" He reined away, out of Dirk's reach, took his
handkerchief and wrapped his own gun tightly to protect it from sand,
and threw it after Dirk's gun and the knife. "Am I a snooping coyote?"
he demanded watching Dirk.

"You air. More 'n all that, you're a damned spy! And I kin lick yuh an'
lass' yuh an' lead yuh to Bart like a sheep!"

They dismounted, left their horses to stand with reins dropped, threw
off their coats and fought until they were too tired to land another
blow. There were no fatalities. Bud did not come out of the fray
unscathed and proudly conscious of his strength and his skill and the
unquestionable righteousness of his cause. Instead he had three bruised
knuckles and a rapidly swelling ear, and when his anger had cooled a
little he felt rather foolish and wondered what had started them off
that way. They had ridden away from the ranch in a very good humor, and
he had harbored no conscious dislike of Dirk Tracy, who had been one
individual of a type of rangemen which he had known all his life and had
accepted as a matter of course.

Dirk, on his part, had some trouble in stopping the bleeding of his
nose, and by the time he reached the ranch his left eye was closed
completely. He was taller and heavier than Bud, and he had not expected
such a slugging strength behind Bud's blows.

He was badly shaken, and when Bud recovered the two guns and the knife
and returned his weapons to him, Dirk was half tempted to shoot. But he
did not--perhaps because Bud had unwrapped his own six-shooter and
was looking it over with the muzzle slanting a wicked eye in Dirk's
direction.

Late that afternoon, when the boys were loafing around the cabin waiting
for their early supper, Bud packed his worldly goods on Sunfish and
departed from the Muleshoe--"by special request", he admitted to
himself ruefully--with his wages in gold and silver in his pocket and no
definite idea of what he would do next.

He wished he knew exactly why Bart had fired him. He did not believe
that it was for fighting, as Bart had declared. He thought that perhaps
Dirk Tracy had some hold on the Muleshoe not apparent to the outsider,
and that he had lied about him to Bart as a sneaking kind of revenge
for being whipped. But that explanation did not altogether satisfy him,
either.

In his month at the Muleshoe he had gained a very fair general idea of
the extent and resources of Burroback Valley, but he had not made any
acquaintances and he