"No."

The antagonism of the monosyllable was unmistakable.

Nicol shrugged.

"That swine, Snake Foot," he said. "He refused to do as I told him. He
guessed Keeko needed him at the landing, and he hadn't time for me. So I
took him to the flogging post."

It was said coldly. Quite without emotion.

"And you flogged him with your--quirt?"

"Sure."

The man's teeth clipped together.

"Oh, yes," he went on, after a moment. "I'm not the sort to let a neche
get away with that sort of thing. You see, I reckon I'm master around
this layout."

"And Keeko?"

Again came the man's ominous laugh in reply.

"She was quick. I reckoned she was here with you. Making her fancy
farewell. But she was around before I'd hardly begun. Oh, yes. She acted
her show piece, and if you'd seen it I guess she'd have got your
applause good. It was against me. She jumped in front of that
red-skinned swine so my quirt nearly came down on her. But it didn't.
And I'm glad. Guess she's too soft, and pretty, and dandy to hurt--yet.
A feller doesn't feel that way with women later, when they show him the
hell they've always got waiting on any fool man. She's got grit. Sure
she has. It's good for a girl to have grit, and I'd say she's got
it--plenty. But she put up a gun at me. And I reckon she meant to use it
if need be. It's that that's the matter. That's been put into her darn
fool head. That's not Keeko."

The man's manner had changed abruptly. His heavy brows depressed, and,
to the listener, it was as though she could hear his teeth grit over
each word he spoke. But even so she could not restrain her passionate
joy at the defeat the man's words admitted.

"She beat you?" she said, a great light flooding her big eyes. "She beat
you," she repeated, "and made you quit. She took your measure for the
coward who could flog a wretched neche who couldn't defend himself. I'm
glad."

For a moment the sting of the woman's words looked like overwhelming the
man's restraint. But the black shadow of his brows suddenly lightened,
and again he shrugged his heavy shoulders with a transparent
indifference.

"Oh, yes," he admitted. "She beat me." Then he added slowly, and with
an appearance of deep reflection: "But then she's young. How old?
Nineteen?" He nodded. "Nineteen, and as pretty as a picture. Prettier by
a heap than her mother ever was." His lips parted with a noise that
expressed appreciation and appetite. "Say, did you ever see such a
figu