal man who
raised no thought nor question on that point.

"Sir, I've been hearing of the gallant _rescue_ that you made of
another young lady this morning," he said, with sneering emphasis.
"You are hardly the kind of a man I shake hands with!"

The troopers, sitting their blowing horses a rod away, made their
saddles creak as they shifted to see this little dash of melodrama.
Macdonald's face was swept by a sudden paleness, as if a sickness had
come over him. He clenched his lean jaw hard; the firmness of his
mouth was grimmer still as his hand dropped slowly to his side.
Frances looked her indignation and censure into Major King's hot
eyes.

"Mr. Macdonald has defended me like a gallant gentleman, sir! Those
ruffians didn't run because they heard you coming, but because he
faced them out here in the open, single-handed and alone, and drove
them to their horses, Major King!"

The troopers were looking Macdonald over with favor. They had seen the
evidence of his stand against Chadron's men.

"You're deceived in your estimation of the fellow, Miss Landcraft,"
the major returned, red to the eyes in his offended dignity. "I
arrived at the ranch not an hour ago, detailed to escort you back to
the post. Will you have the kindness to mount at once, please?"

He stepped forward to give her a hand into the saddle. But Macdonald
was before him in that office, urged to it by the quick message of her
eyes. From the saddle she leaned and gave him her warm, soft hand.

"Your men need you, Mr. Macdonald--go to them," she said. "My prayers
for your success in this fight for the right will follow you."

Macdonald was standing bareheaded at her stirrup. Her hand lingered a
moment in his, her eyes sounded the bottom of his soul. Major King,
with his little uprising of dignity, was a very small matter in the
homesteader's mind just then, although a minute past he had fought
with himself to keep from twisting the arrogant officer's neck.

She fell in beside Major King, who was sitting grim enough in his way
now, in the saddle, and they rode away. Macdonald stood, hat in hand,
the last sunbeams of that day over his fair tangled hair, the smoke of
his conflict on his face, the tender light of a man's most sacred fire
in his eyes.

CHAPTER XVII

BOOTS AND SADDLES

When Major King delivered Frances--his punctilious military observance
made