an' _muy pronto_ at that, I'll come in an'
skin him alive. Tell him----"

But Bullard was never to finish that sentence.

There was a sound of running horses stopping square at the rack
without, the rattle of chains, the creak of saddles.

Booted feet struck the boards of the porch, and almost upon the
instant the great iron door of The Golden Cloud swung inward.

The dancers stopped in their stride, the players laid down their
cards, the noise of the room ceased with the suddenness that
characterized the time and place, for Lost Valley was quick upon the
trigger, tragedy often swept in upon hilarity.

In the opening stood Tharon Last, her blue eyes black and sparkling,
her tawny skin cream white, her lips tight-set and pale. She wore a
plain dark dress that buttoned up the front, and at her hips there
hung her father's famous guns. Her two hands rested on their butts.

Behind her head against the starlight there was the dim suggestion of
massed sombreros.

For a moment she stood so in breathless silence, scanning the room.

Then her glance came to rest on the face of Buck Courtrey.

"Men," she said clearly, "we buried Jim Last today. El Rey brought him
home last night--finished. You all know he was a gun man--th' best in
these parts. It was no gun man that killed him, in fair-an'-open, for
he was shot in th' back. It was a skunk, a coyote, a son-of-th'-devil,
an' I'm goin' to kill him."

At the last word there was a lightning movement at the bar as
Courtrey's hand flashed at his hip, a flash of fire, a shot that went
high and lodged in the deep beam above the door, for the weazened form
of the snow-packer had leaped up against him in the same instant.

The girl had not moved. Her hands still rested on the guns in their
holsters. Now a grim smile curled her mouth, but her eyes did not
laugh.

"I'm a-goin' t' kill him," she said quietly, still in that clear
voice, "but I'll do it accordin' to th' law Jim Last laid down to me
all my life--in certainty. I know--but I'll prove. We hain't no
assassins, Jim Last an' me. Some day I'll draw--an' my father's killer
must beat me to it."

Without another word Tharon backed out on the porch, the door swung to
at the pull of an unseen hand on the iron strap by the hinge.

There was again the rattle and creak, the whirl of hoofs, and in the
breathless stillness that lasted for a few seconds, there came to the
strained ears in the Golden Cloud the clip-clap of a sing