“I do,” said Bossick quietly, “and I’m only giving you a warning, Provine, which you’d better heed. You can take the word to Kate Cathrew, too. Her high-handed methods don’t set any too well with us—and we don’t care who knows it.” “To hell with you and your warnings!” flared Big Basford, his ugly temper rising. “Sky Line’s too strong for any damned bunch of backwoods buckaroos, an’ don’t you forget it! We’re——” “Shut up!” snapped Provine, and rode away. “Selwood’s right,” mused Bossick as he looked after them, “they’re a precious lot of cut-throats.” At Sky Line Ranch there was activity. Kate Cathrew was gathering beef. Riders were coming in daily with little bunches of cattle, all in good condition, which they herded into the corrals. Day and night the air was resonant with the endless bawling. It was a little early for the drive—but then Cattle Kate was always early. And this year she had a particular reason for precipitancy. One of those New York letters had said, “——would like to come a little sooner, if possible, so let’s clean up promptly.” The word of those letters was law to her. If they had said “ship” in December, she would have tried to do so. Now she was out on Bluefire from dawn to dark herself, and there was little or nothing escaped her eyes. She knew to a nicety how many yearlings were on the slopes of Mystery, the number of weaning calves, the steers that were ready for shipping and those that were not. When Provine carried her Bossick’s message verbatim the red flush of anger rose in her face again and she struck the stallion a vicious cut with her quirt. Bluefire rose on his hind legs, pawing, and shook his head in rage, the wild blood struggling with the tame in him. “If Bossick ever speaks to you again,” said Kate, “you tell him to go to hell, and that Kate Cathrew said so.” “I did,” said Basford, grinning, “and Sud objected.” “Where’s your allegiance to Sky Line?” she asked Provine instantly, “must Basford show you loyalty?” “I can show him discretion,” said Provine, evenly, “an’ hit don’t take much brains to see that. Do you _want_ these ranchers t’ begin ridin’ hard on us—nights, for instance, an’ _now_?” Kate frowned and tapped her boot. “The devil his due,” she said presently, “you’re right, Provine,” and turned away. The corrals were choked with cattle. Sky Line was ready for its drive. On the last night before the start there was a peculiar tenseness in everything about the busy place. Kate Cathrew was everywhere. She saw what horses were ready for use, spoke sharply with every rider to make sure he knew what he was to do, and told Rod Stone once more to get out of the kitchen. The boy laughed, but Minnie Pine glanced after her with smouldering eyes. “She’s a devil—the Boss,” she told Josefa, “I hate her.” After the early supper Caldwell, Provine, Basford and four others, saddled fresh horses and rode away.