e man whose father did them for
him. And now, because men like Lonesome Pete and Brayley and the rest
of the boys live a life which knows nothing of your world, you sneer
at them!"

"I'll admit," he granted, although stung by her hot words, "that the
poor devils have hardly had a fair chance. They are handicapped--"

"Handicapped!" Her scorn was a fine thing, leaping out at him, cutting
into his words. "Can't you see who it is that is handicapped in the
great race here--here in the West? Here where there is a fight going
on every day, every night of the year, a battle royal of man against
mother earth? And the man who fights here successfully a winning
fight, not stopping to ask at what odds, must be endowed with a great
strength, a rugged physical and moral constitution, self-reliance, a
true, deep insight into the natures of other men. Those things my
father has. So has Bat Truxton, so has Brayley, so, for that matter,
has Lonesome Pete."

He had never seen her so tense, so vehement, so warmly impulsive
before. Nor so radiantly beautiful.

"Do you know," she was running on, swiftly, "how it happened that you
were selected to ride with me to-day?"

"No. At first I thought merely because you wanted to humiliate me. Now
I am beginning to believe that you sent for me to instruct me in
certain matters relative to the brotherhood of man!"

"And you were not right at first, and are not right now. I asked
Brayley to let me have a man to help me with something I have to do
over in the valley, and he said he would send you. Do you guess why?"

"No. It was a kindness from Brayley, and I am not in the habit of
expecting kindnesses from him."

"Then I will tell you. He sent you because you are the only man he has
working under him whom he could spare. _Because he needs all the good
men!_"

Conniston felt his face go red. He tried to laugh at what she said, to
show her that it mattered little to him what a man of Brayley's type
said or thought. And he was angry with himself because he knew that it
did matter. Biting back the words which first sprang to his lips, he
tried to say, lightly:

"I'm afraid that I shall have to lick Brayley for that."

"Lick him!" Again she laughed her disdain. "Why didn't you do it that
first night in the bunk-house? Unless," she challenged, "in spite of
all your blue blood and white hands and father's name, Brayley is the
better man!"

"What do you know of that?" His voice was harsh, his