ever went forward, gave their interest unstintedly. So completely
that they did not hear Steve Packard singing far out in the night as he
rode slowly toward the ranch-house:

"An' I'd rather hear a kiote howl
Than be the King of Rome!
An' when day comes--if day does come--
By cripes, I'm goin' home!
Back home! Hear me comin', boys?
Yeee! I said it. Comin' home!"

But in very brief time Steve Packard's loitering pace was exchanged for
red-hot haste as the sounds winging outward from the bunk-house met
him, stilled his singing, and informed him that men were battling in a
fury which must have something of sheer blood-thirst in it. He raced
to the closed door, swung down from the saddle, and threw the door open.

He saw Bill Royce being held by two men, fighting at them while he
reviled a man whom Steve guessed to be Blenham; he saw Blenham and a
curly-haired, blue-eyed boy struggling up and down, striking the savage
blows of rage. He came just in time to see Blenham drive a big, brutal
fist into the boy's face and to mark how Barbee fell heavily and for a
little lay still.

The moment was charged with various emotions, as though with contending
electrical currents. Bill Royce, championed by a man he had never so
much as seen, had given fully of his gratitude and--they meant the same
thing to Bill Royce--of his love; after to-night he'd go to hell for
"yellow" Barbee.

Barbee, previsioning defeat at Blenham's hard hand, suffering in his
youthful pride, had given birth, deep within him, to an undying hatred.
And Blenham, for his own reasons and after his own fashion, was
bursting with rage.

"Get up, Barbee," he yelled. "Get up an', so help me----"

"I'm goin' to kill you, Blenham," said Barbee faintly, lifting himself
a little, his blue eyes swimming. "With my hands or with a knife or
with a gun or anyway; now or to-morrow or some time I'm goin' to kill
you."

"They all heard you," Blenham spat out furiously. "You're a fool,
Barbee. Goin' to get up? Ever goin' to get up?"

"Turn me loose, boys," muttered Bill Royce. "I've waited long enough;
I've stood enough. I been like an ol' woman. Jus' let me an' Blenham
finish this."

They had, none of them, so much as noted Steve Packard's entrance.
Now, however, he forced them to take stock of him.

"Bill Royce," he said sharply, "keep your shirt on. Barbee, you do the
same. Blenham, you talk with me."

"You?" jeered Blenham.