see. There appeared to be a
controversy under way at the gate, to be sure. But rows between
employees and employer were common; that wasn't his fuss. Perhaps it
wasn't an argument, as it seemed to be from that distance, anyhow.

"Did you see that?" Taterleg started his horse forward in a jump as he
spoke, reining up stiffly at Lambert's side. "One of them fellers pulled
his gun on that old nigger--did you see him, Duke?"

"Ye-es, I saw him," said the Duke speculatively, watching the squabble
at the distant gate keenly, turning his horse to head that way by a
pressure of his knee.

"Knocked him flat!" Taterleg set off in a gallop as he spoke, the Duke
right after him, soon ahead of him, old Whetstone a yellow streak across
the mesa.

It wasn't his quarrel, but nobody could come flashing a gun in the face
of a lady when he was around. That was the argument that rose in the
Duke's thoughts as he rode down the slope and up the fenced passage
between the barns.

The gate at which the two horsemen were disputing the way with the girl
and her old black helper was a hundred yards or more beyond the one at
which Taterleg and the Duke had stopped a little while before. It was in
a cross-fence which appeared to cut the house and other buildings from
the range beyond.

As the Duke bent to open this first gate he saw that the girl had
dismounted and was bending over the old negro, who was lying stretched
on the ground. He had fallen against the gate, on which one of the
ruffians was now pushing, trying to open it against the weight of his
body. The girl spoke sharply to the fellow, bracing her shoulder against
the gate. Lambert heard the scoundrel laugh as he swung to the ground
and set his shoulder against the other side.

The man who remained mounted leaned over and added his strength to the
struggle, together forcing the gate open, pushing the resisting girl
with it, dragging the old negro, who clutched the bottom plank and was
hauled brutally along. All concerned in the struggle were so deeply
engrossed in their own affair that none noted the approach of the Duke
and Taterleg. The fellow on the ground was leading his horse through as
Lambert galloped up.

At the sound of Lambert's approach the dismounted man leaped into his
saddle. The two trespassers sat scowling inside the gate, watching him
closely for the first hostile sign. Vesta Philbrook was trying to help
the old negro to his feet. Blood was streaming down his