LITMIR.BIZ

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of both mistress and maid brimmed over with tears when they saw them. Helen dragged forward a chair for the sheepman, and he sank into it. From its depths he looked up with his rare, sweet smile.

      “I've heard about it,” he told her, in a low voice. “I've heard how y'u fought for my life all day. There's nothing I can say. I owed y'u everything already twice, and now I owe it all over again. Give me a lifetime and I couldn't get even.”

      Helen's swift glance swept over Nora and the foreman. They were in a dark alcove, oblivious of anybody else. Also they were in each other's arms frankly. For some reason wine flowed into the cream of Helen's cheeks.

      “Do you have to 'get even'? Among friends is that necessary?” she asked shyly.

      “I hope not. If it is, I'm sure bankrupt Even my thanks seem to stay at home. If y'u hadn't done so much for me, perhaps I could tell y'u how much y'u had done But I have no words to say it.”

      “Then don't,” she advised.

      “Y'u're the best friend a man ever had. That's all I can say.”

      “It's enough, since you mean it, even though it isn't true,” she answered gently.

      Their eyes met, fastened for an instant, and by common consent looked away.

      As it chanced they were close to the window, their shadows reflected on the blind. A man, slipping past in the street on horseback, stopped at sight of that lighted window, with the moving shadows, in an uncontrollable white fury. He slid from the saddle, threw the reins over the horse's head to the ground, and slipped his revolver from its holster and back to make sure that he could draw it easily. Then he passed springily across the road to the hotel and up the stairs. He trod lightly, stealthily, and by his very wariness defeated his purpose of eluding observation. For a pair of keen eyes from the hotel office glimpsed the figure stealing past so noiselessly, and promptly followed up the stairway.

      “Hope I don't intrude at this happy family gathering.”

      Helen, who had been pouring a glass of cordial for the spent and wounded sheepman, put the glass down on the table and turned at sound of the silken, sinister voice. After one glance at the vindictive face, from the cold eyes of which hate seemed to smolder, she took an instinctive step toward her lover. The cold wave that drenched her heart accompanied an assurance that the man in the doorway meant trouble.

      His sleek smile arrested her. He was standing with his feet apart, his hands clasped lightly behind his back, as natty and as well groomed as was his wont.

      “Ah, make the most of what ye yet may spend, Before ye, too, into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and—sans End!”

      he misquoted, with a sneer; and immediately interrupted his irony to give way to one of his sudden blind rages.

      With incredible swiftness his right hand moved forward and up, catching revolver from scabbard as it rose. But by a fraction of a second his purpose had been anticipated. A closed fist shot forward to the salient jaw in time to fling the bullets into the ceiling. An arm encircled the outlaw's neck, and flung him backward down the stairs. The railing broke his fall, and on it his body slid downward, the weapon falling from his hand. He pulled himself together at the foot of the stairs, crouched for an upward rush, but changed his mind instantly. The young officer who had flung him down had him covered with his own six-shooter. He could hear footsteps running toward him, and he knew that in a few seconds he would be in the hands of the soldiers. Plunging out of the doorway, the desperado vaulted to the saddle and drove his spurs home. For a minute hoofs pounded on the hard, white road. Then the night swallowed him and the echo of his disappearance.

      “That was Bannister of the Shoshones and the Tetons,” the girl's white lips pronounced to Lieutenant Beecher.

      “And I let him get away from me,” the disappointed lad groaned. “Why, I had him right in my hands. I could have throttled him as easy. But how was I to know he would have nerve enough to come rushing into a hotel full of soldiers hunting him?”

      “Y'u have a very persistent cousin, Mr. Bannister,” said McWilliams, coming forward from the alcove with shining eyes. “And I must say he's game. Did y'u ever hear the like? Come butting in here as cool as if he hadn't a thing to do but sing out orders like he was in his own home. He was that easy.”

      “It seems to me that a little of the praise is due Lieutenant Beecher. If he hadn't dealt so competently with the situation murder would have been done. Did you learn your boxing at the Academy, Lieutenant?” Helen asked, trying to treat the situation lightly in spite of her hammering heart.

      “I was the champion middleweight of our class,” Beecher could not help saying boyishly, with another of his blushes.

      “I can easily believe it,” returned Helen.

      “I wish y'u would teach me how to double up a man so prompt and immediate,” said the admiring foreman.

      “I expect I'm under particular obligations to that straight right to the chin, Lieutenant,” chimed in the sheepman. “The fact is that I don't seem to be able to get out anything except thanks these days. I ought to send my cousin a letter thanking him for giving me a chance to owe so much kindness to so many people.”

      “Your cousin?” repeated the uncomprehending officer.

      “This desperado, Bannister, is my cousin,” answered the sheepman gravely.

      “But if he was your cousin, why should he want—to kill you?”

      “That's a long story, Lieutenant. Will y'u hear it now?”

      “If you feel strong enough to tell it.”

      “Oh, I'm strong enough.” He glanced at Helen. “Perhaps we had better not tire Miss Messiter with it. If y'u'll come to my room—”

      “I should like, above all things, to hear it again,” interrupted that young woman promptly.

      For the man she loved had just come back to her from the brink of the grave and she was still reluctant to let him out of her sight.

      So Ned Bannister told his story once more, and out of the alcove came the happy foreman and Nora to listen to the tale. While he told it his sweetheart's contented eyes were on him. The excitement of the night burnt pleasantly in her veins, for out of the nettle danger she had plucked safety for her sheepman.

      Chapter 20.

       Two Cases of Discipline

       Table of Contents

      The Fourth of July celebration at Gimlet Butte had been a thing of the past for four days and the Lazy D had fallen back into the routine of ranch life. The riders were discussing supper and the continued absence of Reddy when that young man drew back the flap and joined them.

      He stood near the doorway and grinned with embarrassed guilt at the assembled company.

      “I reckon I got too much Fourth of July at Gimlet Butte, boys. That's how come I to be onpunctual getting back.”

      There was a long silence, during which those at the table looked at him with an expressionless gravity that did not seem to veil an unduly warm welcome.

      “Hello, Mac! Hello, boys! I just got back,” he further contributed.

      Without comment the Lazy D resumed supper. Apparently it had not missed Reddy or noticed his return. Casual conversation was picked up cheerfully. The return of the prodigal was quite ignored.

      “Then that blamed cow gits its back up and makes a bee-line for Rogers. The old man hikes for his pony and—”

      “Seems good to git my legs under the old table again,” interrupted Reddy with cheerful unease.

      “—loses by about half a second,” continued Missou. “If Doc hadn't roped

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