The "Wild West" Collection. William MacLeod Raine

you home. It's his say-so."

      She rose. None knew better than she that he was a dominating man when he chose to be. She herself carried in her slim body a spirit capable of passion and of obstinacy, but to-night she had not the will to force the fighting.

      Setting her teeth, she took a step or two forward, her hand against the rock wall to help bear the weight. With narrowed eyes, he watched her closely, noting the catches of pain that shot through her breathing. Half way up the boulder bed he interposed brusquely.

      "This is plumb foolishness, girl. You've got no business putting your weight on that foot, and you're not going to do it."

      He slipped his arm around her waist in such a way as to support her all he could. With a quick turn of the body she tried to escape.

      "No use. I'm going through with this, 'Lissie. Someone has been lying to you about me, and just now you hate the ground I walk on. Good enough. That's got nothing to do with this. You're a woman that needs help, and any old time J. F. meets up with such a one he's on the job. You don't owe me 'Thank you,' but you've got to stand for me till you reach the house."

      "You're taking advantage of me because I can't help myself. Why don't you go and bring father," she flung out.

      "I'm younger than your father and abler to help. That's why?"

      They reached the top of the bluff and he made her sit down to rest. A pale moon suffused the country, and in that stage set to lowered lights her pallor was accented. From the colorless face shadowy, troubled eyes spoke the misery through which she was passing. The man divined that her pain was more than physical, and the knowledge went to him poignantly by the heart route.

      "What is it, 'Lissie? What have I done?" he asked gently.

      "You know. I don't want to talk about it."

      "But I don't know."

      "What's the use of keeping it up? I caught you this afternoon."

      "Caught me doing what?"

      "Caught you rustling, caught you branding a calf just after you had shot the cow."

      For an instant her charge struck him dumb. He stared at her as if he thought she had gone suddenly mad.

      "What's that? Say it again," he got out at last.

      "And the cow had the Bar Double G brand, belonged to my father, your best friend," she added passionately.

      He spoke very gently, but there was an edge to his voice that was new to her. "Suppose you tell me all about it."

      She threw out a hand in a gesture of despair. "What's the use? Nothing could have made me believe it but my own eyes. You needn't keep up a pretense. I saw you."

      "Yes, so you said before. Now begin at the start and tell your story."

      She had the odd feeling of being put on the defensive and it angered her. How dared he look at her with those cool, gray eyes that still appeared to bore a hole through treachery? Why did her heart convict her of having deserted a friend, when she knew that the desertion was his?

      "While I was gathering poppies I heard a shot. It was so close I walked to the edge of the draw and looked over. There I saw you."

      "What was I doing?"

      "You were hogtying a calf."

      "And then?"

      "I didn't understand at first. I thought to slip down and surprise you for fun. But as I got lower I saw the dead cow. Just then you began to brand the calf and I cried out to you."

      "What did I do?"

      "You know what you did," she answered wearily. "You broke for the brush where your horse was and galloped away."

      "Got a right good look at me, did you?"

      "Not at your face. But I knew. You were wearing this blue silk handkerchief." Her finger indicated the one bound around her ankle.

      "So on that evidence you decide I'm a rustler, and you've only known me thirteen years. You're a good friend, 'Lissie."

      Her eyes blazed on him like live coals. "Have you forgotten the calf you left with your brand on it?"

      She had startled him at last. "With my brand on it?" he repeated, his voice dangerously low and soft.

      "You know as well as I do. You had got the F just about finished when I called. You dropped the running iron and ran."

      "Dropped it and ran, did I? And what did you do?"

      "I reheated the iron and blurred the brand so that nobody could tell what it had been."

      He laughed harshly without mirth. "I see. I'm a waddy and a thief, but you're going to protect me for old times' sake. That's the play, is it? I ought to be much obliged to you and promise to reform, I reckon."

      His bitterness stung. She felt a tightening of the throat. "All I ask is that you go away and never come back to me," she cried with a sob.

      "Don't worry about that. I ain't likely to come back to a girl that thinks I'm the lowest thing that walks. You're not through with me a bit more than I am with you," he answered harshly.

      Her little hand beat upon the rock in her distress. "I never would have believed it. Nobody could have made me believe it. I--I--why, I trusted you like my own father," she lamented. "To think that you would take that way to stock your ranch--and with the cattle of my father, too."

      His face was hard as chiseled granite. "Distrust all your friends. That's the best way."

      "You haven't even denied it--not that it would do any good," she said miserably.

      There was a sound of hard, grim laughter in his throat. "No, and I ain't going to deny it. Are you ready to go yet?"

      His repulse of her little tentative advance was like a blow on the face to her.

      She made a movement to rise. While she was still on her knees he stooped, put his arms around her, and took her into them. Before she could utter her protest he had started down the trail toward the house.

      "How dare you? Let me go," she ordered.

      "You're not able to walk, and you'll go the way I say," he told her shortly in a flinty voice.

      Her anger was none the less because she realized her helplessness to get what she wanted. Her teeth set fast to keep back useless words. Into his stony eyes her angry ones burned. The quick, irregular rise and fall of her bosom against his heart told him how she was struggling with her passion.

      Once he spoke. "Tell me where it was you saw this rustler--the exact place near as you can locate it."

      She answered only by a look.

      The deputy strode into the living room of the ranch with her in his arms. Lee was reading a newspaper Jack had brought with him from Mesa. At sight of them he started up hurriedly.

      "Goddlemighty, what's the matter, Jack?"

      "Only a ricked ankle, Champ. Slipped on a stone," Flatray explained as he put Melissy down on the lounge.

      In two minutes the whole house was upset. Hop Ling was heating water to bathe the sprain. A rider from the bunkhouse was saddling to go for the doctor. Another was off in the opposite direction to buy some liniment at Mammoth.

      In the confusion Flatray ran up his horse from the pasture, slapped on the saddle, and melted into the night.

      An hour later Melissy asked her father what had become of him.

      "Doggone that boy, I don't know where he went. Reckon he thought he'd be in the way. Mighty funny he didn't give us a chanct to tell him to stay."

      "Probably he had business in Mesa," Melissy answered, turning her face to the wall.

      "Business nothing," retorted the exasperated rancher. "He figured we couldn't eat and sleep him without extra trouble. Ain't that a fine reputation for him to be giving the Bar Double