"I know, and so does dad," said Dallas, "that a man filed upon this quarter-section in July. We didn't find it out, though, till long after we built this house. We know his six months is almost up, too. But if you're him, and even if you've got back only a few hours before it's up, I'm willing, and I think dad'll be, for you to have the claim. But you must pay for what we've done on it." "_I_ never ast y' t' do anything on it." "That's so. But the law says----" "Aw, th' law be damned! I don't pay a cent!" "Then I know dad won't leave." "Oh, you _do_." "Yes," very quietly. "Well, let me tell y', my dear, that you're _dead_ wrong. You're goin' t' git your duds an' grub t'gether right now; in half a' hour, you leave this cabin." At this, Marylyn began to sob. "Come, get a move on," ordered Matthews, threateningly. He knew that if he wished to regain the land, there would be no time better than the present. He began to walk up and down, flinging his arms about to start the circulation. Dallas turned to comfort Marylyn, putting an arm about her protectingly. "Hush!" she said. "Keep quiet, honey." "Oh, let's go! let's go!" wailed the younger girl. Matthews came forward again, and took out his watch, a large, open-faced timepiece hung to a braided buckskin chain. "Now, look a-here," he said peremptorily; "I don't want no more funny business. This claim's mine. Your old man ain't got a solitary right to it. So you got t' go. I'll give you _jus' ten minutes_." With this, he resumed his pacing, comforting his beat with occasional draughts from a flask. Dallas strove hard to collect herself. "I can't do anything till dad comes," she called to him, finally. "You want us to leave. Why, we haven't got any place to go; and it's cold----" "Guess I know _that_," interrupted Matthews. "I'm almost friz." "And you've got no right to ask us to go till you've paid for this house and the well--and--and my plowing." "I pay fer nothin' I don't see, and fer no hole in th' ground," he said. "And as far 's a place to go is concerned"--this with a leer--"there's Shanty Town. Why, the boys'd be tickled t' death t' see y'. Then there's allus room at the Fort when there's good-lookin' gals in the fambly." Dallas understood the insult. Her grey eyes flamed in her greyer face. She slammed the window. Matthews came near, so that his face all but touched the glass. "Oh, that don't do no good, my dear," he said, raising his voice. "When I get ready, I'll come in." Marylyn had stilled her weeping to listen to him. Now, pallid with fear, she threw herself upon her sister and again burst forth. Dallas put her swiftly aside. The face that had been grey was now a tense white. Her eyes were blazing. She sprang to the gun rack and put up her arms. But the pegs were empty! CHAPTER IX A HAND IN THE FUN