Twenty minutes later the Sheriff picked up the trader and rolled him up on the porch. He stood panting himself, one hand on the worn planking, the other wiping the blood and dirt from his face. “Get some water, boys,” he said quietly, “and when he comes around tell him I’ll be back tomorrow for my coffee and tobacco—five pounds of each—and anything more he wants to give me.” He picked up his wide hat, brushed it with his torn sleeve, set it back on his head precisely, walked to his own horse, which was tied some distance away, mounted and rode south toward the more open country where his own ranch lay. “I’m damned!” said the bearded man softly, “it didn’t take her long to stir up somethin’ on a peaceful day! If it’d been over Bluefire, now—there’s somethin’ to fight for—but a woman; Hell!” “But—Glory—Glory!” whispered the lean boy who had watched Kate hungrily, “ain’t she worth it! Oh, just ain’t she! Wisht I was McKane this minute!” “Druther be th’ Sheriff,” said the other enigmatically. CHAPTER II THE HOMESTEAD ON NAMELESS When the sun dropped over the western ridge, the girl in the deep sunbonnet unhitched her horses from the plow. She looped her lines on the hames, rubbed each sweated bay head a moment, carefully cleaned her share with a small wooden paddle which she took from a pocket in her calico skirt, and tipped the implement over, share-face down. Then she untied the slatted bonnet and took it off, carrying it in her hand as she swung away with her team at her heels, and the change was marvelous. Where had been a somewhat masculine figure, plodding at man’s work a few moments before, was now a young goddess striding the virgin earth. The rose glow of coming twilight in the mountains bathed the stern slants with magic, fell on her bronze head like ethereal dust of gems. All in a moment she had become beautiful. The golden shade of her smooth skin was put a tint above that of her hair and brows and lashes, a blend to delight an artist, so rare was it—though her mother said they were “all off the same piece.” There was red in her makeup, too, faint, thinned, beneath the light tan of her cheeks, flaming forth brightly in the even line of her full lips. Out of this flare of noon-day color her blue eyes shone like calm waters under summer skies. Some of the men of the country had seen John Allison’s daughter, but not one of them would have told you she was handsome—for not one of them had seen her without the disfiguring shelter of the bonnet. She went with the weary horses to the edge of the river, flat here in the broad meadows, and stood between them as they drank.