The Complete Flying U Series – 24 Westerns in One Edition. B. M. Bower

purpose, for all this unexpected thrust straight to the heart of her self-love.

      “You know that no one was killed. But you damaged enough property to place you on the wrong side of the law, Mr. Green. Not one of those shacks can be gotten out of the gulch except in pieces!”

      Andy smiled inside his soul, but his face was bewildered; his eyes fixed themselves blankly upon her face. “Me? Damaging property? Miss Hallman, you don’t know me yet!” Which was perfectly true. “What shacks are you talking about? In what gulch? All the shacks I’ve seen so far have been stuck up on bald pinnacles where the blizzards will hit ‘em coming and going next winter.” He glanced again at Miss Allen with a certain sympathetic foretaste of what she would suffer next winter if she stayed in her shack.

      “Don’t try to play innocent, Mr. Green.” Florence Grace Hallman drew her brows together. “We all know perfectly well who dragged those shacks off the claims last night.”

      “Don’t you mean that you think you know? I’m afraid you’ve kinda taken it for granted I’d be mixed up in any deviltry you happened to hear about. I’ve got in bad with you—I know that—but just the same, I hate to be accused of everything that takes place in the country. All this is sure interesting news to me. Whereabouts was they taken from? And when, and where to? Miss Allen, you’ll tell me the straight of this, won’t you? And I’ll get my hoss and you’ll show me what gulch she’s talking about, won’t you?”

      Miss Allen puckered her lips into a pout which meant indecision, and glanced at Florence Grace Hallman. And Miss Hallman frowned at being shunted into the background and referred to as she, and set her teeth into her lower lip.

      “Miss Allen prefers to choose her own company,” she said with distinct rudeness. “Don’t try to wheedle her—you can’t do it. And you needn’t get your horse to ride anywhere with us, Mr. Green. It’s useless. I just wanted to warn you that nothing like what happened last night will be tolerated. We know all about you Flying U men—you Happy Family.” She said it as if she were calling them something perfectly disgraceful. “You may be just as tough and bad a you please—you can’t frighten anyone into leaving the country or into giving up one iota of their rights. I came to you because you are undoubtedly the ring-leader of the gang.” She accented gang. “You ought to be shot for what you did last night. And if you keep on—” She left the contingency to his imagination.

      “Well, if settling up the country means that men are going to be shot for going to bed at dark and asleeping till sun-up, all I’ve got to say is that things ain’t like they used to be. We were all plumb peaceful here till your colony came, Miss Hallman. Why, the sheriff never got out this way often enough to know the trails! He always had to ask his way around. If your bunch of town mutts can’t behave themselves and leave each other alone, I don’t know what’s to be done about it. We ain’t hired to keep the peace.”

      “No, you’ve been hired to steal all the land you can and make all the trouble you can. We understand that perfectly.”

      Andy shook his head in meek denial, and with a sudden impulse turned toward the cabin. “Oh, Pink!” he called, and brought that boyish-faced young man to the door, his eyes as wide and as pure as the eyes of a child.

      Pink lifted his hat with just the proper degree of confusion to impress the girls with his bashfulness and his awe of their presence. His eyes were the same pansy-purple as when the Flying U first made tumultuous acquaintance with him. His apparent innocence had completely fooled the Happy Family, you will remember. They had called him Mamma’s Little Lamb and had composed poetry and horrific personal history for his benefit. The few years had not changed him. His hair was still yellow and curly. The dimples still dodged into his cheeks unexpectedly; he was still much like a stick of dynamite wrapped in white tissue and tied with a ribbon. He looked an angel of innocence, and in reality he was a little devil.

      Andy introduced him, and Pink bowed and had all the appearance of blushing—though you will have to ask Pink how he managed to create that optical illusion. “What did you want?” he asked in his soft, girlish voice, turning to Andy bashfully. But from the corner of his eye Pink saw that a little smile of remembrance had come to soften Miss Hallman’s angry features, and that the other girl was smiling also. Pink hated that attitude of pleasant patronage which women were so apt to take toward him, but for the present it suited his purpose to encourage it.

      “Pink, what time was it when we went to bed last night?” Andy asked him in the tone of one who wished to eliminate all doubt of his virtue.

      “Why—it was pretty early. We didn’t light the lamp at all, you remember. You went to bed before I did—we couldn’t see the cards—” He stopped confusedly, and again he gave the two women the impression that he blushed. “We weren’t playing for money,” he hurriedly explained. “Just for pastime. It’s—pretty lonesome—sometimes.”

      “Somebody did something to somebody last night,” Andy informed Pink with a resentful impatience. “Miss Hallman thinks we’re the guilty parties—me in particular, because she don’t like me. It’s something about some shacks—damaging property, she called it. Just what was it you said was done, Miss Hallman?” He turned his honest, gray eyes toward her and met her suspicious look steadily.

      Miss Hallman bit her lip. She had been perfectly sure of the guilt of Andy Green, and of the others who were his friends. Now, in spite of all reason she was not so sure. And there had been nothing more tangible than two pairs of innocent-looking eyes and the irreproachable manners of two men to change her conviction.

      “Well, I naturally took it for granted that you did it,” she weakened. “The shacks were moved off eighties that you have filed upon, Mr. Green. Mr. Owens told me this morning that you men came by his place and threatened him yesterday, and ordered him to move. No one else would have any object in molesting him or the others.” Her voice hardened again as her mind dwelt upon the circumstances. “It must have been you!” she finished sharply.

      Whereupon Pink gave her a distressed look that made Miss Hallman flush unmistakably. “I’m just about distracted, this morning,” she apologized. “I took it upon myself to see these settlers through—and everybody makes it just as hard as possible for me. Why should all you fellows treat us the way you do? We—”

      “Why, we aren’t doing a thing!” Pink protested diffidently. “We thought we’d take up some claims and go to ranching for ourselves, when we got discharged from the Flying U. We didn’t mean any harm—everybody’s taking up claims. We’ve bought some cattle and we’re going to try and get ahead, like other folks. We—I wanted to cut out all this wildness—”

      “Are those your cattle up on the hill? Some men shipped in four carloads of young stock, yesterday, to Dry Lake. They drove them out here intending to turn them on the range, and a couple of men—”

      “Four men,” Miss Allen corrected with a furtive twinkle in her eyes.

      “Some men refused to let them cross that big coulee back there. They drove the cattle back toward Dry Lake, and told Mr. Simmons and Mr. Chase and some others that they shouldn’t come on this bench back here at all. That was another thing I wanted to see you men about.”

      “Maybe they were going to mix their stock up with ours,” Pink ventured mildly.

      “Your men shot, and shot, and shot—the atmosphere up there is shot so full of holes that the wind just whistles through!” Miss Allen informed then gravely, with her eyebrows all puckered together and the furtive little twinkle in her eyes. “And they yelled so that we could hear them from the house! They made those poor cows and those poor, weenty calves just go trotting back across the coulee. My new book on farming says you positively must not hurry cattle. It—oh, it does something to the butter-fat—joggles it all up or something—I’ll lend you the book. I found the chapter on Proper Treatment of Dairy Stock, and I watched those men with the book in my hands. Why, it was terribly unscientific, the way they drove those cow-critters!”

      “I’ll come over and get the book,” Andy promised her, with a look in his eyes that