thought he saw Trouble waiting
on the turn. No Lorrigan had ever ridden the other way because Trouble
waited ahead, but one Lorrigan at least would advance with his eyes
open and his weapons ready to his hand.

"Bring your proof," he had said in effect to Aleck Douglas, "or stand
trial for libel. Since you won't fight with guns, I'll fight you with
the law." Very good, if he could be sure that the Douglas would fail
to produce his proof.

Tom knew well enough the reputation he bore in the Black Rim country.
Before the coming of Belle, and later, of the boys, Tom had done his
share toward earning that reputation. But Belle and the boys had
changed his life far more than appeared on the surface. They had held
his rope from his neighbors' cattle, for one thing, though his
neighbors never had credited him with honesty.

It is true that Tom could remember certain incidents of the round-up
that had added to his herd and brought him a little nearer the
million-dollar mark. Without remorse he remembered, and knew that any
cowman in the country would do the same, or worse if he dared. For
branding irons do not always inquire very closely into the parentage
of a calf that comes bouncing up stiff-legged at the end of a
cowpuncher's rope. Nor need a maverick worry very long because he
belongs to no one, so long as cowmen ride the range. Cattle would
always stray into the Black Rim country from ranges across the
mountains, and of these the Black Rim took its toll. He supposed
strange irons were set now and then on the hide of an NL animal across
the mountains--but the branders had better not let him catch them at
it! On the other hand, he would see to it that they did not catch him
branding mavericks on his own range. To Tom that seemed fair
enough,--a give-and-take game of the rangeland. According to Tom's
code he was as honest as his neighbors, and that was honest enough for
practical purposes.

It happened that he had not killed Aleck Douglas' spotted yearling.
And to be accused of the theft hurt.

"Why, humpin' hyenas! If I'd a beefed that critter, old Scotty
wouldn't ever have found no hide to catch me on! What kinda mark does
he think I am! Rustle a beef and leave the hide laying around? why,
any darn fool would know better than that!"

It was characteristic of the Lorrigan influence that when Tom rode
into camp every one of the crew save his own sons quieted a little;
not enough to suggest timidity, but to a degree t