turned from the window and came front to front with old Jim
Sanderson. The burning black eyes of the Southerner, set in sockets of
extraordinary depths, blazed from a grim, hostile face. Always when he
felt ugliest Sanderson's drawl became more pronounced. His daughter,
hearing now the slow, gentle voice, ran quickly round the counter and
slipped an arm into that of her father.

"This hyer is an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Weaver," he was saying. "It's
been quite some time since I've seen you all in my house before, makin'
you'self at home so pleasantly. It's ce'tainly an honor, seh."

"Don't get buck ague, Sanderson. I'm here because I'm here. That's
reason a-plenty for me," Weaver told him contemptuously.

"But not for me, seh. When you come into my house----"

"I didn't come into your house."

"Why--why----"

"Father!" implored the girl. "It's a government post-office. He has a
right here as long as he behaves."

"H'm!" the old fire-eater snorted. "I'd be obliged just the same, Mr.
Weaver, if you'd transact your business and then light a shuck."

"Dad!" the girl begged.

He patted her head awkwardly as it lay on his arm. "Now don't you worry,
honey. There ain't going to be any trouble--leastways none of my making.
I ain't a-forgettin' my promise to you-all. But I ain't sittin' down
whilst anybody tromples on me neither."

"He wouldn't try to do that here," Phyllis reminded him.

Weaver laughed in grim irony. "I'm surely much obliged to you for
protecting me." And to the father he added carelessly: "Keep your shirt
on, Sanderson. I'm not trying to break into society. And when I do I
reckon it won't be with a sheep outfit I'll trail."

With which parting shot he turned on his heel, arrogant and imperious to
the last virile inch of him.

CHAPTER II

THE NESTER

With the jingle of trailing spur Buck Weaver passed from the post-office
to the porch, where public opinion was wont to formulate itself while
waiting for the mail to be distributed. Here twice a week it had sat for
many years, had heard evidence, passed judgment, condemned or acquitted.
For at this store the Malpais country bought its ammunition, its
tobacco, and its canned goods; and on this porch its opinions had sifted
down to convictions. From this common meeting ground the gossip of
Cattleland was scattered far and wide.

Weaver filled the doorway while he drew on his gauntlets. He was the
owner of the Twin Star outfit, the biggest