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He picked up his wide hat, brushed it with his torn sleeve, set it back on his head precisely, walked to his own horse, which was tied some distance away, mounted and rode south toward the more open country where his own ranch lay.

“I’m damned!” said the bearded man softly, “it didn’t take her long to stir up somethin’ on a peaceful day! If it’d been over Bluefire, now—there’s somethin’ to fight for—but a woman; Hell!”

“But—Glory—Glory!” whispered the lean boy who had watched Kate hungrily, “ain’t she worth it! Oh, just ain’t she! Wisht I was McKane this minute!”

“Druther be th’ Sheriff,” said the other enigmatically.

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When the sun dropped over the western ridge, the girl in the deep sunbonnet unhitched her horses from the plow. She looped her lines on the hames, rubbed each sweated bay head a moment, carefully cleaned her share with a small wooden paddle which she took from a pocket in her calico skirt, and tipped the implement over, share-face down.