she felt.

It was a remarkable procession for the Bad Lands that set out from the
cross-line fence a few minutes later, the two free rangers starting
under escort to repair the damage done to a despised fence-man's
barrier. One of them carried a wire-stretcher, the chain of it wound
round his saddle-horn, the other a coil of barbed wire and such tools as
were required. After they had proceeded a little way, Taterleg thought
of something.

"Don't you reckon we might need a couple of posts, Duke?" he asked.

The Duke thought perhaps they might come in handy. They turned back,
accordingly, and each of the trespassers was compelled to shoulder an
oak post, with much blasphemy and threatening of future adjustment. In
that manner of marching, each free ranger carrying his cross as none of
his kind ever had carried it before, they rode to the scene of their
late depredations.

Vesta Philbrook stood at the gate and watched them go, reproaching
herself for her silence in the presence of this man who had come to her
assistance with such sure and determined hand. She never had found it
difficult before to thank anybody who had done her a generous turn; but
here her tongue had lain as still as a hare in its covert, and her heart
had gone trembling in the gratitude which it could not voice.

A strong man he was, and full of commanding courage, but neither so
strong nor so mighty that she had need to keep as quiet in his presence
as a kitchen maid before a king. But he would have to pass that way
coming back, and she could make amends. The old negro stood by,
chuckling his pleasure at the sight drawing away into the distance of
the pasture where his mistress' cattle fed.

"Ananias, do you know who that man is," she asked.

"Laws, Miss Vesta, co'se I do. Didn't you hear his hoss-wrangler call
him Duke?"

"I heard him call him Duke."

"He's that man they call Duke of Chimley Butte--I know that hoss he's
a-ridin'; that hoss used to be Jim Wilder's ole outlaw. That Duke man
killed Jim and took that hoss away from him; that's what he done. That
was while you was gone; you didn't hear 'bout it."

"Killed him and took his horse? Surely, he must have had some good
reason, Ananias."

"I don' know, and I ain't a-carin'. That's him, and that's what he
done."

"Did you ever hear of him killing anybody else?"

"Oh, plenty, plenty," said the old man with easy generosity. "I bet
he's killed a hun'ed men--maybe mo'n a hun'ed."