of the ranch. He rode out on the clearing which held
the house just in time to hear Dorothy's second scream, and plunged out
of his saddle, pulling his rifle from the scabbard beneath his right leg
as he did so. From the kitchen chimney a faint wisp of smoke curled
upward through the still air; a rooster crowed loudly behind the barn
and a colt nickered in the corral. Everywhere was the atmosphere of
peace, save for that scream followed now by another choking cry, and a
barking collie, which danced about before the closed door of the house
in the stiff-legged manner of his breed, when excited.

Wade burst into the house like a madman and on into the back room, where
Moran, his face horribly distorted by passion, was forcing the girl
slowly to the floor. But for the protection which her supple body
afforded him, the ranchman would have shot him in his tracks.

"Gordon!" The overwhelming relief in her face, burned into Wade's soul
like a branding-iron. "Don't shoot! Oh, thank God!" She fell back
against the wall, as Moran released her, and began to cry softly and
brokenly.

Snarling with baffled rage and desire, Moran whirled to meet the
cattleman. His hand darted, with the swift drop of the practised gun
man, toward his hip pocket; but too late, for he was already covered by
the short-barreled rifle in Wade's hands. More menacing even than the
yawning muzzle was the expression of terrible fury in the ranchman's
face. For a space of almost a minute, broken only by the tense breathing
of the two men and a strangled sob from Dorothy, Moran's fate hung on
the movement of an eyelash. Then Wade slowly relaxed the tension of his
trigger finger. Shooting would be too quick to satisfy him!

Moran breathed more freely at this sign, for he knew that he had been
nearer death than ever before in all his adventurous life, and the sway
of his passion had weakened his nervous control. Courage came back to
him rapidly, for with all his faults he was, physically at least, no
coward. He took hope from his belief that Wade would not now shoot him
down.

"Well, why don't you pull that trigger?" His tone was almost as cool as
though he had asked a commonplace question.

"I've heard," said Wade slowly, "that you call yourself a good
rough-and-tumble fighter; that you've never met your match. I want to
get my--hands--on you!"

Moran's features relaxed into a grin; it seemed strange to him that any
man could be such a fool. It was true t