Rim o' the World. B. M. Bower

of the roof and from that sanctuary listened beady-eyed to the customary tumult.

      Certain staccato epithets meant merely that Subrosa was objecting to the crupper. A sudden stamping testified that Belle had approached Rosa with the bridle. A high-keyed, musical voice chanting man-size words of an intimidating nature followed which proved that the harnessing was progressing as well as could be expected. Then came a lull, and the meadow lark tilted forward expectantly, his head turned sidewise to see what came next.

      First came Belle Lorrigan, walking backward, a shot-loaded quirt raised admonishingly to the chin of Subrosa who walked stiff-legged and reluctant, his white-lashed, blue eyes rolling fearsomely, his nostrils belling in loud snorts of protest. A complexity of emotions stirred Subrosa. Afraid to lunge forward, hating to walk circumspectly, eager for the race yet dreading the discipline of rein and whip, Subrosa yielded perforce to the inevitable. As his heels flicked over the low doorsill he swung round and landed one final kick against the log wall, threw up his head in anticipation of the quirt, stepped on a dragging trace chain and jumped as though it was a rattler.

      “None of that, you cantankerous brute! One of these days I’m going to just naturally brain you, Sub. I’m getting good and tired of this circus business. You settle down, now, and act human, or––”

      Subrosa kicked at the trace and flipped it up so that it struck him smartly on the rump. He jumped straight forward at Belle, who dodged and landed the quirt none too gently on his nose. Subrosa sat down violently, and Belle straightway kicked him in the paunch by way of hinting that she preferred him standing. Then they had it out, rampaging all over the round-pole corral until Belle, breathing a bit fast but sparkly-eyed and victorious, led Subrosa through the gate and up to the post where she snubbed him fast. She was turning to go after Rosa when a young voice called to her anxiously.

      “Oh, Mrs. Lorrigan! Quick, I’m in a hurry. I mustn’t stay, because they’ll be here in a little while. But they’re coming by the road and I came down the trail, and that gave me time. I can’t take any more music lessons, Mrs. Lorrigan. Father is that angry wi’ your husband––and oh, Mrs. Lorrigan! If you have any hide that isna your own, ye should hide it away at once! Because the shuriff––”

      Belle laid her palms on her hips and stared blankly up at Mary Hope, who sat nervously on old Rab at the gate.

      “Heavens, child! My hide is my own––and at that it’s pretty well hidden. What about the sheriff? What’s he got to say about it?”

      “It’s the stealing, Mrs. Lorrigan. Father has the shuriff wi’ him, and they are going to search the ranch for the hides––”

      “Good Lord! What hides?”

      “The hides of my father’s cattle. And if you have any, put them away quick, where the shuriff canna find them, Mrs. Lorrigan! It’s ill I should go against my father, but you have been so good to me with the music lessons, and––”

      “Don’t let the music lessons bother you, Hope. And I guess we’re entitled to all the cowhides we’ve got on the place, if that’s what you mean. What do you think we are––thieves, Hope Douglas?”

      “I dinna say it. I only came to warn ye, so that you may have time tae put your hides way oot o’ their sicht when they come. I dinna want that your husband should go to prison, Mrs. Lorrigan. But father is that angry––”

      “Well, say! Let me tell you something, Hope. If there’s any talk of stealing and prison for the Lorrigans, your dad had better keep outa my Tom’s sight. And outa mine,” she added grimly. “There’ll be no searching for anything on this ranch when my Tom’s not here to see what goes on. You better go back and tell your dad I said it. If you don’t and he brings the sheriff on here, don’t blame me if somebody gets hurt.”

      “Oh, but it’s the law they’re bringing on ye! Ye canna go contrary to the law!” Mary Hope’s voice quavered with fear.

      “Oh, can’t I!” Belle gave her head a tilt. “You beat it, while the going’s good. I hear voices up on the road. If you don’t want your dad to come and catch you here––”

      That settled it. Terror drove Mary Hope into the Devil’s Tooth trail at Rab’s best pace, which was a stiff-legged lope. Her last glance backward showed her Belle Lorrigan taking her six-shooter belt off the buckboard seat and buckling it around her waist so that the gun hung well forward. Mary Hope shuddered and struck Rab with the quirt.

      Belle had led Rosa from the stable and was cautiously fastening the neck yoke in place when the sheriff and Aleck Douglas rode around the corner of the stable. Rosa shied and snorted and reared, and Belle used the rein-ends for a whiplash until Rosa decided that she would better submit to authority and keep her hide whole. She stood fairly quiet after that, with little nipping dance-steps in one spot, while Belle fastened buckles and snaps and trace chains. Subrosa, having had his tantrum, contented himself with sundry head-shakings and snorts. When the team was “hooked up” to Belle’s satisfaction, she tied them both firmly to the corral with short ropes, and finally turned her attention to her visitors.

      “Howdy, Mr. Douglas? Fine day we’re having,” she greeted the dour Scotchman amiably.

      The sheriff coughed behind his hand, looked sidelong at his companion, rode a step or two nearer to Belle, swung a leg over the cantle of his saddle. Perhaps he expected Aleck Douglas to introduce him, but he did not wait for the formality.

      “Mrs. Lorrigan, I’m sheriff of the county,” he began ingratiatingly, when his two feet were on the ground.

      “You are?” Belle flashed a row of very white teeth. “You sure don’t look it. I’d have taken you for a regular human being.”

      “Mr. Douglas, here, would like to take a look at some hides Mr. Lorrigan has got curing. He thinks possibly––”

      “’Tis useless to cover the truth wi’ saft words, shuriff,” Douglas interrupted glumly. “’Tis stolen cattle we are tracing, and ’tis here we wad look for the hides of them. I hae guid reason––”

      “You’ll find my husband at the round-up. Before you do any searching, you had better go and have a talk with him. When he’s gone strangers don’t go prowling around this ranch.”

      “We’ll have our talk with him after we’ve taken a look around,” the sheriff amended, grinning a little. “It’s just a matter of form––nothing you need to object to, one way or the other. I don’t suppose we’ll find anything––”

      “No, I don’t suppose you will. Not unless you find it on the road back. I hate to seem unfriendly, but I’ll just have to ask you to crawl on your horse and go see Tom about it.”

      “Now, we don’t want any unpleasantness at all, Mrs. Lorrigan. But this man has swore out a warrant––”

      “Shucks! What he does never did interest me one way or the other, and does not now. I’m telling you there’ll be no snooping around here while Tom’s away.”

      “Oh, well, now!” The sheriff rather prided himself on his ability to “handle folks peaceable,” as he expressed it. He injected a little more of the oil of persuasiveness into his voice. It was his standard recipe for avoiding trouble with a woman. “You don’t think for a minute I’d take advantage of his absence, Mrs. Lorrigan? Nothing like that at all. We just want to see if a certain cowhide is here. If it isn’t, then we won’t need to bother Tom at all, maybe. Get down, Mr. Douglas, and we’ll just have a look around. Mrs. Lorrigan ain’t going to make no objections to that.”

      Belle smiled. “Oh, yes, she is. She’s going to do quite a lot of objecting. You better stay right where you are, Scotty. You’re a heap safer.”

      The sheriff began to lose patience. “Now, look here, Mrs. Lorrigan! You’re dealing with the law, you know. We can’t have any nonsense.”

      “We won’t have,” Belle assured him placidly. “That’s what I’ve been trying to beat into your head.