Dusty strutted out of the house, his spurs making music. The girl turned on him with pantherish swiftness. “Who told you to torture this man, Dusty? What right have you got to make yourself law on the Diamond Bar? You’re only a drunken lunkhead, aren’t you? Or did Father ask you to be judge and jury on the ranch?” It was ludicrous to see the complacency vanish from the fatuous face. The jaw fell and the mouth opened. “Why, Miss Betty, I figured as how he’d done you a meanness, an’ I thought--” She cut his explanation short with stinging ruthlessness. “What for? You weren’t hired to think, but to obey orders. You’d better get back into the wheatfield before Father comes. Pronto.” The cowboy shut his mouth with a view to opening it again in self-defense, but Betty would have none of his excuses. She shooed him from the scene indignantly. While she was busy with Dusty, the lank rider quietly vanished. The prisoner watched her, the rope still about his waist. His mind paid tribute to the energy with which she got results. “Greatly obliged,” he said with sarcasm. “I suppose your father won’t have me hanged now.” “Take off that rope,” she said. “That’s an order, is it?” “I don’t blame you for hating us all,” she flamed. “I would in your place. The whole place is bewitched to-day, I believe. We’re all acting like bullies instead of the quiet, decent people we are. Take Dusty now. He’s a good little fellow, but he thought you’d attacked me. He wouldn’t stand that. Men in the ranch country won’t, you know. They look after us women.” “That’s a peculiarity of the ranch country, I suppose.” She ignored the derisive gleam in his eyes. “No ... no! Good men always do. I wish I could tell you--could show you--my thanks because you stood up for me. I’ll never forget. It was fine, the way you fought for me.” “Nothing to that. I’d been saving a punch or two for him. Don’t forget that I’m a good-for-nothing bum, on the authority of your own father. No need of getting sentimental. Don’t make the mistake of putting me in a class with him and other such truly good men as your friend Dusty and the lamblike foreman who beat up Cig because he wouldn’t apologize for being alive.” Voice and manner both fleered at her, but she was determined to accept no rebuff. “Did Dusty hurt you? Can I do anything for you? Tell me. I’d be so glad to. Let me get you a drink.” Like a flash, she was off at her own suggestion to the kitchen. His impulse was to go at once, but he could not escape his past and be deliberately discourteous to a woman whose only desire was to help him. He waited, sullenly, for her return. Why could she not let him alone? All he asked of the Diamond Bar K was for it to let him get away and forget it as soon as possible. When the girl came back, it was with a pitcher and a glass. The outside of the jug was beaded with moisture. From within came the pleasant tinkle of ice. Betty filled the tumbler with lemonade.