had approached
Rosa with the bridle. A high-keyed, musical voice chanting man-size
words of an intimidating nature followed which proved that the
harnessing was progressing as well as could be expected. Then came a
lull, and the meadow lark tilted forward expectantly, his head turned
sidewise to see what came next.

First came Belle Lorrigan, walking backward, a shot-loaded quirt
raised admonishingly to the chin of Subrosa who walked stiff-legged
and reluctant, his white-lashed, blue eyes rolling fearsomely, his
nostrils belling in loud snorts of protest. A complexity of
emotions stirred Subrosa. Afraid to lunge forward, hating to walk
circumspectly, eager for the race yet dreading the discipline of rein
and whip, Subrosa yielded perforce to the inevitable. As his heels
flicked over the low doorsill he swung round and landed one final
kick against the log wall, threw up his head in anticipation of the
quirt, stepped on a dragging trace chain and jumped as though it
was a rattler.

"None of that, you cantankerous brute! One of these days I'm going to
just naturally brain you, Sub. I'm getting good and tired of this
circus business. You settle down, now, and act human, or--"

Subrosa kicked at the trace and flipped it up so that it struck him
smartly on the rump. He jumped straight forward at Belle, who dodged
and landed the quirt none too gently on his nose. Subrosa sat down
violently, and Belle straightway kicked him in the paunch by way of
hinting that she preferred him standing. Then they had it out,
rampaging all over the round-pole corral until Belle, breathing a bit
fast but sparkly-eyed and victorious, led Subrosa through the gate and
up to the post where she snubbed him fast. She was turning to go after
Rosa when a young voice called to her anxiously.

"Oh, Mrs. Lorrigan! Quick, I'm in a hurry. I mustn't stay, because
they'll be here in a little while. But they're coming by the road and
I came down the trail, and that gave me time. I can't take any more
music lessons, Mrs. Lorrigan. Father is that angry wi' your
husband--and oh, Mrs. Lorrigan! If you have any hide that isna your
own, ye should hide it away at once! Because the shuriff--"

Belle laid her palms on her hips and stared blankly up at Mary Hope,
who sat nervously on old Rab at the gate.

"Heavens, child! My hide is my own--and at that it's pretty well
hidden. What about the sheriff? What's he got to say about it?"

"It's the stealing, Mrs. Lo