"I'll not touch the thing!" said Nola, fire in her eyes.

Major King was enjoying the passage between the girls, riding at
Nola's side with his cavalry hands held precisely.

"If I'm not mistaken, the gentleman in question is there talking to
Miller, the agent," said he, nodding toward two horsemen a little
distance ahead. "But I wouldn't excite him, Miss Landcraft, if I were
you. He's said to be the quickest and deadliest man with a weapon on
this range."

Major King smiled over his own pleasantry. Frances looked at Nola with
brows lifted inquiringly, as if waiting her verification. Then the
grave young lady settled back in her saddle and laughed merrily,
reaching across and touching her friend's arm in conciliating caress.

"Oh, you delightful little savage!" she said. "I believe you'd like to
take a shot at poor Mr. Macdonald yourself."

"We never start anything on the reservation," Nola rejoined, quite
seriously.

Miller, the Indian agent, rode away and left Macdonald sitting there
on his horse as the military party approached. He spurred up to meet
the colonel, and to present his respects to the ladies--a hard matter
for a little round man with a tight paunch, sitting in a Mexican
saddle. The party halted, and Frances looked across at Macdonald, who
seemed to be waiting for Miller to rejoin him.

Macdonald was a supple, sinewy man, as he appeared across the few rods
intervening. His coat was tied with his slicker at the cantle of his
saddle, his blue flannel shirt was powdered with the white dust of the
plain. Instead of the flaring neckerchief which the cowboys commonly
favored, Macdonald wore a cravat, the ends of it tucked into the bosom
of his shirt, and in place of the leather chaps of men who ride
breakneck through brush and bramble, his legs were clad in tough brown
corduroys, and fended by boots to his knees. There were revolvers in
the holsters at his belt.

Not an unusual figure for that time and place, but something uncommon
in the air of unbending severity that sat on him, which Frances felt
even at that distance. He looked like a man who had a purpose in his
life, and who was living it in his own brave way. If he was a cattle
thief, as charged, thought she, then she would put her faith against
the world that he was indeed a master of his trade.

They were talking around Miller, who was going to give them places of
vantage for the coming show. Only Frances and Major King were left
behind, wh