our hand."

Pat Hawe's face turned a blackish-purple hue.

"You can jest bet thet I've got it in fer you," he shouted, hoarsely.
"You're only a low-down cow-puncher. You never hed a dollar or a decent
job till you was mixed up with thet Hammond woman--"

Stewart's hand flashed out and hit Hawe's face in a ringing slap. The
sheriff's head jerked back, his sombrero fell to the ground. As he bent
over to reach it his hand shook, his arm shook, his whole body shook.

Monty Price jumped straight forward and crouched down with a strange,
low cry.

Stewart seemed all at once rigid, bending a little.

"Say Miss Hammond, if there's occasion to use her name," said Stewart,
in a voice that seemed coolly pleasant, yet had a deadly undernote.

Hawe did a moment's battle with strangling fury, which he conquered in
some measure.

"I said you was a low-down, drunken cow-puncher, a tough as damn near a
desperado as we ever hed on the border," went on Hawe, deliberately. His
speech appeared to be addressed to Stewart, although his flame-pointed
eyes were riveted upon Monty Price. "I know you plugged that vaquero
last fall, an' when I git my proof I'm comin' after you."

"That's all right, Hawe. You can call me what you like, and you can come
after me when you like," replied Stewart. "But you're going to get in
bad with me. You're in bad now with Monty and Nels. Pretty soon you'll
queer yourself with all the cowboys and the ranchers, too. If that don't
put sense into you--Here, listen to this. You knew what these boxes
contained. You know Don Carlos has been smuggling arms and ammunition
across the border. You know he is hand and glove with the rebels. You've
been wearing blinders, and it has been to your interest. Take a hunch
from me. That's all. Light out now, and the less we see of your handsome
mug the better we'll like you."

Muttering, cursing, pallid of face, Hawe climbed astride his horse.
His comrades followed suit. Certain it appeared that the sheriff
was contending with more than fear and wrath. He must have had an
irresistible impulse to fling more invective and threat upon Stewart,
but he was speechless. Savagely he spurred his horse, and as it snorted
and leaped he turned in his saddle, shaking his fist. His comrades led
the way, with their horses clattering into a canter. They disappeared
through the gate.

* * *

When, later in the day, Madeline and Florence, accompanied by Alfred and
Stillw