his
own time and way to tell what plans or expectations prompted them.

"Hector Hall showed up?"

"No."

"Reid wouldn't make any more than a snap and a swaller out of that
feller, I guess. But it ain't good for a man like him to start out
killin'; it goes to his liver too quick and drives him mooney."

"I don't suppose it's very healthy for any man, Dad."

"You said it! I've went fifty miles around a range to skip a feller
that was lookin' for my skelp, and I'd go a thousand before I'd crowd
a fight. I never was much on the fight, and runnin' sheep took what
little was in me out a long time ago."

Dad got out his red box of corn-husk cigarettes, offering it silently
to Mackenzie, who shook his head, knowing very well that Dad did it to
observe conventions rather than out of a desire to have him help
himself. The stock of Mexican smokes was running low; Dad had spoken
of it only the day before, and his feet were itching for the road to
the border, he said.

"Well, he's got a name and a fame in this country he can travel on,"
said Dad.

Which was true enough. Mackenzie's fight with Swan Carlson had taken
second place, his reputation as a fighting man in the sheeplands had
paled almost to nothing, after Reid's swift-handed dealing with Matt
Hall. The fame of his exploit ran through the country, fixing his
place in it at once, for Matt Hall was known as a man who had the
strength of seven in his long, gorilla arms.

Hector Hall, brother of the slain man, seemed to accept the tragedy
with a sorrowful resignation in which no shadow of revenge appeared.
He let it be known that Matt had been irresponsible at times, given to
night-prowlings and outbreaks of violence of strange and fantastic
forms. How much truth there was in this excuse for the dead man,
Hector alone knew. But no matter for his passivity, Mackenzie did not
trust him. He made a requisition on Tim Sullivan at once for revolvers
for himself and Reid, which Tim delegated the young man to go to Four
Corners and buy.

"Well, I come over to see if you'll lend Reid to me three or four days
while I make a trip to town," said Dad. "I've got a little business
over there to tend to I've been puttin' off for more than a month."

"Yes, if it's all right with Tim you can have him. What's up, getting
married?"

"Kind of arrangin', John, kind of arrangin'. There's a widow-lady over
at Four Corners I used to rush that needs a man to help her with her
sheep. A ma