But the upright figure plodding in its furrow never so much as turned its head. It merely pulled the lines buckled about its waist, thereby steadying the frightened horse back to its business, and crept ahead at its plowing. “Damn!” said the woman. She laid the rifle across her pommel, reined the blue stallion sharply away and went on her interrupted journey. * * * * * Two hours later she rode into the shady, crooked lane that passed for a street in Cordova. Composed of a general store, a blacksmith-shop, a few ancient cabins, the isolated trading point called itself a town. McKane of the store did four-ply business and fancied himself exceedingly. As the woman came cantering down the street between the cabins he ceased whittling on the splinter in his hands and watched her. She was well worth watching, too, for she was straight as an Indian and she rode like one. Of the half-dozen men lounging on the store porch in the drowsy afternoon, not one but gazed at her with covetous eyes. A light grew up in McKane’s keen face, a satisfaction, an appreciation, a recognition of excellence. “By George!” he said softly. “Boys, I don’t know which is the most worth while—the half-breed Bluefire or Kate Cathrew on his back!” “I’ll take the woman,” said a lean youth in worn leather, his starved young face attesting to the womanless wilderness of the Upper County from whence he hailed. “Yea, Lord—I’ll take the woman.” “You mean you _would_,” said McKane, smiling, “if you could. Many a man has tried it, but Kate rides alone. Yes, and rules her kingdom with an iron hand—that’s wrong—it’s steel, and Toledo steel at that, tempered fine. And merciless.” “You seem to know th’ lady pretty well.” “All Nameless River knows her,” said the trader, lowering his voice as she drew near, “and the Deep Hearts, too, as far as cattle run.” “Take an’ keep yer woman—if ye can—” put in a bearded man of fifty who sat against a post, this booted feet stretched along the floor, “but give me th’ horse. I’ve loved him ever sence I first laid eyes on him two years back. “He’s more than a horse—he’s got brains behind them speakin’ eyes, soft an’ black when he’s peaceful, but burnin’ like coals when he’s mad. I’ve seen him mad, an’ itched to own him then. Kate’s a brute to him—don’t understand him, an’ don’t want to.” McKane dropped his chair forward and rose quickly to his feet as the woman cantered up. “Hello, Kate,” he said, as she sat a moment regarding the group, “how’s the world at Sky Line Ranch?” “All there,” she said shortly, “or was when I left.” She swung out of her saddle and flung her reins to the ground. She pulled off her gloves and pushed the hat back from her forehead, which showed sweated white above the tan of her face. She passed into the store with McKane, the spurs rattling on her booted heels.