This morning on her rounds she had expected developments of some kind, owing to the presence of Roy Beeman and two of his brothers, who had arrived yesterday. And she was to discover that Jeff Mulvey, accompanied by six of his co-workers and associates, had deserted her without a word or even sending for their pay. Carmichael had predicted this. Helen had half doubted. It was a relief now to be confronted with facts, however disturbing. She had fortified herself to withstand a great deal more trouble than had happened. At the gateway of the main corral, a huge inclosure fenced high with peeled logs, she met Roy Beeman, lasso in hand, the same tall, lean, limping figure she remembered so well. Sight of him gave her an inexplicable thrill--a flashing memory of an unforgettable night ride. Roy was to have charge of the horses on the ranch, of which there were several hundred, not counting many lost on range and mountain, or the unbranded colts. Roy took off his sombrero and greeted her. This Mormon had a courtesy for women that spoke well for him. Helen wished she had more employees like him. “It's jest as Las Vegas told us it 'd be,” he said, regretfully. “Mulvey an' his pards lit out this mornin'. I'm sorry, Miss Helen. Reckon thet's all because I come over.” “I heard the news,” replied Helen. “You needn't be sorry, Roy, for I'm not. I'm glad. I want to know whom I can trust.” “Las Vegas says we're shore in for it now.” “Roy, what do you think?” “I reckon so. Still, Las Vegas is powerful cross these days an' always lookin' on the dark side. With us boys, now, it's sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. But, Miss Helen, if Beasley forces the deal there will be serious trouble. I've seen thet happen. Four or five years ago Beasley rode some greasers off their farms an' no one ever knowed if he had a just claim.” “Beasley has no claim on my property. My uncle solemnly swore that on his death-bed. And I find nothing in his books or papers of those years when he employed Beasley. In fact, Beasley was never uncle's partner. The truth is that my uncle took Beasley up when he was a poor, homeless boy.” “So my old dad says,” replied Roy. “But what's right don't always prevail in these parts.” “Roy, you're the keenest man I've met since I came West. Tell me what you think will happen.” Beeman appeared flattered, but he hesitated to reply. Helen had long been aware of the reticence of these outdoor men. “I reckon you mean cause an' effect, as Milt Dale would say,” responded Roy, thoughtfully. “Yes. If Beasley attempts to force me off my ranch what will happen?” Roy looked up and met her gaze. Helen remembered that singular stillness, intentness of his face. “Wal, if Dale an' John get here in time I reckon we can bluff thet Beasley outfit.” “You mean my friends--my men would confront Beasley--refuse his demands--and if necessary fight him off?” “I shore do,” replied Roy.