advance and shake hands."

"I'm damned if I will," said Y.D.

The revolver spoke, and the bullet cut dangerously close to him.

"Don't talk back to me again," she cried, "or you won't be able to
fight. Now shake hands."

He extended his hand and Wilson took it for a moment.

"Now when I count three," said the girl, "pile in. There's no time
limit. Fight 'til somebody's satisfied. One--two--three--"

At the sound of the last word Wilson caught his opponent a punch on the
chin which stretched him. He got up slowly, gathering his wits about
him. He was twenty years younger than Wilson, but a rancher of fifty
is occasionally a better man than he was at thirty. Any disadvantages
Wilson suffered from being shaken up in the lariat were counterbalanced
by Y.D.'s branding. His face was burning painfully, and his vision was
not the best. But he had not followed the herds since childhood without
learning to use his fists. He steadied himself on his knee to bring his
mind into tune with this unusual warfare. Then he rushed upon Wilson.

He received another straight knock-out on the chin. It jarred the joints
of his neck and left him dazed. It was half a minute before he could
steady himself. He realized now that he had a fight on his hands. He was
too cool a head to get into a panic, but he found he must take his time
and do some brain work. Another chin smash would put him out for good.

He advanced carefully. Wilson stood awaiting him, a picture of poise and
self-confidence. Y.D. led a quick left to Wilson's ribs, but failed
to land. Wilson parried skilfully and immediately answered with a left
swing to the chin. But Y.D. was learning, and this time he was on guard.
He dodged the blow, broke in and seized Wilson about the body. The two
men stood for a moment like bulls with locked horns. Y.D. brought his
weight to bear on his antagonist to force him to the ground, but in some
way the Englishman got elbow room and began raining short jabs on his
face, already raw from the branding-iron. Y.D. jerked back from this
assault. Then came the third smash on the chin.

Y.D. gathered himself up very slowly. The world was swimming around in
circles. On a post sat a girl, covering him with a revolver and laughing
at him. Somewhere on the horizon Wilson's figure whipped forward and
back. Then his horse came into the circle. Y.D. rose to his feet, strode
with quick, uncertain steps to his horse, threw himself into the saddle
and witho