, she asked another question. "Dad, why didn't you want me to
leave the ranch to-day? I was nervous after that man was here, and I
did go."

"I didn't want you riding around the country unless I knew where you
went," Brit said. "My brand is the TJ up-and-down. We never call it
just the TJ."

"Oh," said Lorraine, relieved. "They weren't talking about you, then.
But dad--it's horrible! We simply _can't_ let that murder go and not
do anything. Because I know that man was shot. I heard the shot
fired, and I saw him start to fall off his horse. And the next flash
of lightning I saw----"

"Look here, Raine. I don't want you talking about what you saw. I
don't want you _thinkin'_ about it. What's the use? Thurman's dead
and buried. The cor'ner come and held an inquest, and the jury agreed
it was an accident. I was on the jury. The sheriff's took charge of
his property. You couldn't prove what you saw, even if you was to
try." He looked at her very much as Lone Morgan had looked at her.
His next words were very nearly what Lone Morgan had said, Lorraine
remembered. "You don't know this country like I know it. Folks live
in it mainly because they don't go around blatting everything they see
and hear and think."

"You have laws, don't you, dad? You spoke about the sheriff----"

"The sheriff!" Brit laughed harshly. "Yes, we got a sheriff, and we
got a jail, and a judge--all the makin's of law. But we ain't got one
thing that goes with it, and that's justice. You'd best make up your
mind like the cor'ner's jury done, that Fred Thurman was drug to death
by his horse. That's all that'll ever be proved, and if you can't
prove nothing else you better keep your mouth shut."

Lorraine sprang up and stood facing her father, every nerve taut with
protest. "You don't mean to tell me, dad, that you and Frank Johnson
and Lone Morgan and--everybody in the country are _cowards_, do you?"

Brit looked at her patiently. "No," he said in the tone of
acknowledged defeat, "we ain't cowards, Raine. A man ain't a coward
when he stands with his hands over his head. Most generally it's
because some one's got the drop on 'im."

Lorraine would not accept that. "You think so, because you don't
fight," she cried hotly. "No one is holding a gun at your head. Dad!
I thought Westerners never quit. It's fight to the finish, always.
Why, I've seen one man fight a whole outfit and win. He couldn't be
beaten because he