Belle's face took on a weariness: "Oh, no--not always safe to live in--sometimes safe to make money in. There's nothing I'm so sick of hearing as this vigilante stuff. The vigilante crowd are mostly big thieves--the rustlers, little thieves--that's about all the difference I can see." "Well, is there any difference between being a rustler, and protecting and being the friend of one?" Belle's restraint broke: "You'd better set your own house in order before you criticize me or Jim Laramie. He's never yet tried to assassinate anybody." "Neither has my father, nor the men that raided the Falling Wall." "Don't you know," demanded Belle, indignantly, "that the men who raided the Falling Wall are the men that tried to murder Laramie?" "I don't believe it," said Kate, flatly. "Father doesn't believe _any_body tried to murder him." Belle's wrath bubbled over: "Your father's as deep in it as anybody." She could have bitten her tongue off the instant she uttered the angry words. But they were out. Kate sprang to her feet. Even Belle, used to shocks and encounters, was silenced by the look that met her. For a moment the angry girl did not utter a word, but if her eyes were daggers, Belle would have been transfixed. Kate's breast rose sharply and she spoke low and fast: "How dare you accuse my father of such a thing?" Belle, though cowed, was defiant: "I dare say just what I believe to be true." "What proof have you?" "I don't need proof for what everyone knows." "You say what is absolutely false." Kate's tranquil eyes were aflame; she stood child, indeed, of her old father. Belle had more than once doubted whether Kate _could_ be the daughter of such a man--she never doubted it after that scene on the day of the rain. Barb himself would have waited on his daughter's words. "You're glad to listen to the stories of our enemies," she almost panted, "because they're your friends; you're welcome to them. But my father's enemies are my enemies and I know now where to place you." White with anger as she was herself, Belle, older and more controlled, tried to allay the storm she had raised: "I didn't meant to hurt you, Kate," she protested, "you drove me too far." "I'm glad I did," returned Kate, wickedly, as she stepped back into the living-room, pinned on her hat and made ready as fast as possible to go. "I know you in your true colors." "Well, whether I'm right or wrong, you'll find my colors don't fade and don't change." A boy stood at the gate with Kate's pony. The two women were again on the porch. Belle looked at the sky. The rain had abated but the mountains were black. "Now, Kate, what are you going to do?" Kate had walked out and was indignantly throwing the lines over her horse's neck. "I'm going home," she answered, as sharply as the words could be spoken.