though the man had confessed himself a rustler, the
young lawyer could not escape his judgment. Pat Ryan might have ridden
on many lawless trails in his youth, but the dynamic spark of
self-respect still burned in his soul. He was a man, every inch of his
five-foot three.

"I want to live at peace," the boy went on hotly. "Huerfano Park is
still in the dark ages. I'm no gunman. I stand for law and order.
This is the day of civilization. Why should I embroil myself with a
lot of murderous outlaws when what I want is to sit here and make
friends--?"

The Irishman hammered his fist on the table and exploded. "Then sit
here, damn ye! But why the hell should any one want to make friends
with a white-livered pup like you? I thought you was Jack Beaudry's
son, but I'll niver believe it. Jack didn't sit on a padded chair and
talk about law and order. By God, no! He went out with a six-gun and
made them. No gamer, whiter man ever strapped a forty-four to his hip.
_He_ niver talked about what it would cost him to go through for his
friends. He just went the limit without any guff."

Ryan jingled out of the room in hot scorn and left one young peace
advocate in a turmoil of emotion.

Young Beaudry did not need to discuss with himself the ethics of the
situation. A clear call had come to him on behalf of the man who had
been his best friend, even though he had never met him. He must answer
that call, or he must turn his back on it. Sophistry would not help at
all. There were no excuses his own mind would accept.

But Royal Beaudry had been timid from his childhood. He had inherited
fear. The shadow of it had always stretched toward him. His cheeks
burned with shame to recall that it had not been a week since he had
looked under the bed at night before getting in to make sure nobody was
hidden there. What was the use of blinking the truth? He was a born
coward. It was the skeleton in the closet of his soul. His schooldays
had been haunted by the ghost of dread. Never in his life had he
played truant, though he had admired beyond measure the reckless little
dare-devils who took their fun and paid for it. He had contrived to
avoid fights with his mates and thrashings from the teachers. On the
one occasion when public opinion had driven him to put up his fists, he
had been saved from disgrace only because the bully against whom he had
turned proved to be an arrant craven.

He remembered how he had be