ravely.

Hollis nodded. "I may as well confess," he said. "I saw a man giving a
young lady a mighty bad moment and I slugged him. Another man called me
a vile name and I slugged him, too. That was all."

The judge sat down again, his face slightly pale. A significant glance
passed between him and Norton, but the latter laughed grimly.

"I reckon he's opened the ball, right off the reel," he suggested.

Judge Graney drew a deep breath. "Yes," he returned. "I suppose that way
is as good as any other. It was bound to come anyway. It will be war to
the finish now!"

CHAPTER IV

AT THE CIRCLE BAR

In the two weeks that followed his arrival at Dry Bottom, Hollis had
much time to meditate upon the great change that had come into his life.
His conclusion that there was nothing in common between cattle raising
and journalism was not a result of an involved process of reasoning, and
had he not been endowed with a sense of humor he might have become
embittered. Though a sacrifice be made cheerfully, there lingers always
its ghost to draw mental pictures of "what might have been." Hollis
would have been more than human had he not felt some little regret over
his sacrifice.

It had seemed to him, as two weeks before he had ridden away from the
court house--sitting on the seat of the buckboard beside Neil Norton,
his suitcases tucked snugly away underneath--that he was once and for
all severing his connection with the big, bustling world in which he had
moved; in whose busy scenes he had been so vitally interested. His had
been a big work; seated at his desk in the "city" room of his newspaper
he had many times likened himself unto an argus-eyed recording angel
whose business it was to keep in view each of the many atoms of a busy
multitude and to accord to them that amount of space that their
importance seemed to demand. He had loved his work; it had broadened
him, had provided him with exactly the proportion of mental exercise
needed to keep him on edge and in a position to enjoy life. He had lived
in the East--really lived. Out here he would merely exist, though, he
assured himself grimly, his enemies would have to pay dearly for his
sacrifice.

The picture of his journey to the Circle Bar ranch was still fresh in
his mind as he rode slowly away from Neil Norton, whom he had left
sitting in his saddle on a ridge, watching him. The long twilight had
brought its lengthening shadows that night before Norton had str