e
horrified glance in my direction and then scrambled into his saddle
and dashed away, with the water flowing from him in rivulets. But of
course, I shall never mention it to Lord Clendenning, and I wish you
would thank him for his valiant championship of my cause."

Bethune shot her a swift sidewise glance. Was there just a trace of
mockery in the tone? If so, her expression masked it perfectly.

They rode in silence for a time, following down the course of a broad
valley, and presently came out onto the trail. A rider approached them
at a walk, the low-hung white dust cloud in his wake marking the
course of the long, hot trail. Bethune scrutinized the man intently.
"Jack Pierce," he announced. "He runs a little yak outfit, a few head
of horses, and some cattle over on Big Porcupine." A moment later
Bethune drew up and greeted the rider with a great show of cordiality.
"Hello, Pierce, old hand! How's everything over on Porcupine?"

The rancher returned the greeting with a curt nod, and a level stare:
"Things on Porky's all right, I guess--so far."

"I hear old man Samuelson's sick?"

"Yes."

"How's he getting on?"

"Ain't heard. So long." He touched his horse with a quirt and the
animal continued down the trail at a brisk trot.

"Surly devil," growled Bethune, as he gazed for a moment at the
retreating horseman, and this time Patty was sure she detected the
snake-like gleam in the black eyes. He dug his horse viciously with
his spurs and jerked him in, dancing and fighting the bit. He laughed,
shortly. "These little ranchers--bah!"

"Mr. Christie rode over to see Mr. Samuelson the other day. I met him
at Thompson's."

"Oh, so you know the soul-puncher, do you? Makes a big play with his
yellow chaps and six-gun. Suppose he had to be there to see that old
Samuelson gets a ring-side seat if he happens to cash in."

"He said he was going over to see if there was anything he could do,"
answered the girl, ignoring the venom of the man's words.

"Pretty slick graft--preaching. Educated for it myself. Old
Samuelson's rich. Christie goes over and pulls a long face, and sends
up a hatful of prayers, and if he gets well Samuelson will hand him a
nice fat check for the church. If he don't, the old woman kicks in.
And you know, and I know how much of it the church ever sees. Did the
soul-puncher have anything to say about me?"

"About you?" asked the girl in apparent surprise. "Why should he say
anything about you?