just letting yourself _feel_ old. And am I one of
the outfit, dad?"

"I guess so--only there ain't going to be any of this hell-whoopin'
stuff, Raine. You can't travel these trails at a long lope with yore
hair flyin' out behind and--and all that damn foolishness. I've saw
'em in the movin' pitchers----"

Lorraine blushed, and was thankful that her dad had not watched her
work in that serial. For that matter, she hoped that Lone Morgan would
never stray into a movie where any of her pictures were being shown.

"I'm serious, dad. I don't want to make a show of myself. But if
you'll feel that I can be a help instead of a handicap, that's what I
want. And if it comes to fighting----"

Brit pushed her from him impatiently. "There yuh go--fight--fight--and
I told yuh there ain't any fighting going on. Nothing more'n a fight
to hang on and make a living. That means straight, hard work and
mindin' your own business. If you want to help at that----"

"I do," said Raine quietly, getting to her feet. Her legacy of
stubbornness set her lips firmly together. "That's exactly what I
mean. Good night, dad."

Brit answered her non-committally, apparently sunk already in his own
musings. But his lips drew in to suppress a smile when he saw, from
the corner of his eyes, that Lorraine was winding the alarm on the
cheap kitchen clock, and that she set the hand carefully and took the
clock with her to bed.

CHAPTER IX

THE EVIL EYE OF THE SAWTOOTH

Oppression is a growth that flourishes best in the soil of opportunity.
It seldom springs into full power at once. The Sawtooth Cattle Company
had begun much as its neighbours had begun: with a tract of land,
cattle, and the ambition for prospering. Senator Warfield had then
been plain Bill Warfield, manager of the outfit, who rode with his men
and saw how his herds increased,--saw too how they might increase
faster under certain conditions. At the outset he was not perhaps,
more unscrupulous than some of his neighbours. True, if a homesteader
left his claim for a longer time than the law allowed him, Bill
Warfield would choose one of his own men to file a contest on that
claim. The man's wages would be paid. Witnesses were never lacking to
swear to the improvements he had made, and after the patent had been
granted the homesteader (for the contestant always won in that country)
the Sawtooth would pay him for the land. Frequently a Sawtooth man
would file