"Why, I've spoiled his white shirt," he said as though speaking to himself, his voice freighted with awe. And then, as Masten shook a threatening fist at him, he suddenly yielded to the mirth that was consuming him and he bowed his head. It was Uncle Jepson's warning shout that impelled him to raise his head. He saw Masten coming toward him, clawing at the foolish holster at his waist, his eyes flashing murder, his teeth bared in a snarl. "You, Patches!" said the rider, his voice coming with a cold, quick snap. And the piebald pony, his muscles and thews alive with energy in an instant, lunged in answer to the quick knee-press, through the mud, straight at Masten. So it was a grim and formidable figure that Masten looked up at before he could get his weapon out of his holster. The lean face of the rider was close to his own, the rider's eyes were steady, blue, and so cold that they made Masten forget the chill in the air. And one of the heavy pistols that the rider carried was close to Masten's head, its big muzzle gaping forebodingly at him, and the rider's voice, as he leaned from the saddle, came tense and low. The girl could not hear: "Listen to this gospel, you mud-wallowin' swine," he said. "This is a man's country, an' you play a man's game or you lose out so quick it'll make you dizzy! You been playin' kid all through this deal. You're grumblin' an' whinin' ever since I set eyes on you from the edge of the mesa, there. That little girl thinks you're all wool an' a yard wide. You come across, clean--you hear me! You shape up to man's size or I'll hunt you up an' tear the gizzard out of you! You jam that there cap-shooter back where it belongs or I'll take it away from you an' make you eat it! You hear me!" The pistol went back; Masten's face was ashen beneath the mud on it. "Now grin, you sufferin' shorthorn!" came the rider's voice again, low as before. "Grin like you'd just discovered that I'm your rich uncle come from Frisco with a platter full of gold nuggets which I'm set on you spendin' for white shirts. Grin, or I'll salivate you!" It was a grin that wreathed Masten's lips--a shallow, forced one. But it sufficed for the rider. He sat erect, his six-shooter disappearing magically, and the smile on his face when he looked at the girl, had genuine mirth in it. "I've apologized to Willard, ma'am," he said. "We ain't goin' to be cross to each other no more. I reckon you c'n forgive me, now, ma'am. I sure didn't think of bein' mean." The girl looked doubtfully at Masten, but because of the mud on his face could see no expression. "Well, I'm glad of that," she said, reddening with embarrassment. "I certainly would not like to think that anyone who had been so accommodating as you could be so mean as to deliberately upset anyone in the mud." She looked downward. "I'm sorry I spoke to you as I did," she added.