knot-back and hung like a glob of crimson blood upon his breast.

Under his hat, set at an angle, his dark hair fluffed strangely.

He was a splendid figure of a man, broad shouldered, slim hipped.

Now he looked hard at the stranger and a slow grin lifted his upper
lip.

"What's this?" he said, and there was a light suspicion of thickness
in his voice, "my wife got com-ny?"

Kenset heard the woman catch her breath, and the feeling of pity that
had taken him at first for her intensified.

"No, Mr. Courtrey," he said advancing, "but you have," and he held out
his hand. "I'm Kenset, from the foothills."

Courtrey, not four feet from him, did not look at the hand. Instead
the glittering eyes under the hat-brim looked steadily into his with
an expression that only one man in a hundred could have interpreted.

That one man, however, stood by the watering trough, his hand on the
neck of a drinking horse--Cleve Whitmore who watched Courtrey without
blinking.

For a moment Kenset stood so, his hand extended, waiting. Then the
colour rose in his face and he drew back the hand, raised it,
scrutinized it smilingly, and put it quietly on his hip.

Still smiling he raised his eyes again to Courtrey's face.

"Courtrey," he said, this time without the Mr., "I've come to Lost
Valley to _stay_. I had hoped to be friends with all my neighbours. It
would have made my work easier. However, with or without, I stay."

And he picked up his hat, set it on his head, walked over to the brown
horse, flung up the rein, mounted and rode out of the Stronghold in
utter silence.

His face was flaming, the blood of outraged dignity and deep anger
beat in his temples like a drum. As he rode farther away he heard the
embarrassing silence broken by the hoarse shouts of laughter of half
drunken men.

"Go to it," he said aloud, clinching his fists on his saddle horn,
"this is part of my duty. The Big Chief was right when he said, 'If
you help the Service to tame Lost Valley you've got your work cut
out.' It's a man-size job. I mustn't doubt my ability."

CHAPTER VI

EL REY AND BOLT

Tharon Last and all her followers held themselves in readiness for
anything in the days that followed the taking of the herds from
Courtrey's range.

They locked their doors at night, stood double guard at corral and
stable. Mothers scattered throughout Lost Valley gathered in their
little ones and watched the slopes and levels when their men were