“See, he don’t dare say no,” said Swingley, “because he’d know he wasn’t tellin’ the truth. He belonged to us at the start, and he belongs to us now. You know where to find us, Milt, when you’re well enough to ride. And I’m advisin’ you to come right back to the reservation and be a good Indian, if you don’t want trouble. We may want you to make another go-devil for us.” With a laugh Swingley turned his horse and dashed away, Hoog following. Bertram threw away his cigarette and stood up. “Why didn’t you tell him it wasn’t true?” asked the girl. “I didn’t think it was necessary,” said the Texan. “Then I’m to assume that it was true?” “I can’t help what folks assume.” The girl turned away and began gathering up her horse’s trailing reins. “You need never come for that answer,” she said, “and the sooner you go away from here the better.” “I’ll come for the answer, and it’s going to be a favorable answer, too,” replied the Texan. “Furthermore I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going away, but I’m going to try homesteading on a little land I’ve got picked out, up the creek. I’m going to settle down and be a citizen here, and I want you to treat me like a good neighbor.” The girl did not answer, but, swinging lightly to the saddle, dashed away from the cabin. The Texan watched her until she disappeared down the trail that made a short cut to the Caldwell ranch. Then he said: “We’ll have plenty of time to finish the job now. Let’s go in and work some more on those nature notes, Uncle Billy.” CHAPTER VII THE MASKED HORSEMAN. Alma Caldwell assumed the burden of managing Nick Caldwell’s ranch. She was the only heir of the man who had been dubbed by his slayers “the king of the rustlers,” but who, as Bertram had discovered, had some prominent connection with the other side in the cattle war. Most of the Caldwell cattle were running in the hills, mixed with the stock from other ranches in the neighborhood. Comparatively little of Nick Caldwell’s ranch was under cultivation. Like most other ranchers in that part of the State he contented himself with raising enough alfalfa for his saddle stock and a little winter feeding, in case of an unusually severe season. But for the most part it was “horseback farming” that was practiced everywhere. Alma’s day was largely spent in the saddle. With her, as a small, but valiant, bodyguard, went young Jimmy Coyle. There was only one point of difference between the cousins, and that was Alma’s dismissal of Milton Bertram. Jimmy not only stood up for the Texan, but visited him frequently during the remainder of Bertram’s stay at Uncle Billy’s. Also it was Jimmy who came to Alma with the first news that the Texan had made good his words, and had located on a homestead.