a mile her hair was down and whipping behind her like a golden
pennant. Her big range hat would have gone sailing had it not been
tied under her chin with buckskin strings. Usually she sang as she
hurtled through space, but to-day the pintos missed her voice.

Five miles out on the range she overtook the sheriff and Aleck Douglas
riding to the round-up. Aleck Douglas seldom rode faster than a
jogging trot, and the sheriff was not particularly eager for his
encounter with Tom Lorrigan. For that matter, no sheriff had ever been
eager to encounter a Lorrigan. The Lorrigan family had always been
counted a hazard in the office of the sheriff, though of a truth the
present generation had remained quiescent so far and the law had not
heretofore reached its arm toward them.

The two men looked back, saw Belle coming and parted to let her pass.
Belle yelled to her team and went by with never a glance toward
either, and the two stared after her without a word until she had
jounced down into a shallow draw and up the other side, the pintos
never slowing their lope.

"Well, I'm darned!" ejaculated the sheriff. His name, by the way, was
Perry. "I've heard tell of Belle Lorrigan drivin' hell-whoopin' over
the country with a team of bronks, but I kinda thought they was
stretching the truth. I guess not, though, if that's a sample."

"The woman hersel' is no so bad. 'Tis the men folk that are black wi'
sin. Drinkin', swearin', gamblin' thieves they be, and 'tis well they
should be taught a lesson." The Douglas head wagged self-righteously.

"Maybe it would be a good idea to go back and search the ranch now,
while she's gone." The sheriff pulled up, considering. "I didn't want
any trouble with her; I never do quarrel with a woman if I can get
around it any way. She's a holy terror. I guess I'll just ride back
and take a look at them hides."

Aleck Douglas eyed him sardonically, thinking perhaps of the
black-edged bullet hole that showed plainly in the sheriff's
hat-crown.

"'Tis a deal safer wi' the woman oot of the way," he agreed drily.

The sheriff nodded and turned back.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE NAME

Tom Lorrigan may have seen bigger fusses made over smaller matters
than the hide of a spotty yearlin', but his boys never had.

No country is so isolated that gossip cannot find it out. The story of
the spotted yearling went speeding through the country. Men made thin
excuses to ride miles out of their way that they m