ught into swift, jagging lines as the soft
wind struck it. A coyote wailed from the distant hills, and before
his complaint was done another sound came through the hushing of the
willows, a melancholy whistling, thin with distance.

"We'll see if that's the man you want," suggested Haines.

"I'll go along," said Shorty Rhinehart.

"And me too," said a third. The whole group would have accompanied
them, but the heavy voice of Jim Silent cut in: "You'll stay here, all
of you except the girl and Lee."

They turned back, muttering, and Kate followed Haines into the
willows.

"Well?" growled Bill Kilduff.

"What I want to know--" broke in Terry Jordan.

"Go to hell with your questions," said Silent, "but until you go there
you'll do what I say, understand?"

"Look here, Jim," said Hal Purvis, "are you a king an' we jest your
slaves, maybe?"

"You're goin' it a pile too hard," said Shorty Rhinehart.

Every one of these speeches came sharply out while they glared at
Jim Silent. Hands were beginning to fall to the hip and fingers were
curving stiffly as if for the draw. Silent leaned his broad shoulders
against the side of his roan and folded his arms. His eyes went round
the circle slowly, lingering an instant on each face. Under that cold
stare they grew uneasy. To Shorty Rhinehart it became necessary to
push back his hat and scratch his forehead. Terry Jordan found a
mysterious business with his bandana. Every one of them had occasion
to raise his hand from the neighbourhood of his six-shooter. Silent
smiled.

"A fine, hard crew you are," he said sarcastically at last. "A great
bunch of long riders, lettin' a slip of a yaller-haired girl make
fools of you. You over there--you, Shorty Rhinehart, you'd cut the
throat of a man that looked crosswise at the Cumberland girl, wouldn't
you? An' you, Purvis, you're aching to get at me, ain't you? An'
you're still thinkin' of them blue eyes, Jordan?"

Before any one could speak he poured in another volley between wind
and water: "One slip of a girl can make fools out of five long riders?
No, you ain't long riders. All you c'n handle is hobby hosses!"

"What do you want us to do?" growled swarthy Bill Kilduff.

"Keep your face shut while I'm talkin', that's what I want you to do!"

There was a devil of rage in his eyes. His folded arms tugged at each
other, and if they got free there would be gun play. The four men
shrank, and he was satisfied.

"Now I'll tell you