you care where he is going? Get the horse--or I will," she
ordered imperiously.

"I'm going to board at one of the ranches farther up the park,"
explained Roy.

"Better wait till dad comes home," suggested Hal.

"No, I'll go now." Royal Beaudry spoke with the obstinacy of a timid
man who was afraid to postpone the decision.

"No hurry, is there?" The black eyes of Rutherford fixed him steadily.

His sister broke in impatiently. "Can't he go when he wants to, Hal?
Get Mr. Street's horse." She whirled on Beaudry scornfully. "That is
what you call yourself, isn't it--Street?"

The unhappy youth murmured "Yes."

"Let him get his own horse if he wants to hit the trail in such a
hurry," growled Hal sulkily.

Beulah walked straight to the stable. Awkwardly Beaudry followed her
after a moment or two. The girl was leading his horse from the stall.

"I'll saddle him, Miss Rutherford," he demurred, the blanket in his
hand.

She looked at him a moment, dropped the bridle, and turned stiffly
away. He understood perfectly that she had been going to saddle the
horse to justify the surface hospitality of the Rutherfords to a man
they despised.

Hal was still on the porch when Roy rode up, but Beulah was nowhere in
sight. The young hillman did not look up from the rivet he was
driving. Beaudry swung to the ground and came forward.

"I'm leaving now. I should like to tell Miss Rutherford how much I'm
in her debt for taking a stranger in so kindly," he faltered.

"I reckon you took her in just as much as she did you, Mr. Spy."
Rutherford glowered at him menacingly. "I'd advise you to straddle
that horse and git."

Roy controlled his agitation except for a slight trembling of the
fingers that grasped the mane of his cowpony. "You've used a word that
isn't fair. I didn't come here to harm any of your people. If I could
explain to Miss Rutherford--"

She stood in the doorway, darkly contemptuous. Fire flashed in her
eyes, but the voice of the girl was coldly insolent.

"It is not necessary," she informed him.

Her brother leaned forward a little. His crouched body looked like a
coiled spring in its tenseness. "Explain yourself down that road, Mr.
Street--_pronto_," he advised.

Beaudry flashed a startled glance at him, swung to the saddle, and was
away at a canter. The look in Rutherford's glittering eyes had sent a
flare of fear over him. The impulse of it had lifted him to the back
of the horse