leaning a little in towering menace toward the man in
the road.

Macdonald felt a hot surge of resentment rise to his eyes, so suddenly
and so strongly that it dimmed his sight. He shut his mouth hard on
the words which sprang into it, and held himself in silence until he
had command of his anger.

"I'm hunting," said he, meeting Chadron's eye with meaning look.

"On foot, and waitin' for dark!" the cattleman sneered.

"I'm going on foot because the game I'm after sticks close to the
ground. There's no need of naming that game to you--you know what it
is."

Macdonald spoke with cutting severity. Chadron's dark face reddened
under his steady eyes, and again the big rowels of his spurs slashed
his horse's sides, making it bound and trample in threatening charge.

"I don't know anything about your damn low business, but I'll tell you
this much; if I ever run onto you ag'in down this way I'll do a little
huntin' on my own accord."

"That would be squarer, and more to my liking, than hiring somebody
else to do it for you, Mr. Chadron. Ride on--I don't want to stand
here and quarrel with you."

"I'm goin' to clear you nesters out of there up the river"--Chadron
waved his hand in the direction of which he spoke--"and put a stop to
your rustlin' before another month rolls around. I've stood your
fences up there on my land as long as I'm goin' to!"

"I've never had a chance to tell you before, Mr. Chadron"--Macdonald
spoke as respectfully as his deep detestation of the cattleman would
allow--"but if you've got any other charge to bring against me except
that of homesteading, bring it in a court. I'm ready to face you on
it, any day."

"I carry my court right here with me," said Chadron, patting his
revolver.

"I deny its jurisdiction," Macdonald returned, drawing himself up, a
flash of defiance in his clear eyes.

Chadron jerked his head in expression of lofty disdain.

"Go on! Git out of my sight!" he ordered.

"The road is open to you," Macdonald replied.

"I'm not goin' to turn my back on you till you're out of sight!"

Chadron bent his great owlish brows in a scowl, laid his hand on his
revolver and whirled his horse in the direction that Macdonald was
facing.

Macdonald did not answer. He turned from Chadron, something in his act
of going that told the cattleman he was above so mean suspicion on his
part. Nola shifted her horse to let him pass, her elbows tight at her
sides, scorn in her lively eyes.