w that I've come to see you as a woman it's different?" he
inquired. "No reason for that."

She switched the channel of conversation and spoke of the coming
round-up, of the poor condition of range stock owing to the severity of
the winter; but it was a monologue. For a time the man sat and
listened, as if he enjoyed the sound of her voice, contributing nothing
to the conversation himself, then suddenly he stirred in his chair and
waved a hand to indicate the unimportance of the topics.

"Yes, yes; true enough," he interrupted. "But I didn't come to talk
about that. When are you coming home with me, Billie?"

"And you can't come if you insist on talking about that," she countered.

"I'll come," he stated. "Tell me when you're going to move over to the
Circle P."

"Not ever," she said. "I'd rather be a man's horse than his wife. Men
treat women like little tinsel queens before, and afterwards they
answer to save a cook's wages and drudge their lives out feeding a
hunch of half-starved hands--or else go to the other extreme. Wives
are either work horses or pets. I was raised like a boy and I want to
have a say in running things myself."

"You can go your own gait," he pledged.

"I'm doing that now," she returned. "And prefer going on as I am."

Slade rose and moved over to her, taking her hands and lifting her from
her chair.

The girl pushed him back with a hand braced against his chest.

"Stop it!" she said. "You're getting wilder every time you come, but
you've never pawed at me before. I won't have people's hands on me,"
and she made a grimace of distaste.

The man reached out again and drew her to him. She wrenched away and
faced Slade.

"That will be the last time you'll do that until I give the word," she
said. "I don't want the Circle P--or you. When I do I'll let you
know!"

He moved toward her again and she refused to back away from him but
stood with her hands at her sides.

"If you put a finger on me it's the last lime you'll visit the Three
Bar," she calmly announced.

He stood so close as almost to touch her but she failed to lift a hand
or move back an inch, and Slade knew that he faced one whose spirit
matched his own, perhaps the one person within a hundred miles who did
not fear him. He had tamed men and horses--and women; he raised his
arms slowly, deliberately, to see if she would flinch away or stand
fast and outgame him. She knew that he was harmless to her--and he