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"Yore father and I will take care of these coyotes. You slip

along those shadows up the hill to where my Teddy hawss is, and

burn the wind out of here," he told her.

"I'll not leave dad," she said quickly.

The old mountaineer behind the horse laughed apologetically. "I

been trying to git her to go, but she won't stir. With the pinto

daid, o' course we couldn't both make it."

"That's plumb foolishness," the Texan commented irritably.

"Mebbe," admitted the girl; "but I reckon I'll stay long as dad

does."

"No use being pigheaded about it."

Her dark eyes flashed. "Is this your say-so, Mr.

Whatever-your-name-is?" she asked sharply, less because she

resented what he said than because she was strung to a wire edge.

His troubled gaze took in again her slim girlishness. The

frequency of danger had made him proof against fear for himself,

but just now he was very much afraid for her. Hard man as he was,

he had the Southerner's instinctive chivalry toward woman.