red, rapidly.

"Diputies--thirty av thim wid Winchesters--on the other side av the
flat-cars. It's a thrap to do away wid ye--I heard 'em cookin' it!"

"An' ye wudn't be sellin' 'em to me at twinty-five, eh?" he said, aloud.
"Go 'long wid ye--ye're a domned hold-up man, like all the rist av thim!"
And he slapped the black horse playfully in the ribs and laughed gleefully
as the animal lunged at him, ears laid back, mouth open.

His eyes cold, his lips hard and straight, Trevison spurred the black
again to the flat-car.

"The bars are down between us, Corrigan; it's man to man from now on. Law
or no law, I give you twenty-four hours to get your men and apparatus off
my land. After that I won't be responsible for what happens!" He heard a
shout behind him, a clatter, and he turned to see ten or twelve of his men
racing over the level toward him. At the same instant he heard a sharp
exclamation from Corrigan; heard Gieger issue a sharp order, and a line of
men raised their heads above the flat-cars, rifles in their hands, which
they trained on the advancing cowboys.

Nigger leaped; his rider holding up one hand, the palm toward his men, as
a sign to halt, while he charged into them. Trevison talked fast to them,
while the laborers, suspending work, watched, muttering; and the rifles,
resting on the flat-cars, grew steadier in their owners' hands. The
silence grew deeper; the tension was so great that when somewhere a man
dropped a shovel, it startled the watchers like a sudden bomb.

It was plain that Trevison's men wanted to fight. It was equally plain
that Trevison was arguing to dissuade them. And when, muttering, and
casting belligerent looks backward, they finally drew off, Trevison
following, there was a sigh of relief from the watchers, while Corrigan's
face was black with disappointment.

CHAPTER XIX

A WOMAN RIDES IN VAIN

Out of Rosalind Benham's resentment against Trevison for the Hester Harvey
incident grew a sudden dull apathy--which presently threatened to become
an aversion--for the West. Its crudeness, the uncouthness of its people;
the emptiness, the monotony, began to oppress her. Noticing the waning of
her enthusiasm, Agatha began to inject energetic condemnations of the
country into her conversations with the girl, and to hint broadly of the
contrasting allurements of the East.

But Rosalind was not yet ready to desert the Bar B. She had been hurt, and
her interest in the country had