hat he had allowed them to
sneak into his camp, seize him, disarm him, bind him, and set the fire
that was to make ashes of him for the winds to blow away. It would do
for him with Tim Sullivan entirely if that should become known, with
the additional humiliation of being saved from this shameful death by
a woman. No matter how immeasurable his own gratitude, no matter how
wide his own pride in her for what she had done, the sheep country
never would be able to see it with his eyes. It would be another
smirch for him, and such a deep one as to obscure him and his chances
there forever.

Joan knew it. In her generosity, her interest for his future, she
wanted her part in it to remain unknown.

"You must promise me, John," she said. "I'll never come to take
another lesson unless you promise me."

"I promise you, God bless you, Joan!" said he.

CHAPTER XII

ONE COMES TO SERVE

An hour after midday there came riding over the hills Tim Sullivan and
a stranger. They stopped at the ruins of the sheep-wagon, where Tim
dismounted and nosed around, then came on down the draw, where
Mackenzie was ranging the sheep.

Tim was greatly exercised over the loss of the wagon. He pitched into
Mackenzie about it as soon as he came within speaking distance.

"How did you do it--kick over the lantern?" he inquired, his face
cloudy with ill-held wrath.

Mackenzie explained, gruffly and in few words, how the wagon was
fired, sparing his own perilous adventure and the part that Joan had
borne in it. This slowed Tim down, and set him craning his neck over
the country to see if any further threat of violence impended on the
horizon.

"Them Hall boys ought to be men enough not to do me a trick like that
after the way I've give in to them on this side of the range," he
said. Then to Mackenzie, sharply: "It wouldn't 'a' happened if you
hadn't took Hector's guns away from him that time. A sheepman's got no
right to be fightin' around on the range. If he wants to brawl and
scrap, let him do it when he goes to town, the way the cowboys used
to."

"Maybe you're right; I'm beginning to think you are," Mackenzie
returned.

"Right? Of course I'm right. A sheepman's got to set his head to
business, and watchin' the corners to prevent losses like this that
eats up the profit, and not go around with his sleeves rolled up and
his jaw slewed, lookin' for a fight. And if he starts one he's got to
have the backbone and the gizzard to hol