uth.

"Damn it, you don't understand," roared the Duke, whirling on his
friend. Presson had faced him at last with protest that stung. "I know
it's no kind of talk to use to any one. I'm no ruffian. I'm ashamed to
have to use it. But the other kind don't work--not with her. Land-pirate
Kavanagh is welcome to the ten thousand acres of timber-land that he
stole from me; but when his red-head daughter proposes to steal my
grandson, and laugh at me to my face while she's doing it, she'll take
what I have to give her if she wants to stay and listen. Look at her,
Presson! Look at her! Is that the kind of a girl for any young chap? A
rattlebrained imp with a horse between her knees from daylight to dark,
riding the country wild, insulting old age, and laughing at me and
putting the devil into the head of my grandson! Kyle, get your men and
run her across the river into her Canuck country! She isn't even an
American citizen, Luke. Do you hear me, Kyle?"

Presson saw that the girl was not looking at her enemy then. From the
back of her horse she could see farther up the road than they. She had
spied a horseman coming. She recognized him. She uttered a shrill call
that he understood, for he forced his horse into a gallop, and came into
the yard before Thornton had gathered himself to continue his tirade.
The Duke had seen his grandson almost as soon as she, and the passion
went out of his face. He looked suddenly old and tired and troubled.

There was appeal in the gaze he turned on his grandson. He stepped
forward.

"Don't let her make any more trouble between us, Harlan, not till you
understand how she--"

But the girl forestalled him. She had fought her battle alone until he
came. She slid off her horse and ran across the yard, sobbing like a
child. And now Presson saw how young she was. On her horse, defiant
almost to the point of impudence, she had a manner that belied her
years. But when she fled to her champion, she was revealed as only a
little girl with a child's impulsiveness in speech and action. The
young man slipped his foot from a stirrup and held his hand to her. She
sprang to him, standing in the stirrup.

"He called me wicked names, Harlan! I was only trying to help you. I
wanted you to come, for I thought you ought to know! You've come. I knew
you'd come. You won't let him send you away. You'll not let him call me
those names ever again!"

He gently swung her down, alighted and faced his grandfather. He