Stewart stood perfectly motionless. Then slowly he began to lift his right hand in which he held his sombrero. He swept it up and up high over his head. His tall form towered. With fierce suddenness he flung his sombrero down. He leaped at his black horse and dragged him to where his saddle lay. With one pitch he tossed the saddle upon the horse’s back. His strong hands flashed at girths and straps. Every action was swift, decisive, fierce. Bounding for his bridle, which hung over a bush, he ran against a cowboy who awkwardly tried to avoid the onslaught. “Get out of my way!” he yelled. Then with the same savage haste he adjusted the bridle on his horse. “Mebbe you better hold on a minnit, Gene, ole feller,” said Monty Price. “Monty, do you want me to brain you?” said Stewart, with the short, hard ring in his voice. “Now, considerin’ the high class of my brains, I oughter be real careful to keep ’em,” replied Monty. “You can betcher life, Gene, I ain’t goin’ to git in front of you. But I jest says—Listen!” Stewart raised his dark face. Everybody listened. And everybody heard the rapid beat of a horse’s hoofs. The sun had set, but the park was light. Nels appeared down the trail, and his horse was running. In another moment he was in the circle, pulling his bay back to a sliding halt. He leaped off abreast of Stewart. Madeline saw and felt a difference in Nels’s presence. “What’s up, Gene?” he queried, sharply. “I’m leaving camp,” replied Stewart, thickly. His black horse began to stamp as Stewart grasped bridle and mane and kicked the stirrup round. Nels’s long arm shot out, and his hand fell upon Stewart, holding him down. “Shore I’m sorry,” said Nels, slowly. “Then you was goin’ to hit the trail?” “I am going to. Let go, Nels.” “Shore you ain’t goin’, Gene?” “Let go, damn you!” cried Stewart, as he wrestled free. “What’s wrong?” asked Nels, lifting his hand again. “Man! Don’t touch me!” Nels stepped back instantly. He seemed to become aware of Stewart’s white, wild passion. Again Stewart moved to mount. “Nels, don’t make me forget we’ve been friends,” he said. “Shore I ain’t fergettin’,” replied Nels. “An’ I resign my job right here an’ now!” His strange speech checked the mounting cowboy. Stewart stepped down from the stirrup. Then their hard faces were still and cold while their eyes locked glances. Madeline was as much startled by Nels’s speech as Stewart. Quick to note a change in these men, she now sensed one that was unfathomable. “Resign?” questioned Stewart. “Shore. What ’d you think I’d do under circumstances sich as has come up?” “But see here, Nels, I won’t stand for it.” “You’re not my boss no more, an’ I ain’t beholdin’ to Miss Hammond, neither. I’m my own boss, an’ I’ll do as I please. Sabe, senor?” Nels’s words were at variance with the meaning in his face. “Gene, you sent me on a little scout down in the mountains, didn’t you?” he continued.