ever
tried to buy your wife's property. It has nothing to do with this. I
gave the deeds of what I sold her father, to French, as his agent. I
don't know whether he tried to buy it from her or not, and I don't
care."

Angus felt that he was up against a blank wall. The deeds alone would
settle the question conclusively. But possibly Braden held the erroneous
idea that the deeds had been lost or destroyed. He knew that French had
held them unregistered. He might think that Faith could not produce
evidence of ownership.

"In case you have any doubt about it," Angus said, "I may tell you that
French gave the deeds to my wife before he died."

But Mr. Braden merely grinned. "Well, read them," he said. "And keep off
my property after this."

"You seem fairly anxious about that," Angus retorted. "You're trying to
put something over, Braden, and I give you notice to be careful. I've
had my satisfy of your dirty work."

"And I give you notice to keep off my property," Mr. Braden snarled.
"You get off now, or I'll have my men throw you off!"

Angus laughed, his temper beginning to stir.

"Tell 'em to go to it!" he challenged. "You old crook, you've been
trying to get me ever since I was a kid. You thought you'd get my ranch,
and you came mighty near it. I'll play even with you some day, and with
the bunch you hired last summer to blow my ditch. Do you get that,
Garland, and you, Poole?"

"I don't know what you mean?" Garland returned.

"I never done nothing to you," Mr. Poole declared nervously.

Angus eyed them grimly. "It's lucky for both of you I'm not sure," he
said.

But the dispute had attracted the attention of the workmen. They rested
on their tools, watching, listening curiously. The presence of these
reserves gave Mr. Braden heart.

"Get out of here!" he shouted, his voice shrill with nervous rage. "Get
off my property, and stay off! Talk about your ranch! Yours? Bah! Bought
in by a remittance man that's chasing your sister! Hi, boys! run these
fellows out!"

The men started forward, and Angus recognized the leader as the big
Swede who had once been handled so roughly by Gavin French. But Mr.
Braden's taunt, his reference to Chetwood and Jean, had cut deep.
Suddenly his temper, already smouldering hotly, burst into flame. He
left his saddle with a vaulting spring, and as he touched the ground
leaped for Mr. Braden. His hand shot out and fastened upon his shoulder.

Mr. Braden uttered a cry like the s