ak with him."

"Then I'm sorry for him. He had a girl with him--McCrae her name is.
Who's she?"

"Her father owns Talapus Ranch. It's the biggest and best here. Good
people, the McCraes."

"And I suppose Dunne's going to marry her? Is that it?"

"I never heard so. But if he is I don't blame him; she's all right,
that girl."

Farwell grunted. He had rather liked Sheila's looks, but, being a man
of violent prejudices, and disliking Dunne instinctively, he found it
easy to dislike his friends. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do," he
announced. "I'm going to put it up to these fellows straight the first
chance I get that we don't care a hang for anything they may do. If
they want trouble they can come a-running."

"Well," Sleeman commented, "of course, I'm here to sell land. The
company is my boss, and naturally I back its play. But my personal
opinion is that it would have been better to have bought those fellows
out, even at fancy prices, than to ride over them roughshod. They're
sore now, and you can't wonder at it. If I were you I'd go easy--just
as easy as I could."

"Nonsense!" snorted Farwell. "That's what that old fool of a mick down
at the station told me. How the devil does the company happen to have
such an old fossil on the job?"

"Quilty's a left-over from construction days. He's been here ever since
steel was laid. They say he averted a bad smash once by sheer nerve or
pure Irish luck. Anyway, he has a sort of guarantee of his job for
life. Not a bad old boy when you get to know him."

"He ought to be fired, and a younger man put in his place," said
Farwell. "He talks too much. Good Lord! He's like an endless record!"

"Pshaw! What do you care?" said Sleeman. "He's better than a talking
machine in this place. Well, come over to the hotel, and afterward I'll
run you out to the camp."

CHAPTER VI

Sheila McCrae and Beaver Boy and Casey Dunne and Shiner drifted through
the golden afternoon just ahead of a dust cloud of their own making.
Sheila rode astride, in the manner of a country where side saddles are
almost unknown. Her stiff-brimmed pony hat was pushed back because of
the heat. Sometimes she rode with it in her hand, careless of the dust
which powdered her masses of dark, neatly coiled hair. The action
revealed her keen, cleanly cut features, so strongly resembling her
brother's. But the resemblance was softened by femininity; for young
McCrae's visage was masculine and hawklike, a