LITMIR.BIZ

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expressing his unutterable contempt for men so weakly constituted.

      “Quit!” he grated. “Quit clean because a tenderfoot comes out here and tries to run things! So long as things come your way you’re willing to stick it out, but when things go the other way–Ugh!”

      He turned abruptly, strode out through the door, mounted his pony, and rode rapidly down the street. Several of the men, who went to the door after his departure, saw him riding furiously toward the Circle Cross.

      Then one of his former friends laughed harshly–sarcastically. “I reckon that there tenderfoot is botherin’ Big Bill a whole lot,” he said as he turned to the bar.

      It had been a busy day for Hollis. His hand had been shaken so much that it pained him. The day had been a rather warm one for the season and so when late in the afternoon Norton rode into town, “To see the excitement,” he told Hollis, the latter determined to make the return trip to the Circle Bar in the evening. Therefore, after a short conference with Judge Graney and Allen–and a frugal, though wholesome supper in the Judge’s rooms back of the court house–which Allen cooked–he and Norton rode out upon the Coyote trail and jogged quietly toward the Circle Bar.

      There was a good moon; the air was invigorating, though slightly chill, and the trail lay clear and distinct before them, hard after the rain, ideal for riding.

      Many times during the first half hour of the ride Norton looked furtively at his chief. Certain things that Mrs. Norton had told him held a prominent place in his thoughts, and mingling with these thoughts was the recollection of a conversation that he had held with Hollis one day when both of them had been riding this same trail and Hollis had stopped off at the Hazelton cabin. Many times Norton smiled. He would have liked to refer to that conversation, but hesitated for fear of seeming to meddle with that which did not concern him. He remembered the days of his own courtship–how jealously he had guarded his secret.

      But the longer his thoughts dwelt upon the incident that had been related to him by Mrs. Norton the harder it became to keep silent. But he managed to repress his feelings for the first half hour and then, moved by an internal mirth that simply would not be held in check longer, he cackled aloud.

      He saw Hollis shoot a quick glance at him. He cackled again, his mirth swelling as he caught the surprised and puzzled expression of Hollis’s face.

      “I have a very original opinion of people who laugh without any visible cause,” remarked the latter, grinning reluctantly in the semi-darkness.

      Norton’s reply was another cackle. They rode in silence for a long time.

      Then Norton spoke. “This is a great country,” he said.

      Silence from Hollis, though taking a quick glance at him Norton again observed the puzzled grin on his face.

      “And original,” he remarked, placing upon the latter word the same peculiar emphasis that Hollis had given it a moment before.

      Hollis grinned widely; he began to detect a subtle meaning in the range boss’s speech and actions. But he did not answer; it would not strain his patience to await until such a time as Norton made his meaning clear.

      “But there’s some things that ain’t original,” continued Norton in the same tone, after another short silence.

      This remark clearly required comment. Hollis grinned mildly. “Meaning what?” he questioned.

      Norton met his gaze gravely. “Meanin’ that the ways of makin’ love are pretty much the same in every country.” He laughed. “I know there’s different ways of makin’ it–in books,” he continued; “the folks which write books make their men an’ women go at it all kinds of ways. But did you ever know anyone in real life to make love to a girl any different than anyone else?”

      “I have had no experience in love making,” returned Hollis, puzzled again.

      Norton cackled. “No,” he said, “an’ that’s the peculiar part of it. Mostly no one has ever had any experience when they start to makin’ love the first time. But they all make it the same way. That’s why it ain’t original. You take a man which has got in love with a girl–any man. He don’t want anyone to know that he’s in love with her–he feels sorta sheepish about it. Goes around hangin’ his head an’ blushin’, an’ mostly not sayin’ anything about it. Once he gets it into his system he ain’t the same man any more. Takes to actin’ reserved like an’ gentle. But them that’s had experience can see the symptoms. There ain’t no way to hide it.”

      Had Norton looked at Hollis now he might have observed a touch of red in the young man’s face. But he did not look; he was watching the trail ahead, smiling broadly.

      They had been riding through a deep depression, going toward a ridge whose crest was fringed with dense, tangled shrubbery. Hollis was about to reply to Norton’s remark when he saw the latter’s lips suddenly straighten; saw his body stiffen as he drew himself erect in the saddle and pulled his pony abruptly up. Surprised, Hollis also reined in and sat silent, looking at Norton.

      The latter’s hand went to one of his ears, the fingers spreading out, fan like. “Listen!” he warned sharply.

      Hollis had been listening. A low rumble greeted his ears. He looked suddenly upward at the sky, fearful that another storm, such as he had encountered months before, might be forming. But the sky was cloudless. He looked again at Norton. The latter’s eyes shone brightly in the moonlight as he leaned toward Hollis. The rumbling had grown more distinct.

      “It ain’t a stampede,” said Norton rapidly; “there wouldn’t be anything to stampede cattle on a night like this. An’ them’s cattle!”

      It was about a hundred yards to the ridge toward which they had been riding and Hollis saw Norton suddenly plunge the spurs into his pony’s flanks; saw the animal rush forward. He gave his own animal the spurs and in an instant was at Norton’s side, racing toward the ridge. The range boss dismounted at the bottom, swiftly threw the reins over his pony’s head, and running stealthily toward the crest. Hollis followed him. When he reached Norton’s side the latter was flat on a rim rock at the edge of a little cliff, behind some gnarled brush. Below them the country stretched away for miles, level, unbroken, basking in the moonlight. Hollis recognized the section as that through which he had traveled on the night he had been overtaken by the storm–the big level that led to Big Elk crossing, where he had met Dunlavey and his men that night.

      Looking out upon the plain he held his breath in amazement. During the time he had been at the Circle Bar he had seen cattle running, but never had he seen them run like this. About a quarter of a mile from the ridge on which he and Norton stood rose a dust cloud–moving swiftly. But ahead of the cloud, heads down, their horns tossing were a number of cattle, perhaps fifty, racing furiously. They were running parallel with the ridge and would probably pass it. Behind and flanking them raced several cowboys, silent, driving with their quirts.

      “Rustlers!” came Norton’s voice from beside him. “They’re headin’ for Big Elk!”

      Hollis had brought his rifle, which he had carried since the attack on the night of the storm. At Norton’s word he raised it. But Norton’s hand touched his and his voice came again, sharply, commandingly.

      “Don’t shoot!” he said. “It wouldn’t do any good; some of them would get away. Mebbe they’ll come close enough so’s we can see who they are!”

      Hollis waited breathlessly. It seemed that but an instant had passed from the time he had caught a first glimpse of them until they were thundering by the ridge and he and Norton were blinded by the dust. They had gone before the dust settled, but through it as they passed, Hollis had caught sight of a familiar figure. Before the thunder of hoofs had died away Hollis felt Norton’s hand on his arm and his voice in his ear.

      “Dunlavey!”

      There could be no doubt of that, for Hollis had recognized him also. He turned, to hear Norton’s dry voice in his ear.

      “The

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