east, had he not fought? If he had done anything,
but what he did do? If he had even stuck it out and endured the pain
without yielding.

In the darkness he lived over every little incident of the evening. When
Hawks had met him he had grinned and hoped he would like the Slash Lazy
D. There had been friendliness in the crinkled, leathery face. But when
he passed Bob ten minutes later the blue eyes had frozen. He had heard
who the new rider was.

He would not stand it. He could not. In the morning he would pack up his
roll and ride back to Bear Cat. It was all very well for Blister Haines
to talk about standing the gaff, but he did not have to put up with such
treatment.

But when morning came Bob set his teeth and resolved to go through with
it for a while anyhow. He could quit at any time. He wanted to be able to
tell the justice that he had given his plan a fair trial.

In silence Bob ate his breakfast. This finished, the riders moved across
to the corral.

"Better rope and saddle you a mount," Harshaw told his new man curtly.
"Buck, you show him the ones he can choose from."

Hawks led the way to a smaller corral. "Any one o' these except the roan
with the white stockings an' the pinto," he said.

Dillon walked through the gate of the enclosure and closed it. He
adjusted the rope, selected the bronco that looked to him the meekest,
and moved toward it. The ponies began to circle close to the fence. The
one he wanted was racing behind the white-stockinged roan. For a moment
it appeared in front. The rope snaked out and slid down its side. Bob
gathered in the lariat, wound it, waited for a chance, and tried again.
The meek bronco shook its head as the rope fell and caught on one ear. A
second time the loop went down into the dust.

Some one laughed, an unpleasant, sarcastic cackle. Bob turned. Four or
five of the punchers, mounted and ready for the day's work, were sitting
at ease in their saddles enjoying the performance.

Bob gave himself to the job in hand, though his ears burned. As a
youngster he had practiced roping. It was a pastime of the boys among
whom he grew up. But he had never been an expert, and now such skill as
he had acquired deserted him. The loop sailed out half a dozen times
before it dropped over the head of the sorrel.

The new rider for the Slash Lazy D saddled and cinched a bronco which no
longer took an interest in the proceedings. Out of the corner of his eye,
without once looking