cried. "Shore he opened his
mouth."

Then Carley saw Glenn energetically plunge his hooked pole in and out
and around until he had located the submerged sheep. He lifted its
head above the dip. The sheep showed no sign of life. Down on his knees
dropped Glenn, to reach the sheep with strong brown hands, and to haul
it up on the ground, where it flopped inert. Glenn pummeled it and
pressed it, and worked on it much as Carley had seen a life-guard work
over a half-drowned man. But the sheep did not respond to Glenn's active
administrations.

"No use, Glenn," yelled Hutter, hoarsely. "That one's a goner."

Carley did not fail to note the state of Glenn's hands and arms and
overalls when he returned to the ditch work. Then back and forth
Carley's gaze went from one end to the other of that scene. And suddenly
it was arrested and held by the huge fellow who handled the sheep so
brutally. Every time he dragged one and threw it into the pit he yelled:
"Ho! Ho!" Carley was impelled to look at his face, and she was amazed to
meet the rawest and boldest stare from evil eyes that had ever been her
misfortune to incite. She felt herself stiffen with a shock that was
unfamiliar. This man was scarcely many years older than Glenn, yet he
had grizzled hair, a seamed and scarred visage, coarse, thick lips, and
beetling brows, from under which peered gleaming light eyes. At every
turn he flashed them upon Carley's face, her neck, the swell of her
bosom. It was instinct that caused her hastily to close her riding coat.
She felt as if her flesh had been burned. Like a snake he fascinated
her. The intelligence in his bold gaze made the beastliness of it all
the harder to endure, all the stronger to arouse.

"Come, Carley, let's rustle out of this stinkin' mess," cried Flo.

Indeed, Carley needed Flo's assistance in clambering down out of the
choking smoke and horrid odor.

"Adios, pretty eyes," called the big man from the pen.

"Well," ejaculated Flo, when they got out, "I'll bet I call Glenn good
and hard for letting you go down there."

"It was--my--fault," panted Carley. "I said I'd stand it."

"Oh, you're game, all right. I didn't mean the dip.... That
sheep-slinger is Haze Ruff, the toughest hombre on this range. Shore,
now, wouldn't I like to take a shot at him?... I'm going to tell dad and
Glenn."

"Please don't," returned Carley, appealingly.

"I shore am. Dad needs hands these days. That's why he's lenient. But
Glenn