He swept off his hat with a show of spirits. "Just heard you'd got home." He sat down with her at the table. "Everybody thought you stayed in town last night. Got lost, eh?" Kate raised her coffee cup non-committally. "For awhile," she murmured between sips. "What time did you get here?" "I was so glad to get to bed I never looked at my watch." Again she regarded him, quite innocently, over the rim of her cup. "Did anybody lose any stock?" He did not abandon his inquisition willingly, but each time he asked a question, Kate parried and asked one in turn. He gave up without having gained any information she meant to withhold. It was not hard to keep him in good humor; indeed, it was rather too easy. He pushed back his chair, crossed his legs, talked of a strong cattle market for the fall and spoke of Hawk and the hunt he was keeping up for him. "They had a story around--or some of the boys had the idea--that his friends would pick a wet night like last night to take him into town." "Is he still in the country?" "Sure he is. Say, Kate," he changed his attitude as lightly as he did his subject--uncrossed his legs, squared himself in his chair and threw his elbows on the table. She met the new disposition with a tone of prudent reserve: "What is it?" "When are you going to do something for a lonesome old scout?" he asked bluntly. With as little concern as possible, she put down her knife and fork, and, with her hands seeking her napkin, looked at him. "What do you mean?" she returned collectedly, "by 'doing something'?" "Marry me." "Never." The passage was disconcertingly quick. Van Horn, thrown quite aback, remonstrated. His discomfiture was so undisguised that Kate was embarrassed. The next moment he was very angry. "If that's the case," he blurted out, "what's the use o' my sticking around here fighting your battles?" "You're not fighting my battles." "Maybe you don't call 'em your father's, either," he exclaimed scornfully. "They're your own battles," declared Kate. "You know that as well as I do." "All the same, your father gets the benefit of them," he continued hotly. "I wish to heaven he had kept out of them." Van Horn eyed her sharply. His face reflected his sarcasm. "Of course, you needn't worry," he grinned, with implication. "They wouldn't steal your horse even if you do always leave it in Kitchen's barn; the Falling Wall bunch think too much of you for that." Surprised as she was at this outbreak, Kate kept her head. "There are some of the rustlers I'd trust as far as I would some of the raiders," she rejoined coolly. "Why don't you say Jim Laramie," he exclaimed harshly. "Jim Laramie," she returned defiantly, "is not the only one." "He'll be the 'only one' after our next clean-up in the Falling Wall. And he won't be 'one' if he doesn't change his tune." Kate's eyes were snapping fire. "Take care that next time the Falling Wall doesn't clean you up," she said bitingly.