t that he owned a small but growing herd
of cattle. Watson did not hesitate to say that he had never been able to
find where the new-comer bought his stock--and in those days no man was
quite free from the necessity of exhibiting a bill of sale.

However, the people of the town paid small attention to this slur, for
Watson himself was not entirely above suspicion. He was considered a
dangerous character. Once or twice he had been forced, at the mouth of a
rifle, to surrender calves that had, as he explained, "got mixed" with
his herd. In truth, he was nearly always in controversy with some one.

"Kauffman don't look to me like an 'enterprising roper,'" Hanscom
reported to his supervisor. "And as for his wife, or daughter, or
whatever she is, I've never seen anything out of the way about her. She
attends strictly to her own affairs. Furthermore," he added, "Watson, as
you know, is under 'wool-foot surveillance' right now by the Cattle
Raisers' Syndicate, and I wouldn't take his word under oath."

The supervisor shared the ranger's view, and smiled at "the pot calling
the kettle black." And so matters drifted along till in one way or
another the Kitsongs had set the whole upper valley against the hermits
and Watson (in his cups) repeatedly said: "That fellow has no business
in there. That's my grass. He stole it from me."

His resentment grew with repetition of his fancied grievance, and at
last he made threats. "He's an outlaw, that's what he is--and as for
that woman, well, I'm going up there some fine day and snatch the bunnit
off her and see what she really looks like!"

"Better go slow," urged one of his friends. "That chap looks to me like
one of the old guard. _He_ may have something to say about your doings
with his daughter."

Watson only grinned. "He ain't in no position to object if she
don't--and I guess I can manage her," he ended with drunken swagger.

Occasionally Hanscom met the woman on the trail or in the town, and
always spoke in friendly greeting. The first time he spoke she lifted
her head like a scared animal, but after that she responded with a low,
"Howdy, sir?" and her voice (coming from the shadow of her ugly
headgear) was unexpectedly clear and sweet. Although he was never able
to see her face, something in her bearing and especially in her accent
pleased and stirred him.

Without any special basis for it, he felt sorry for her and resolved to
help her, and when one day he met her on the