ion here, and, though it isn't likely, your father may be beaten
down. He may have to do things that wouldn't seem quite nice to a dainty
young woman, and folks may denounce him; but it's quite plain that if you
stay here you will have to stand in with somebody."

The girl, who was touched by the unusual tenderness in his eyes, sat down
upon the table, and slipped an arm about his neck.

"Who would I stand in with but you?" she said. "We'll whip the rustlers
out of the country, and, whether it sounds nice at the time or not, you
couldn't do anything but the square thing."

Torrance kissed her gravely, but he sighed and his face grew stern again
when she slipped out of the room.

"There will not be many who will come through this trouble with hands
quite clean," he said.

It was during the afternoon, and Torrance had driven off again, when, as
the two girls were sitting in the little room which was set apart for
them, a horseman rode up to the Range, and Flora Schuyler, who was nearest
the window, drew back the curtain.

"That man should sit on horseback always," she said; "he's quite a
picture."

Hetty nodded. "Yes," she said. "Still, you told me you didn't like him.
It's Clavering. Now, I wonder what he put those things on for--he doesn't
wear them very often--and whether he knew my father wasn't here."

Clavering would probably have attracted the attention of most young women
just then, for he had dressed himself in the fashion the prairie
stockriders were addicted to, as he did occasionally, perhaps because he
knew it suited him. He had artistic perceptions, and could adapt himself
harmoniously to his surroundings, and he knew Hetty's appreciation of the
picturesque. His sallow face showed clean cut almost to feminine
refinement under the wide hat, and the blue shirt which clung about him
displayed his slender symmetry. It was, however, not made of flannel, but
apparently of silk, and the embroidered deerskin jacket which showed the
squareness of his shoulders, was not only daintily wrought, but had
evidently cost a good many dollars. His loose trousers and silver spurs
were made in Mexican fashion: but the boldness of the dark eyes, and the
pride that revealed itself in the very pose of the man, redeemed him from
any taint of vanity.

He sat still until a hired man came up, then swung himself from the
saddle, and in another few moments had entered the room with his wide hat
in his hand.

"You find us alo