?"

The range-rider chose his words carefully. "There was some trouble--just
across the border. He had to shoot ... and a man fell."

Her face mirrored terror. "You mean ... dead?"

"I don't know," he answered gravely.

"Tell me all about it, please,--the circumstances, everything."

"He will tell you himself. I'll just say this--the shooting was forced
on him. He fired in self-defense."

She wrung her hands. "I knew ... I knew something dreadful would happen.
Mr. Harrison promised me--he said he would look out for Phil."

Steve looked her straight in the eyes. "Harrison's a crook. He's been
using your love for Phil as a lever. It's up to you and the boy to shake
him off."

A swift, upblazing anger leaped to her face. "How dare you say that! How
dare you!"

His blue eyes met her dark, stormy ones quietly and steadily. "I'm
telling you the truth. Can't you see he's been leading Phil into
deviltry? You're afraid of him, afraid of his influence over the boy.
That's why you knuckle down to him."

"I'm not afraid. He's Phil's friend. You're against him just because
he--he--"

"Say it, Miss Ruth. Just because he gave me the whaling of my young
life. Nothing to that, nothing a-tall. My system can absorb a licking
without bearing a grudge. But he ain't on the level. 'Course you'll hate
me for saying it, but some one's got to tell you."

"It's none of your business. I dare say it was you that was with Phil
when he--when he--got into trouble."

"Yes."

"I thought so." A sob swelled up in her throat. "You come here and make
trouble. I do hate you if you want to know."

With that she turned tempestuously and went flying back to the house.

Steve smiled ruefully. He did not know much about women, but he had read
somewhere that they were capable of injustice. She had plenty of spirit,
anyhow, for all that she looked so demure and shy.

CHAPTER VIII

THE HEAVY GETS HIS TIME

Threewit came to Steve while Cummings was preparing the stage set for a
dissolve.

"Wish you'd look over this scenario, Yeager. The old man sent it out to
me to see if we can pull off the riding end of it. Scene twenty-seven is
the sticker. Here's the idea: You've been thrown from your horse and
your foot's caught in the stirrup. You draw your gat to shoot the bronch
and it's bumped out of your hand as you're dragged over the rough
ground. See? You save your life by wriggling your foot out of your boot.
Can it be done without tak