urns on you like a coyote--after you stood by
him." A surge of indignation boiled up in her. "He's the very worst man
ever I knew--an' if he tries to do you any harm I'll--I'll settle with
him."

Her father shook his unkempt head. "No, honey. I been learnin' for twelve
years that a man can't do wrong for to get out of a hole he's in. If
Jake's mean enough to give me up, why, I reckon I'll have to stand the
gaff."

"No," denied June, a spark of flaming resolution in her shining eyes.

CHAPTER VI

"DON'T YOU TOUCH HIM!"

Inside the big chuck tent of the construction camp the cook was busy
forking steak to tin plates and ladling potatoes into deep dishes.

"Git a move on you, Red Haid," he ordered.

Bob Dillon distributed the food at intervals along the table which ran
nearly the whole length of the canvas top. From an immense coffee pot he
poured the clear brown liquid into tin cups set beside each plate. This
done, he passed out into the sunshine and beat the triangle.

From every tent men poured like seeds squirted from a squeezed lemon.
They were all in a hurry and they jostled each other in their eagerness
to get through the open flap. Straw boss, wood walkers, and ground men,
they were all hungry. They ate swiftly and largely. The cook and his
flunkey were kept busy.

"More spuds!" called one.

"Coming up!" Dillon flung back cheerfully.

"Shoot along more biscuits!" a second ordered.

"On the way!" Bob announced.

The boss of the outfit came in leisurely after the rush. He brought a
guest with him and they sat down at the end of the table.

"Beans!" demanded a line man, his mouth full.

"Headed for you!" promised the flunkey.

The guest of the boss was a big rangy fellow in the early forties. Bob
heard the boss call him "Jake," and later "Houck." As soon as the boy had
a moment to spare he took a good look at the man. He did not like what he
saw. Was it the cold, close-set eyes, the crook of the large nose, or the
tight-lipped mouth gave the fellow that semblance to a rapacious wolf?

As soon as Bob had cleaned up the dishes he set off up the creek to meet
June. The boy was an orphan and had been brought up in a home with two
hundred others. His life had been a friendless one, which may have been
the reason that he felt a strong bond of sympathy for the lonely girl on
Piceance. He would have liked to be an Aladdin with a wonder lamp by
means of which he could magically transform her affai