nd herself went
rummaging among the possibilities which her defy had placed before
her. She knew that Courtrey would be coldly furious. He had lived his
life as suited him, had taken what and where he listed, by fair means
or foul, and though every soul in the Valley knew him and his methods,
none had spoken the convicting word. It was the pen-stroke at the end
of the death-warrant to do so.

She knew that the faction of the settlers hated him and his with a
vitriolic passion, that they were in the minority, that they were no
tin gods themselves, and that they were being beaten out, one by one.

Year by year Courtrey had added to his vast acreage, and it was a
matter of common knowledge how he had done it. He was rich, powerful,
bullying, a man whose self-aggrandizement knew no limit, whose merest
whim was his law, whose will must not be thwarted. Year by year his
_vaqueros_ drove down the Wall herds of fat cattle, their brands
blurred, insolently raw and careless. Many a hapless man had stood and
seen his own stock go by in Courtrey's band and dared not open his
mouth. In fact Courtrey had been known to stop and chat with such a
one, smiling his evil smile and enjoying the helpless chagrin of his
victim.

"Insolent ruffian!" muttered Tharon this day, frowning above her
daddy's pipes on the desk top. "He's goin' t' get one run for his
money from now till one of us is whipped. It may be me, but I'll
leave my mark on him, so help me!

"Straight killin's too good for him. I want to smash him first."

"Tharon, mi _Corazon_," said Anita, stopping soft-foot beside her, "it
is bad for one to talk so, to himself. The Evil One works on the mind
that way."

Tharon laughed.

"Perhaps, Anita," she said shortly, "it is with the Evil One I have t'
do, an' no mistake."

The old woman crossed herself and went away, her wrinkled face dim
with care. And Tharon dressed herself neatly, put a ribbon on her
hair, set her wide hat carefully on her head, buckled on her heavy
gun-belt, and went to the corral for El Rey. Her daddy's saddle was
her own now, a huge affair carved and ornamented, profusely studded
with silver.

Along the right side below the pommel ran a darker stain, Jim Last's
blood, set before his daughter like a star.

She mounted the silver stallion and went away down along the summer
land, a shaft of light shooting through the green of the ranges.

Far over to her left she could see her cattle, beautiful bunches