me with a nickel. They said the little ones
aren't big enough to fight the Sawtooth, and they'd carry lead under
their hides if they didn't leave. Dad, isn't your brand the TJ? That's
what it looks like on Yellowjacket."

Brit did not answer, and when Lorraine was sure that he did not mean to
do so, she asked another question. "Dad, why didn't you want me to leave
the ranch to-day? I was nervous after that man was here, and I did go."

"I didn't want you riding around the country unless I knew where you
went," Brit said. "My brand is the TJ up-and-down. We never call it just
the TJ."

"Oh," said Lorraine, relieved. "They weren't talking about you, then.
But dad--it's horrible! We simply _can't_ let that murder go and not do
anything. Because I know that man was shot. I heard the shot fired, and
I saw him start to fall off his horse. And the next flash of lightning I
saw----"

"Look here, Raine. I don't want you talking about what you saw. I don't
want you _thinkin'_ about it. What's the use? Thurman's dead and buried.
The cor'ner come and held an inquest, and the jury agreed it was an
accident. I was on the jury. The sheriff's took charge of his property.
You couldn't prove what you saw, even if you was to try." He looked at
her very much as Lone Morgan had looked at her. His next words were very
nearly what Lone Morgan had said, Lorraine remembered. "You don't know
this country like I know it. Folks live in it mainly because they don't
go around blatting everything they see and hear and think."

"You have laws, don't you, dad? You spoke about the sheriff----"

"The sheriff!" Brit laughed harshly. "Yes, we got a sheriff, and we got
a jail, and a judge--all the makin's of law. But we ain't got one thing
that goes with it, and that's justice. You'd best make up your mind like
the cor'ner's jury done, that Fred Thurman was drug to death by his
horse. That's all that'll ever be proved, and if you can't prove nothing
else you better keep your mouth shut."

Lorraine sprang up and stood facing her father, every nerve taut with
protest. "You don't mean to tell me, dad, that you and Frank Johnson and
Lone Morgan and--everybody in the country are _cowards_, do you?"

Brit looked at her patiently. "No," he said in the tone of acknowledged
defeat, "we ain't cowards, Raine. A man ain't a coward when he stands
with his hands over his head. Most generally it's because some one's got
the drop on 'im."

Lorraine would not acce