“All right, but I'm in no sweat for my money. My team and the wagon are worth two hundred and fifty dollars. Put this plug at forty and it would be high.” He jerked his head toward the brush where the other saddle-horse was. “That leaves me a balance of about two hundred and ten. Is that fair?” She bit her lip in vexation. “I expect so, but I haven't that much with me. Can't I pay this seventy on account?” “No, ma'am, you can't. All or none.” There was a gleam of humor in his hard eyes. “I reckon you better let me come and collect after you get back to Fort Lincoln.” She took out a note-book and pencil. “If you will give me your name and address please.” He smiled hardily at her. “I've clean forgotten them.” There was a warning flash in her disdainful eye. “Just as you like. My name is Margaret Kinney. I will leave the money for you at the First National Bank.” She gathered up the rains deftly. “One moment.” He laid a hand on the lines. “I reckon you think I owe you an apology for what happened when we first met.” A flood of spreading color dyed her cheeks. “I don't think anything about it.” “Oh, yes, you do,” he contradicted. “And you're going to think a heap more about it. You're going to lay awake nights going over it.” Out of eyes like live coals she gave him one look. “Will you take your hands from these reins please?” “Presently. Just now I'm talking and you're listening.” “I don't care to hear any apologies, sir,” she said stiffly. “I'm not offering any,” he laughed, yet stung by her words. “You're merely insulting me again, I presume?” “Some young women need punishing. I expect you're one.” She handed him the horsewhip, a sudden pulse of passion beating fiercely in her throat. “Very well. Make an end of it and let me see the last of you,” she challenged. He cracked the lash expertly so that the horses quivered and would have started if his strong hand had not tightened on the lines. The Westerner laughed again. “You're game anyhow.” “When you are quite through with me,” she suggested, very quietly. But he noticed the fury of her deep-pupiled eyes, the turbulent rise and fall of her bosom. “I'll not punish you that way this time.” And he gave back the whip. “If you won't use it I will.” The lash flashed up and down, twined itself savagely round his wrist, and left behind a bracelet of crimson. Startled, the horses leaped forward. The reins slipped free from his numbed fingers. Miss Kinney had made her good-by and was descending swiftly into the valley. The man watched the rig sweep along that branch of the road which led to the south. Then he looked at his wrist and laughed. “The plucky little devil! She's a thoroughbred for fair. You bet I'll make her pay for this. But ain't she got sand in her craw? She's surely hating me proper.” He laughed again in remembrance of the whole episode, finding in it something that stirred his blood immensely.