is men.

Bob helped his partner out of the house and into the surrey. The
cattleman took the seat beside Steelman, across his knees the sawed-off
shotgun. He had brought his enemy along for two reasons. One was to
weaken his prestige with his own men. The other was to prevent them
from shooting at the rig as they drove away.

Steelman drove in silence. His heart was filled with surging hatred.
During that ride was born a determination to have nothing less than the
life of his enemy when the time should be ripe.

At the door of his house Crawford dismissed him contemptuously. "Get
out."

The man with the reins spoke softly, venomously, from a dry throat. "One
o' these days you'll crawl on your hands and knees to me for this."

He whipped up the team and rattled away furiously into the night.

CHAPTER VIII

THE D BAR LAZY R BOYS MEET AN ANGEL

Joyce came flying to her father's arms. The white lace of a nightgown
showed beneath the dressing-robe she had hurriedly donned. A plait of
dark hair hung across her shoulder far below the waist. She threw herself
at Crawford with a moaning little sob.

"Oh Dad ... Dad ... Dad!" she cried, and her slender arms went round his
neck.

"'T's all right, sweetheart. Yore old dad's not even powder-burnt. You
been worryin' a heap, I reckon." His voice was full of rough tenderness.

She began to cry.

He patted her shoulder and caressed her dark head drawing it close to his
shoulder. "Now--now--now sweetheart, don't you cry. It's all right, li'l'
honey bug."

"You're not ... hurt," she begged through her tears.

"Not none. Never was huskier. But I got a boy out here that's beat up
some. Come in, Dave--and you, Bob. They're good boys, Joy. I want you to
meet 'em both."

The girl had thought her father alone. She flung one startled glance into
the night, clutched the dressing-gown closer round her throat, and fled
her barefoot way into the darkness of the house. To the boys, hanging
back awkwardly at the gate, the slim child-woman was a vision wonderful.
Their starved eyes found in her white loveliness a glimpse of heaven.

Her father laughed. "Joy ain't dressed for callers. Come in, boys."

He lit a lamp and drew Dave to a lounge. "Lemme look at yore haid, son.
Bob, you hot-foot it for Doc Green."

"It's nothin' a-tall to make a fuss about," Dave apologized. "Only a love
tap, compliments of Shorty, and some kicks in the slats, kindness of Mr.
Miller."

In spit