"Joke!" vociferated the angry cowpuncher with an oath, "It means the Pen for you--if you call that a joke." Glendon's eyes narrowed as they rested on Powell, and an expression of fury distorted his face. "Oh, I see your little game now!" he snarled. "Going to try to railroad me to the Pen so Powell can make love to my wife. I'll see you both damned before you play your last card. I'll show both of you up--and Katherine, too!" Two shots rang out together. The ponies reared as bullets pinged past, Powell, unarmed, looked at Limber, who stood with smoking pistol in his tense grip. The remnant of Glendon's six-shooter was lying on the ground some distance from his horse--knocked from his hand by the shot from Limber's gun. That shot had saved Powell's life. Not one of the men spoke, but Powell who was unarmed, leaped from his horse. All the rage that had consumed him for months seethed over. He clutched at Glendon, dragged him, despite his struggles, from his horse, and then face to face they met. All the knowledge of the misery inflicted on Katherine by this man, lent additional strength to Powell's blows, while Glendon's hatred responded in full. It was caveman against caveman, with bare hands for weapons. The fight was short but sharp. Though Glendon was a much larger man than Powell, and had once been able to hold his own with the gloves or at wrestling, years of dissipation told on him now. A crashing blow from the doctor stretched him on the ground motionless for several seconds; then his eyes opened and looked into the grim faces of the two men who stood watching him. "Get up," ordered Powell. Glendon dragged himself to his feet, swayed dizzily and passed his hand over his dazed eyes; slowly he moved to a fallen tree and dropped heavily on it. "What are you going to do?" he asked sullenly. "Send me up? You won't get her that way. She'll stick to me." Powell stepped to Glendon's side, his face white with fury, his hands clenched ominously. "Keep your wife's name off your dirty tongue," he commanded tensely, "or, by God! I'll kill you." Glendon knew it was no idle threat, and his eyes sought the ground until he was roused by Powell handing him a note book and fountain pen. "What's this for?" he demanded with an oath. "Write what I dictate," Powell answered. Glendon's head jerked angrily, "I will write nothing," he retorted. "You have ten minutes to do as I say;" Powell's voice was like flint, and so were the angry eyes that regarded the man at his feet. "Write. 'This is to confess that John Burritt and Doctor Powell caught me changing a PL cow to a BD and marking it with the Circle Cross." Glendon laughed contemptously. "Do you think I'm such a fool as to sign a paper that will send me to the penitentiary?" "It's the only way that you can keep from going there," was Powell's reply. "Suppose I sign it?"