he examined it critically. Her thoughts were of
Purdy, now, and she shuddered: "I must never be without this--after
yesterday." She stepped to the door of the cabin and glanced about her.
"He said the next time it will be his turn--well, we'll see." An empty
tomato can lay on its side, its red label flapping in the breeze.
Levelling the gun the girl fired and the tomato can went spinning over
the short-cropped buffalo grass. And without stopping it kept on
spinning as she continued to shoot, until with the last shot it came to
rest, a ripped and battered thing a hundred feet away. "Maybe it will be
his turn--and maybe not," she muttered grimly. "He's the one person in
the world I could kill." She cleaned the gun, reloaded it, and walking
to the corral, saddled the bay mare.

Cinnabar Joe sat in the doorway of his unfinished stable and squinted
down the barrel of a high-power rifle. A six-shooter lay beside him on
the sill, cleaned and oiled and loaded. "Shines like a lookin' glass,"
he observed, and throwing the gun to his shoulder, sighted at a rounded
rock that protruded from a cutbank a quarter of a mile away. "If that
had of be'n Purdy's head, an' I'd of pulled the trigger--there wouldn't
of be'n no more Purdy," he grinned. "He better not stick his nose in
this here valley," he muttered, "but, at that, I'd ruther be out there
huntin' him."

From beyond the stable came the sound of galloping hoofs. Dropping the
rifle, Cinnabar reached for his six-gun and whirled to meet the laughing
gaze of Janet McWhorter. "Why, what's the matter? You look as though you
wanted to kill me!"

The man summoned a grin: "Nerves, I guess. Don't mind me. Be'n smokin'
too much, maybe."

"What's all the artillery for? You look as though you were going to
start a war."

"Maybe I am. But speakin' of artillery, you're pretty well heeled
yourself. Coyotes be'n killin' lambs?"

"Yes, the worst coyote on the range killed one of them yesterday and
then offered to pay for it. I mean your friend Purdy."

"_My_ friend Purdy!"

"Yes--your friend, and Dad's friend, too. If you men wouldn't tolerate
such characters around--if you'd try to clean them out of the country
instead of doing everything in your power to make it easy for them, they
would soon be wiped out."

"But, we'd git wiped out first--an' besides they ain't all like Purdy."

"They're all criminals. They all ought to be in prison."

Cinnabar shook his head: "No, there's plenty o