freight wagon. The response to the appeal came
in a hard voice:

"You needn't expect me to take up your fights. You finish what you
start."

Kate gave her mother a despairing look and ran towards the pack ponies,
with Mullendore now close at her heels. Spurred by fear, she dodged in
and out, doubling and redoubling, endeavoring to keep a pony between
herself and her pursuer. Once or twice a fold of her skirt slipped
through his grasp, but she was young and fleet of foot, and after the
game of hare and hounds had kept up for a few minutes her pursuer's
breath was coming short and labored. Finally, he stopped:

"You little----!" He panted the epithet. "I'll get you yet!"

She glared at him across a pony's neck and ran out her tongue. Then,
defiantly:

"I ain't scart of you!"

A drawling voice made them both turn quickly. "As an entirely impartial
and unbiased spectator, friend, I should say that you are outclassed."
The man addressed himself to Mullendore. The stranger unobserved had
entered by the corral gate. He was a typical sheepherder in looks if not
in speech, even to the collie that stood by his side. He wore a dusty,
high-crowned black hat, overalls, mackinaw coat, with a small woolen
scarf twisted about his neck, and in his hand he carried a gnarled
staff. His eyes had a humorously cynical light lurking in their brown
depths.

Mullendore did not reply, but with another oath began to untie the lash
rope from the nearest pack.

"Wonder if I could get a drink of water?" The stranger turned to Kate as
he spoke, lifting his hat to disclose a high white forehead--a forehead
as fine as it was unexpected in a man trailing a bunch of sheep. The men
who raised their hats to the women of the Sand Coulee were not numerous,
and Kate's eyes widened perceptibly before she replied heartily, "Sure
you can."

Jezebel, who had come up leading the big wheel horse, said
significantly, "Somethin' stronger, if you like."

The fierce eagerness which leaped into the stranger's eyes screamed his
weakness, yet he did not jump at the offer she held out. The struggle in
his mind was obvious as he stood looking uncertainly into the face that
was stamped with the impress of wide and sordid experiences. Kate's
voice broke the short silence, "He said 'water,' Mother." She spoke
sharply, and with a curt inclination of her head to the sheepherder
added, "The water barrel's at the back door, Mister. Come with me."
Apparently this mad