ing our fence or running off our cattle than I would a
rabbit."

She did not say what her state of mind on that question was at present,
but it was so plainly expressed in her flushed cheeks and defiant eyes
that it needed no words.

"If you'd 'a' had your gun on you this morning when them fellers knocked
that old coon down I bet there'd 'a' been a funeral due over at old
Hargus' ranch," said Taterleg.

"I'd saddled up to go to the post office; I never carry a gun with me
when I go to Glendora," she said.

"A country where a lady has to carry a gun at all ain't no country to
speak of. It needs cleanin' up, ma'am, that's what it needs."

"It surely does, Mr. Wilson: you've got it sized up just right."

"Well, Taterleg, I guess we'd better be hittin' the breeze," the Duke
suggested, plainly uneasy between the duty of courtesy and the long
lines of unguarded fence.

Taterleg could not accustom himself to that extraordinary bunkhouse when
they returned to it, on such short time. He walked about in it, necktie
in his hand, looking into its wonders, marveling over its conveniences.

"It's just like a regular human house," said he.

There was a bureau with a glass to it in every room, and there were
rooms for several men. The Duke and Taterleg stowed away their slender
belongings in the drawers and soon were ready for the saddle. As he put
the calfskin vest away, the Duke took out the little handkerchief, from
which the perfume of faint violet had faded long ago, and pressed it
tenderly against his cheek.

"You'll wait on me a little while longer, won't you?" he asked.

Then he laid it away between the folds of his remarkable garment very
carefully, and went out, his slicker across his arm, to take up his life
in that strip of contention and strife between Vesta Philbrook's
far-reaching wire fences.

CHAPTER XI

ALARMS AND EXCURSIONS

The news quickly ran over the country that Vesta Philbrook had hired the
notorious Duke of Chimney Butte and his gun-slinging side partner to
ride fence. What had happened to Nick Hargus and his boy, Tom, seemed to
prove that they were men of the old school, quite a different type from
any who had been employed on that ranch previously.

Lambert was troubled to learn that his notoriety had run ahead of him,
increasing as it spread. It was said that his encounter with Jim Wilder
was only one of his milder exploits; that he was a grim and bloody man
from Oklahoma who had