ddle to thud on the ground. The frightened horse ran down
the path toward the gate.

"You dirty-mouthed cur," said Pan. "Get up, and if you've got a
gun--throw it."

Hardman laboriously got to his feet. The breath had been partly
knocked out of him. Baleful eyes rolled at Pan. Instinctive wrath,
however, had been given a setback. Hardman had been forced to think of
something beside the frustration of his imperious will.

"I'm--not--packing--my gun," he panted, heavily. "You saw--that--Pan
Smith."

"Well, you'd better pack it after this," replied Pan with contempt.
"Because I'm liable to throw on you at sight."

"I'll have--you--run--out of this country," replied Dick huskily.

"Bah! don't waste your breath. Run me out of this country? Me!
Reckon you never heard of Panhandle Smith. You're so thickheaded you
couldn't take a hunch. Well, I'll give you one, anyway. You and your
crooked father, and your two bit of a sheriff pardner would do well to
leave this country. Savvy that! Now get out of here pronto."

Hardman gave Pan a ghastly stare and wheeled away to stride down the
path. Once he turned to flash his convulsed face at Lucy. Then he
passed out of sight among the trees in search of his horse.

Pan stood gazing down the green aisle. He had acted true to himself.
How impossible to meet this situation in any other way! It meant the
spilling of blood. He knew it--accepted it--and made no attempt to
change the cold passion deep within him. Lucy--his mother and father
would suffer. But wouldn't they suffer more if he did not confront
this conflict as his hard training dictated? He was almost afraid to
turn and look at Lucy. Just a little while before he had promised her
forbearance. So his amaze was great when she faced him, violet eyes
ablaze, to clasp him, and creep close to him, with lingering traces of
fear giving way to woman's admiration and love.

"Panhandle Smith!" she whispered, gazing up into his face. "I heard
your story. It thrilled me.... But I never understood--till you faced
Dick Hardman.... Oh, what have you done for me? ... Oh, Pan, you have
saved me from ruin."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Pan and Lucy did not realize the passing of time until they were called
to dinner. As they stepped upon the little porch, Lucy tried to
withdraw her hand from Pan's, but did not succeed.

"See here," said he, very seriously, yielding to an urge he could not
resist. "Wouldn't it be