They gave him the ropes as he called for them, and he rigged them with masterful hands--first the rough-twisted hackamore, to go over his head and cut off his breath; then the two-inch well-rope, to hang from his neck and serve later to noose his hind foot. Then all hands tailed on to the throw-rope; they swayed back as he rose to his feet; and when Dunbar went to the end of it, the heave they gave threw him flat. He leaped up and flew back on his haunches, and the rope halter cut off his breath. His sides heaved as he struggled against it; his eyes bulged big and he shook his head; then, with a final paroxysm, he sank to his knees and they slackened away on the rope. A single mighty breath, and he was up on his feet and fighting; and they choked him down again. Then Hardy Atkins stepped in behind and picked up the end of the shoulder rope, where it dragged between his legs, and drew the loop up to his hocks. A jerk--a kick at the burn--and Dunbar was put on three legs. He fought, because that was his nature, but it was in vain; they trussed his foot up high, tied the rope's end to the neck loop, and clapped a broad blind over his eyes. So Dunbar was conquered, and while he squealed and cow-kicked, they lashed Bowles' saddle on his bowed-up back and slipped the bit between his teeth. There he stood at last, old Dunbar the man-killer, sweating and trembling and cringing his head to the blind, and Bowles jumped down off the fence. "All right," he said, "you can let down his foot. I'll pull up the blinder myself." "Say yore prayers first, Mr. Man," gritted Atkins, lolling and mopping his face. "If he's half as good as his promise, you'll never git off alive!" "Very likely," observed Bowles grimly. "You can let his foot down now." "Hey! Git a move on!" yelled a cow-puncher up on the fence. "They's somebody comin' up the road!" "Aw, let 'em come," drawled Atkins carelessly. "They're hurryin' up to see the show. Step up and look 'im over!" he grinned at Bowles. "No rush--you got lots of time!" "Let his foot down!" snarled Bowles, his nerves giving way to anger. "I'm not----" "It's Dix!" clamored the cow-puncher on the fence-top. "It's Dix!" There was a rush for the fence to make certain, and as Dixie Lee dashed in through the horse lot, Hardy Atkins threw down his hat and cursed. Then he stood irresolute, gazing first at Bowles and then at the fence, until suddenly she slipped through the bars and came striding across the corral. "Oho, Hardy Atkins," she panted, as she tapped at her boot with a quirt. "So this is what you were up to--riding horses while Dad went to town! Didn't he tell you to keep off that Dunbar horse? Well, then, you just----" She paused as she sensed the tense silence, and then she saw Bowles, walking resolutely up to the horse. In a flash it all came clear to her--the feud, the fights, and now this compact to ride.