loated past a tide of hot-blooded youth eager to
make the most of the few hours left before the dusty trails called. Most
of these punchers would go back penniless to another month or two of hard
and reckless riding. But they would go gayly, without regret, the
sunshine of irrepressible boyhood in their hearts. The rattle of chips,
the sound of laughter, the murmur of conversation, the even voice of the
croupier at the roulette table, filled the hall.

Jim Larson, a cowman from down the river, sat on the edge of the
platform.

"The Boot brand's puttin' a thousand head in the upper country this fall,
Mollie. Looks to me like bad business, but there's a chance I'm wrong at
that. My bet is you can't run cows there without winter feed. There won't
many of 'em rough through."

"Some'll drift down to the river," Mollie said, her preoccupied eyes on
the stud table where a slight altercation seemed to be under way. Her
method of dealing with quarrels was simple. The first rule was based on
one of Blister Haines's paradoxes. "The best way to settle trouble is not
to have it." She tried to stop difficulties before they became acute. If
this failed, she walked between the angry youths and read the riot act to
them.

"Some will," admitted Larson. "More of 'em won't."

Mollie rose, to step down from the platform. She did not reach the stud
table. A commotion at the front door drew her attention. Mrs. Gillespie
was a solid, heavy-set woman, but she moved with an energy that carried
her swiftly. She reached the bar before any of the men from the
gambling-tables.

A girl was leaning weakly against the door-jamb. Hat and shoes were gone.
The hair was a great black mop framing a small face white to the lips.
The stocking soles were worn through. When one foot shifted to get a
better purchase for support, a bloodstained track was left on the floor.
The short dress was frozen stiff.

The dark, haunted eyes moved uncertainly round the circle of faces
staring at her. The lips opened and made the motions of speech, but no
sound came from them. Without any warning the girl collapsed.

Dud Hollister's arm was under the ice-coated head in an instant. He
looked up at Mollie Gillespie, who had been only a fraction of a second
behind him.

"It's the li'l' bride," he said.

She nodded. "Brandy an' water, Mike. Quick! She's only fainted. Head not
so high, Dud. Tha's right. We'll get a few drops of this between her
teeth.... She's comin'