Cinnabar Joe sat in the doorway of his unfinished stable and squinted down the barrel of a high-power rifle. A six-shooter lay beside him on the sill, cleaned and oiled and loaded. "Shines like a lookin' glass," he observed, and throwing the gun to his shoulder, sighted at a rounded rock that protruded from a cutbank a quarter of a mile away. "If that had of be'n Purdy's head, an' I'd of pulled the trigger--there wouldn't of be'n no more Purdy," he grinned. "He better not stick his nose in this here valley," he muttered, "but, at that, I'd ruther be out there huntin' him." From beyond the stable came the sound of galloping hoofs. Dropping the rifle, Cinnabar reached for his six-gun and whirled to meet the laughing gaze of Janet McWhorter. "Why, what's the matter? You look as though you wanted to kill me!" The man summoned a grin: "Nerves, I guess. Don't mind me. Be'n smokin' too much, maybe." "What's all the artillery for? You look as though you were going to start a war." "Maybe I am. But speakin' of artillery, you're pretty well heeled yourself. Coyotes be'n killin' lambs?" "Yes, the worst coyote on the range killed one of them yesterday and then offered to pay for it. I mean your friend Purdy." "_My_ friend Purdy!" "Yes--your friend, and Dad's friend, too. If you men wouldn't tolerate such characters around--if you'd try to clean them out of the country instead of doing everything in your power to make it easy for them, they would soon be wiped out." "But, we'd git wiped out first--an' besides they ain't all like Purdy." "They're all criminals. They all ought to be in prison." Cinnabar shook his head: "No, there's plenty of criminals that hadn't ought to be in prison: an' there's plenty of folks that ain't criminals that had ought to be in prison. Trouble is--the gauge ain't right that they measure 'em with." "All men talk alike," sniffed Janet, "where's Jennie?" "In the house, feedin' a woman the first square meal she's et in the Lord knows when." "Woman! What woman?" "I never seen her before. Jennie says she's the pilgrim's wife--fellow name of Henderson, or Kottmeyer, or some such a name. About a year back, in Wolf River he took a shot at Purdy, an' come near gittin' him, 'cause Purdy had toled her out fer a ride an' then drug her off her horse--they wasn't married then." "Is she--all right?" "All right? Yes, I guess she's all right, now. She slep' most of yesterday afternoon, an' all night." "What are you going to do with her?" Cinnabar's lips tightened: "When she's able to travel, we're goin' to git her back to her folks." "And claim the reward?" "Reward?" "Yes, didn't you know that there is a reward of a thousand dollars for information concerning her?" Cinnabar shook his head: "No. I didn't know that. No. We won't be claimin' no reward. So, that's his game, is it?" Janet swung from the saddle: "That isn't his game," she said, "I thought it was, at first. But, do you know, I believe he really loves her."