ained in a voice soft and low.

"That's all right. I only dropped up to get a cigar I left on the table.
Don't let me disturb you."

Her troubled eyes rested on the strong, lean face that went so well with
the strong, lean body. One eye was swollen and almost shut. Red bruises
glistened on the forehead and the cheeks. A bit of plaster stretched
diagonally above the right cheekbone where the prizefighter's knuckles
had cut a deep gash. Little ridges covered his countenance as if it had
been a contour map of a mountainous country. But through all the havoc
that had been wrought flashed his white teeth in a cheerful smile.

The girl's lip trembled. "I'm sorry you--were hurt."

He flashed a quick look at her. "Sho! Forget it, Miss Seymour. I wasn't
hurt any--none to speak of. It don't do a big husky like me any harm to
be handed a licking."

"You--hit him first, didn't you?"

"Yes, ma'am,--knocked him out cold before he knew where he was at. He
was entitled to a come-back. I'm noways hos-tile to him because he's a
better man than I am."

She stood with the pillow in her hands, shy as a fawn, but with a
certain resolution, too, the trouble of her soul still reflected on the
sweet face.

"Why do men--do such things?" she asked with a catch of her breath.

He scratched his curly head in apologetic perplexity. "Search me. I
reckon the cave man is lurking around in most of us. We hadn't ought to.
That's a fact."

"It was all a mistake, Miss Ellington says. You thought he was hurting
Miss Winters. Why didn't you tell him you were sorry? Then it would have
been all right."

The cowpuncher did not bat an eye at this innocent suggestion.

"That's right. Why didn't I think of that? Then of course he would have
laid off o' me."

"He--Mr. Harrison--is quick-tempered. I suppose all brave men are. But
he's generous, too. If you had explained--"

"I reckon you're right. He sure is generous, even in the whalings he
gives. But don't worry about me. I'm all right, and much obliged for
your kindness in asking."

Steve found his cigar and retired. He carried with him in memory a
picture of a troubled young creature with soft, tender eyes gleaming
starlike from beneath waves of dark hair.

Yeager met Harrison swaggering up the gravel walk toward the house. A
malevolent gleam lit in the cold black eyes of the bully.

"How you feeling, young fella?"

"A hundred and eighty years old," answered the cowpuncher promptly with
a