rd. I reckon you can explain why you weren't
with us."

Yellow with dust, unshaven, mud caked in his hair, hands torn by the
cat-claw, Homer Webb was red-eyed from lack of sleep and from the
irritation of the alkali powder. This young rider had broken the first
law of the cowpuncher, to be on the job in time of trouble and to stay
there as long as he could back a horse. The owner of the Flying V Y was
angry clear through at his desertion and he intended to let the boy know
it.

"I went out to look for Peg-Leg Warren" said Clanton apologetically.

Webb stopped in his stride. "You did? Who told you to do that?"

"I didn't need to be told. I've got horse sense myself." Jim spoke a
little sulkily. He knew that he ought to have stayed with his employer.

"Well, what did you do when you found Peg-Leg--make him a visit for a
couple of days?" demanded the drover with sarcasm.

"No, I don't know him well enough to visit--only well enough to shoot
at."

"What's that?" asked Webb sharply.

"Think I was goin' to let 'em plug Tim McGrath an' get away with it?"
snapped Jim.

"That's my business--not yours. What did you do? Come clean."

"Laid out in the chaparral till I got a chance to gun him," the young
fellow answered sullenly.

"And then?"

"Plugged a hole through him an' made my get-away."

"You mean you've killed Peg-Leg Warren?"

"He'll never be any deader," said Clanton coolly.

The dark blood flushed into Webb's face. He wasted no pity on Warren. The
man was a cold-hearted murderer and had reaped only what he had sowed.
But this was no excuse for Clanton, who had deliberately dragged the
Flying V Y into trouble without giving its owner a chance to determine
what form retribution should take. The cowpuncher had gone back to
primitive instincts and elected the blood feud as the necessary form of
reprisal. He had plunged Webb and the other drovers into war without even
a by-your-leave. His answer to murder had been murder. To encourage
this sort of thing would be subversive of all authority and would lead to
anarchy.

"Get yore time from Yankie, Clanton," said his employer harshly. "Sleep
in camp to-night if you like, but hit the trail in the mornin'. I can't
use men like you."

He turned away and left the two friends alone.

Prince was sick at heart. He had warned the young fellow and it had done
no good. His regret was for Jim, not for Warren. He blamed himself for
not having prevented the killing of P