She was an old family servant and was in part responsible for the bringing up of Betty. More than one rancher in the neighborhood had attempted the adventure of wooing Bridget Maloney, but none of them had been able to lure her from the Diamond Bar K to become the mistress of a home of her own. “You’d better lie down and sleep an hour, dear,” the girl advised. “An’ phwat would I be doin’ that for wid all these kettles an’ pots to be cleaned up? Scat! Get ye out o’ my kitchen now, mavourneen, an’ I’ll redd up in a jiff.” Betty found a magazine and walked out to the shade of a pine grove where a hammock hung. She settled herself comfortably and began to read. It was delightfully cool among the pines after the hot kitchen. She grew drowsy. Her eyes closed. The sound of far-away voices was in her ears when she wakened. As her thoughts cleared, so did the voices. She heard Dusty’s, strident, triumphant. “It’s up to the old man now.” The girl turned in the hammock and saw the squat cowpuncher go jingling into the house. Burt lounged on a horse, his right leg thrown round the horn of the saddle. Some one else, partly hidden from her by the ponies, was sitting on the porch. She got up quickly and walked toward the house. The man on the porch, she saw presently, had a rope around his waist the other end of which was fastened to the saddle of Dusty’s mount. An eyeflash later she recognized him. “You!” she cried. The tramp called Tug rose. He did not lift his hat, for he no longer had one. But his bow and sardonic smile gave an effect of ironic politeness. “The bad penny back again,” he said. “What have they been doing to you?” she asked breathlessly. He had been a disreputable enough specimen when she had last seen him. The swollen and discolored face, the gaping shoes, the ragged coat; all of these he had carried then. But there were scratches like skin burns down one side of the jaw and on his hands that had come since. His coat was in shreds. From head to foot dust covered every available inch. “Your men have been having a little sport. Why not? The boss had his first and they had to follow his example. They’re good obedient boys,” he scoffed bitterly. “What do you mean? What did they do?” she demanded sharply. He shrugged his shoulders and she turned imperiously to the man on horseback. “Burt, you tell me.” The lank cowboy showed embarrassment. “Why, Dusty he--he kinda dragged him when the fellow lagged. Jus’ for a ways.” “On the ground? That what you mean?” The dark eyes flashed anger. “Well, you might say so. He sorta stumbled, an’ he’d been right sassy to Dusty, so--” Burt’s explanation died away. He felt he was not getting very far with it. “So you acted like brutes to him--to a man who had just fought for me when--when--” A sob of chagrin and vexation choked up in her throat. She stamped her foot in exasperation. “Don’t get excited about me,” the victim gibed. “I’m nothing but a gay-cat anyhow. What’s it matter?”