herself with such a quiet aloofness that his victory was a barren
one.

"Do you want to go home?" he taunted her one morning, while at
breakfast.

"Is it likely I would want to stay here?" she retorted.

"Why not? What have you to complain of? Aren't you treated well?"

"Yes."

"What, then? Are you afraid?"

"No!" she answered, with a flash of her fine eyes.

"That's good, because you've got to stay here--or go to the pen. You may
take your choice."

"You're very generous. I suppose you don't expect to keep me here
always," she said scornfully.

"Until my arm gets well. Since you wounded it you ought to nurse it."

"Which I am not doing, even while I am here."

"Anyhow it soothes the temper of the invalid to have you around." He
grinned satirically.

"So I judge, from the effects."

"Meaning that I'm always in a rage when I leave you?"

"I notice your men are marked up a good deal these days."

"I'll tell them to thank you for it," he flung back.

Two days later, he scored on her hard for the first time. She came down
to breakfast just as two of the Twin Star riders brought a boy into the
hall.

She flew instantly into his arms, thereby embarrassing him vastly.

"Phil! How did you come here?"

Her brother nodded toward Curly and Pesky. "They found me outside and
got the drop on me."

"You were here looking for me?"

"Yes. Just got back from Noches. Dad is still there. He don't know."

"But--what are they going to do with you?"

"What would you suggest, Miss Phyllis?" a voice behind her gibed.

The speaker was Weaver. He filled the doorway of the dining room
triumphantly. She had had no fears for herself; he would see if she had
none for her brother.

The boy whirled on the ranchman like a tiger whelp. "I don't care what
you do. Go ahead and do your worst."

Weaver looked him over negligently, much as he might watch a struggling
calf. To him the boy was not an enemy--merely a tool which he could use
for his own ends. Phyllis, watching anxiously the hard, expressionless
face, felt that it was cruel as fate. She knew that somehow she would be
made to suffer through her love for her brother.

"You daren't touch him. He's done nothing," she cried.

"He shot at one of my riders. I can't have dangerous characters around.
I'm a peaceable man, me," grinned Buck.

"You didn't, Phil," his sister reproached.

"Sure I did. He tried to take my gun from me," the boy explained hotly.

"Take him