insult or abuse her--is that fair?"

"Damn your fine words," exclaimed Morgan slowly and implacably. "They
don't pull any wool over my eyes. I know you, de Spain--I know your
breed----"

"What's that?"

Morgan checked himself at that tone. "You can't sneak into my affairs
any deeper," he cried. "Keep away from my blood! I know how to take
care of my own. I'll do it. So help me God, if you ever take any one
of my kin away from me--it'll be over my dead body!" He ended with a
bitter oath and a final taunt: "Is that fair?"

"No," retorted de Spain good-naturedly, "it's not fair. And some day,
Duke, you'll be the first to say so. You won't shake hands with me
now, I know, so I'll go. But the day will come when you will."

He covered his revolver with his left hand, and replaced it under his
coat. The fat man who had been leaning patiently against a barber's
chair ten feet from the disputants, stepped forward again lightly as a
cat. "Henry," he exclaimed, in a low but urgent tone, his hand
extended, "just a minute. There's a long-distance telephone call on
the wire for you." He pointed to the office door. "Take the first
booth, Henry. Hello, Duke," he added, greeting Morgan with an extended
hand, as de Spain walked back. "How are you making it, old man?"

Duke Morgan grunted.

"Sorry to interrupt your talk," continued Lefever. "But the barns at
Calabasas are burning--telephone wires from there cut, too--they had
to pick up the Thief River trunk line to get a message through. Makes
it bad, doesn't it?" Lefever pulled a wry face. "Duke, there's
somebody yet around Calabasas that needs hanging, isn't there? Yes."

CHAPTER XXII

GALE PERSISTS

When within an hour de Spain joined Nan, tense with suspense and
anxiety, at the hospital, she tried hard to read his news in his
face.

"Have you seen him?" she asked eagerly. De Spain nodded. "What does he
say?"

"Nothing very reasonable."

Her face fell. "I knew he wouldn't. Tell me all about it,
Henry--everything."

She listened keenly to each word. De Spain gave her a pretty accurate
recital of the interview, and Nan's apprehension grew with her hearing
of it.

"I knew it," she repeated with conviction. "I know him better than you
know him. _What_ shall we do?"

De Spain took both her hands. He held them against his breast and
stood looking into her eyes. When he regarded her in such a way her
doubts and fears seemed mean and trivial. He spoke only one