Ruth; her views on the taking of human life--no
matter what the provocation--were barriers that effectively restrained
his desires.

Yet he could not permit Kester and Chavis to think they could repeat the
offense with impunity. That would be an indication of impotence, of
servile yielding to the feminine edict that had already gone forth, and
behind which Chavis and his men were even now hiding--the decree of the
Flying W owner that there should be no taking of human life. His lips
twisted crookedly as on the morning of the day following his adventure
with Ruth and the recreant pony he mounted his own animal and rode away
from the outfit without telling any of them where he was going. Two or
three hours later, in a little basin near the plateau where Ruth had
overheard the men talking, Chavis and Kester were watching the crooked
smile; their own faces as pale as Randerson's, their breath swelling
their lungs as the threat of impending violence assailed them; their
muscles rippling and cringing in momentary expectation of the rapid
movement they expected--and dreaded; their hearts laboring and pounding.
For they saw in the face of this man who had brought his pony to a halt
within ten feet of them a decision to adhere to the principles that had
governed him all his days, and they knew that a woman's order would not
stay the retributive impulse that was gleaming in his eyes.

"We'll get to an understandin' before we quit here," he said, his cold,
alert eyes roving over them. "You've made one break, an' you're gettin'
out of it because my boss ain't dead stuck on attendin' funerals. I
reckon you know I ain't got no such nice scruples, an' a funeral more or
less won't set so awful heavy on my conscience. There's goin' to be more
mourners requisitioned in this country damned sudden if women ain't goin'
to be allowed range rights. I ain't passin' around no more warnin's, an'
you two is talkin' mighty sudden or the mourners will be yowlin'. What's
the verdict?"

Chavis sighed. "We wasn't meanin' no harm," he apologized, some color
coming into his face again.

"An' you?" Randerson's level look confused Kester.

"I ain't travelin' that trail no more," he promised, his eyes shifting.
He knew as well as Chavis that it was the only way. A word, spoken with a
hint of belligerence, a single hostile movement, would have precipitated
the clash they knew Randerson had come to force--a clash which they knew
would end badly for the