d killed him!" she cried. "I
wisht I had a gun--or a knife! I hate him--hate him--_hate him_! When he
says he was ever in a deal with Dad, he lies. Dad stood for him and that
was all. He purtended to be awful strong for Dad, purtended to be fond
of me, jest to swarm 'round Dad, for some reason. Brought me a doll
once. I was thirteen. What in hell did I want with a doll?" she panted.
"I burned the damn thing that night in the fire. He kissed me an' Dad
seemed to think I owed it him for the doll. I nigh bit my lip off
afterward. I wisht yore first shot had been higher, or yore second
lower, Peters."

"Call me Uncle Mormon, Molly. I had all I c'ud do not to make it plumb
center, li'l' gel, but the jury'd ring in a cold deck on me if I had.
He's sure some snake. But we'll take care of Jim Plimsoll, yore Uncle
Mormon, with Sam an' Sandy."

Patting Molly's shoulder, Mormon smiled at her with his irresistible
grin, and she reflected it faintly as she tucked in the remnants of her
torn sleeve.

"That's the on'y dress I got till Sandy Bourke wins me some money," she
said. "You sure are quick, Uncle Mormon, when you git inter action. An'
you can shoot some."

"I reckon I coil up tight, between times, like a spring. Used to be
pritty light an' limber on my feet oncet. As for shootin', I wish Sandy
'ud been here. He'd have shot both the heels off that fo'-flusher, right
an' left, 'thout you ever see his hands move. I ain't so bad, Sam's
better, but we had to throw a lot of lead in practise. Sandy shoots like
he walks or breathes. It comes natcherul to him, like Sam's ear fo'
music. I've allus 'lowed Sandy must hev cut his teeth on a cartridge."

His arm around her shoulder, purposely chatting away, Mormon led Molly
toward the ranch-house, waving off the half-breed who came toward them,
his dipper of the spring water half emptied in the excitement.
Plimsoll's horse was stirring up a dust-cloud on the way to Hereford,
other puffs, far-away toward the range, proclaimed that the buckboard
was on its way with its funeral freight.

The body of the old prospector was lowered into the grave with the last
of the daylight. The raw scar of the grave was covered with turfs Mormon
ordered cut by the half-breed. Molly Casey walked away alone, her head
high, the corner of her lower lip caught under her teeth, eyes winking
back the tears. It was the headboard that had forced her struggle for
composure. Mormon had marked on it, with the heav