ter
Trowbridge, while the rest had come straight to Coyote Springs. She
tried to speak quietly, but she could not keep the song of happiness out
of her voice, or the love out of her eyes.

"Then you did this, too?" Wade wrung her hands and looked at her
proudly. "But how--I don't understand?"

"I'll tell you, when we're in the saddle," she said shyly. "There's so
much to tell."

"Santry!" The ranch owner threw his arm fondly across the shoulders of
his foreman. "You, too, and Lem. I've got all my friends to thank. Say,
dig a grave for this fellow, Neale. There was a lion around here last
night, and I'd hate to have him get Neale, bad as he was. Then--" His
voice became crisp with determination. "Hunt up Trowbridge and ask him
to pass the word for everybody to meet at the ranch, as soon as
possible. There's going to be open war here in the valley from now on."
He turned again to Dorothy. "Dorothy, I'm going to take you right on
home with me."

"Oh, but...." The gleam in his eyes made her pause. She was too glad to
have found him safe, besides, to wish to cross him in whatever might be
his purpose.

"No buts about it. I'll send for your mother, too, of course. Town won't
be any place for either of you until this business is settled. George!"
he called to one of the three cowmen, who rode over to him. "I suppose
it'll be all right for you to take orders from me?"

"I reckon so."

"I want you to ride into Crawling Water. Get a buckboard there and bring
Mrs. Purnell out to my place. Tell her that her daughter is there, and
she'll come. Come now, little girl." He caught Dorothy in his arms and
lifted her on to Gypsy's back. "All right, boys, and much obliged." He
waved the little cavalcade on its way, and swung into the saddle on the
extra horse, which Santry had provided.

On the way down through the timber, Dorothy modestly told him of the
part she had played, with the help of Lem Trowbridge. He listened with
amazement to the story of her generalship, and was relieved to hear that
the Rexhills were probably already out of Crawling Water, for that left
him a free hand to act against Moran. This time the agent must suffer
the penalty of his misdeeds, but greater even than his pleasure at that
thought, was Wade's gratitude to Dorothy for all she had done for him.
He was filled with a wonderful tenderness for her, which made him see in
the play of her facial expression; the shy lowering of her lashes; the
color which