"Started down the wrong way?" asked Wilbur.

"It's beastly stuff; first I ever drank."

A roar of laughter answered him.

"Still I got an idea," broke in Jim Boone, "that he's worthy of takin'
the seventh chair. Draw it up lad."

Vaguely it reminded Pierre of a scene in some old play with himself in
the role of the hero signing away his soul to the devil, but an
interruption kept him from taking the chair. There was a racket at the
door--a half-sobbing, half-scolding voice, and the laughter of a man;
then Bud Mansie appeared carrying Jack in spite of her struggles. He
placed her on the floor and held her hands to protect himself from her
fury.

"I glimpsed her through the window," he explained. "She was lining out
for the stable and then a minute later I saw her swing a saddle
onto--what horse d'you think?"

"Out with it."

"Jim's big Thunder. Yep, she stuck the saddle on big black Thunder and
had a rifle in the holster. I saw there was hell brewing somewhere, so
I went out and nabbed her."

"Jack!" called Jim Boone. "What were you started for?"

Bud Mansie released her arms and she stood with them stiffening at her
sides and her small brown fists clenched.

"Hal--he died, and there was nothing but talk about him--nothing done.
You got a live man in Hal's place."

She pointed an accusing finger at Pierre.

"Maybe he takes his place for you, but he's not my brother--I hate him.
I went out to get another man to make up for Pierre."

"Well?"

"A dead man. I shoot straight enough for that."

A very solemn silence spread through the room; for every man was
watching in the eyes of the father and daughter the same shining black
devil of wrath.

"Jack, get into your room and don't move out of it till I tell you to.
D'you hear?"

She turned on her heel like a soldier and marched from the room.

"Jack."

She stopped in the door but would not turn back, and still the room,
watching that little tragedy, was breathless.

"Jack, don't you love your old dad any more?"

She whirled and ran to him with outstretched arms and clung to him,
sobbing.

"Oh, dad--dear dad," she groaned. "You've broken my heart; you've
broken my heart!"

The others filed softly out of the room and stood bareheaded under the
winter sky.

Bud Mansie, his meager face transformed with wonder, said: "Fellers,
what d'you know about it? Our Jack's grown up."

And Black Gandil answered: "Look at this Pierre frowning at t