with
you--you're the finest girl I know. I want you, don't you see? And
when I want anything----"

He stopped as she glanced at him swiftly.

"Yes, you try to take it," she said and curled her lip with scorn. "I
understand you, perfectly; but I want to tell you something--there are
some things you can't get that way. And one of them is love. That has
to be given to you--and you have to be worthy of it--I don't suppose
you ever thought about that."

She kept her eyes on the road ahead, but Rimrock could see that she was
biting her lip with anger.

"That's the thing I don't like about you," she burst out passionately,
"you never think about anybody else. You always resort to violence.
And just because you can walk in on Mr. McBain----"

"Ah!" exclaimed Rimrock, leaning forward accusingly; but she scorned to
meet his stare.

"--just because you can terrorize him with that pistol you carry----"

"So that's what's the matter," went on Rimrock significantly, "you're
thinking about Andy McBain!"

"Mr. Jones!" she burst out, bringing the auto to a stop, "I guess this
has gone far enough. Will you walk to town, or shall I?"

"Neither one," he said quietly, taking over the wheel, "I'll drive you
to the hotel myself."

"Very well," she said and sat back white with anger as mile after mile
sped past.

"Here you are," he said as he slowed down at the Gunsight and suddenly
she was her old, sweet self.

"Thank you very much," she said, stepping gracefully out of the car;
"the country was very beautiful." And she went smilingly in through
the door.

Rimrock Jones sat silent, struck dumb by her manner, so different from
her cold, silent wrath; and then he caught a flash of movement on the
veranda. She was hiding their quarrel from the women!

"Sorry you couldn't stay longer," he answered, taking off his hat with
a belated flourish. "Good evening," he added and then, jamming on his
hat, he drove off where he could be alone.

After twenty-four hours of conflicting emotions Rimrock weakened and
took his troubles to Hassayamp; and after a passionate presentation of
his side of the misunderstanding he acknowledged that the lady was
right. He was nothing but a brute, a despicable barbarian, not worthy
to look at her; a presumptuous hound, and so on. But he told
Hassayamp, as one friend to another, that there would soon be a dead
dog in camp; and if Andy McBain ever crossed his path he would shoot
him down in h