"That ain't right. When a man thinks he wants to get away from himself, that's th' coyote in him talkin'. Then he wants to get closer'n ever; get down close an' fight again' that streak what's come into him an' got around his heart. Wants to get down an' fight like sin!" He whispered the last words. Then, before Danny could form an answer, he said, a trifle gruffly: "Open th' gate. I'll ride on an' turn th' horses back." They entered the inclosure and rode on toward a clump of buildings a half-mile back from the road. Off to their right ran a strip of flat, cleared land. It was dotted with new haystacks, and beyond them they could see waving grass that remained to be cut. At the corral the two dismounted, Danny stiffly and with necessary deliberation. As they commenced unsaddling, a trio of hatless men, bearing evidences of a strenuous day's labor, came from the door of one of the log houses to talk with Jed. That is, they came ostensibly to talk with Jed; in reality, they came to look at the Easterner who fumbled awkwardly with his cinch. Danny looked at them, one after the other, then resumed his work. Soon a new voice came to his ears, speaking to Avery. He noticed that where the little man's greeting to the others had been full-hearted and buoyant, it was now curt, almost unkind. Curious, Danny looked up again--looked up to meet a leer from a pair of eyes that appeared to be only half opened; green eyes, surrounded by inflamed lids, under protruding brows that boasted but little hair, above high, sunburned cheek bones; eyes that reflected all the small meanness that lived in the thin lips and short chin. As he looked, the eyes leered more ominously. Then the man spoke: "Long ways from home, ain't you?" Although he looked directly at Danny, although he put the question to him and to him alone, the boy pretended to misunderstand--chose to do so because in the counter question he could express a little of the quick contempt, the instinctive loathing that sprang up for this man who needed not to speak to show his crude, unreasoning, militant dislike for the stranger, and whose words only gave vent to the spirit of the bully. "Are you speaking to me?" Danny asked, and the cool simplicity of his expression carried its weight to those who stood waiting to hear his answer. The other grinned, his mouth twisting at an angle. "Who else round here'd be far from home?" he asked. Danny turned to Jed. "How far is it?" he asked. "A hundred an' ten," Jed answered, a swift pleasure lighting his serious face. Danny turned back to his questioner. "I'm a hundred and ten miles from home," he said with the same simplicity, and lifted the saddle from his horse's back. It was the sort of clash that mankind the world over recognizes. No angry word was spoken, no hostile movement made. But the spirit behind it could not be misunderstood.