n and the
very winds seemed to have hushed their whispers in the cottonwoods.

"Tharon," said the man who rode in the lead, and she recognized the
voice of Jameson from the southern end of the Valley, "we've come."

That was all. A simple declaration, awaiting her disposal.

Conford, not half approving, his heart heavy with foreboding, stood at
his mistress' shoulder and waited, too.

For a long moment there was no sound save the eternal tree-toads at
their concert. Then the girl spoke, and it seemed to those shadowy
listeners that they heard again the voice of Jim Last, sane,
commanding, full of courage and conviction.

"I'm glad," said Tharon simply, "th' time has come when Lost Valley
has got t' stand or fall forever. Courtrey's gettin' stronger every
day, more careless an' open. He's been content to steal a bunch of
cattle here, another there, a little at a time. Now he's takin' them
by th' herds, like John Dement's last month. He's got a wife, an' from
what I've always heard, she's a sight too good fer him. But he wants
more--he wants _me_. He's offered me th' last insult, an' as Jim
Last's daughter I'm a-goin' to even up my score with him, an' it's got
three counts. You've all got scores against him."

Here there were murmurs through the silent group.

"Th' next outrage from Courtrey, on any one of us, gets all of us
together. For every cattle-brute run off by Courtrey's band, we'll
take back one in open day, all of us ridin'. We'll have to shoot, but
I'm ready. Are you?"

Every man answered on the instant.

"Then," said the girl tensely, "get down an' sign."

There was a rattle of stirrups and bits, a creak of leather as thirty
men swung off their horses.

Tharon stepped back in the lighted room. Her men stood there against
the walls. The settlers came diffidently in across the sill, lean,
poor men for the most part, their strained eyes and furrowed faces
showing the effect of hardships. Not a man there but had seen himself
despoiled, had swallowed the bitter dose in helplessness.

Most of them were married and had families. Some of them had killings
to their record. Many of them were none too upright.

Jameson was a good man, and so was Dan Hill. Thomas was merely weak.
Buford was a gun man who had protected his own much better than the
rest. McIntyre was like him. One by one they came forward as Tharon
called them by name, and leaning down, put their names or their marks
to a sheet of paper whic