et's don't be too quick. Courtrey now, he's
mighty quick an' hot. They ain't no tellin'----"

"All right," said Jameson promptly, "suit yourself--we ain't
a-pressin' no man into this."

"Why, now, I'm fer it, boys--that is, I'm believin' it's got t' be
done, only I counsels time."

"No time," cried Hill, "we ben counselin' time an' quiet an' not doin'
anything to stir 'em up, an' what d' we get? Cattle stole every
spring, waterholes taken an' fenced fer Courtrey's stock right on th'
open range, hogs drove off, fences tore down, like pore old John
Dement's an' some of us left t' rot every year in some coulee. We done
waited a sight too long. Courtrey thinks he owns Lost Valley, an' he
comes near doin' it, what with his hired killers, Wylackie an' Black
Bart an' this new gun man that's just come in. I heered today he's
from Arizona, an' imported article."

Jameson turned to him and held out his hand.

"I'm goin' to ride tomorrow," he said.

Hill grasped the extended hand and looked hard in the other's eyes.

"Me, too," he said.

Thomas, still of the timid, doubting heart, watched them with a hand
over his mouth to hide its shaking.

Without a word the others turned their horses and rode away in
different directions. As they went farther from him in the wash of the
late light the uncertain hand came down with a jerk. Fear was in his
eyes, the deep, quaking fear of the man poor in courage, but he beat
it down.

"Boys!" he cried in a panic, "don't leave me out! For God's sake,
don't think I ain't willin'! I'll be out come day tomorrow!"

The others both stopped and turned in their saddles.

"Glad to hear ye come through, Thomas," called Jameson, "you ride
south along th' Rockface. You'll go over Black Coulee way, won't ye,
Dan?"

"I will," said Hill.

"Good. I'll go north."

There was a quiet grimness in the few words, for he who rode north on
such an errand tempted fate.

Then the three separated, and there was only the silence and the red
light of the dying day at the head of Rolling Cove.

That same evening Tharon Last sat in her western doorway and watched
the sun go down in majesty over the weathered peaks and ridges of the
Canon Country.

Billy Brent lounged on the hard earth beside the step, his fair head
shining in the afterglow, his grey eyes upon the girl's face in a sort
of idol-worship.

The curve of her cheek, golden with tan and red with the hue of youth,
was more to him than all the