marked his miles with tombstones as he traveled.

His first business on taking charge of the Philbrook ranch had been to
do a piece of fence-cutting on his own account opposite Nick Hargus'
ranch, through which he had ridden and driven home thirty head of
cattle lately stolen by that enterprising citizen from Vesta Philbrook's
herd. This act of open-handed restoration, carried out in broad daylight
alone, and in the face of Hargus, his large family of sons, and the
skulking refugees from the law who chanced to be hiding there at the
time, added greatly to the Duke's fame.

It did not serve as a recommendation among the neighbors who had preyed
so long and notoriously on the Philbrook herd, and no doubt nothing
would have been said about it by Hargus to even the most intimate of his
ruffianly associates. But Taterleg and old Ananias took great pains to
spread the story in Glendora, where it passed along, with additions as
it moved. Hargus explained that the cattle were strays which had broken
out.

While this reputation of the Duke was highly gratifying to Taterleg, who
found his own glory increased thereby, it was extremely distasteful to
Lambert, who had no means of preventing its spread or opportunity of
correcting its falsity. He knew himself to be an inoffensive, rather
backward and timid man, or at least this was his own measure of
himself. That fight with Jim Wilder always had been a cloud over his
spirits, although his conscience was clear. It had sobered him and made
him feel old, as Vesta Philbrook had said fighting made a person feel.
He could understand her better, perhaps, than one whom violence had
passed undisturbed.

There was nothing farther from his desire than strife and turmoil,
gun-slinging and a fearful notoriety. But there he was, set up against
his will, against his record, as a man to whom it was wise to give the
road. That was a dangerous distinction, as he well understood, for a
time would come, even opportunities would be created, when he would be
called upon to defend it. That was the discomfort of a fighting name. It
was a continual liability, bound sooner or later to draw upon a man to
the full extent of his resources.

This reputation lost nothing in the result of his first meeting with
Berry Kerr, the rancher who wore his beard like a banker and passed for
a gentleman in that country, where a gentleman was defined, at that
time, as a man who didn't swear. This meeting took place on t