"It is most outrageous," began Aunt Martha, her voice trembling. "That man, Pickett, came upon Ruth in the stable and abused her shamefully. He actually kissed her--three or four times--and--Why, Mr. Masten, the prints of his fingers are on her wrists!" Ruth, in the sitting-room, waited, almost in dread, for the explosion that she knew would follow Aunt Martha's words. None came, and Ruth sank back in her chair, not knowing whether she was relieved or disappointed. There was a long silence, during which Masten cleared his throat three times. And then came Aunt Martha's voice, filled with mingled wonder and impatience: "Aren't you going to do something Mr. Masten? Such a thing ought not to go unpunished." "Thunder!" he said fretfully, "what on earth _can_ I do? You don't expect me to go out and _fight_ that man, Pickett. He'd kill me!" "Mebbe he would," said Aunt Martha in a slightly cold voice, "but he would know that Ruth was engaged to a _man!_" There was a silence. And again came Aunt Martha's voice: "There was a time when men thought it an honor to fight for their women. But it seems that times have changed mightily." "This is an age of reason, and not muscle and murder," replied Masten. "There is no more reason why I should go out there and allow Pickett to kill me than there is a reason why I should go to the first railroad, lay my head on the track and let a train run over me. There is law in this country, aunty, and it can reach Pickett." "Your self-control does you credit, Mr. Masten." Aunt Martha's voice was low, flavored with sarcasm. Masten turned abruptly from her and went in to Ruth. Her face was still in her hands, but she felt his presence and involuntarily shrank from him. He turned his head from her and smiled, toward the stable, and then he laid a hand on Ruth's shoulder and spoke comfortingly. "It's too bad, Ruth. But we shall find a way to deal with Pickett without having murder done. Why not have Randerson discharge him? He is range boss, you know. In the meantime, can't you manage to stay away from places where the men might molest you? They are all unprincipled scoundrels, you must remember!" He left her, after a perfunctory caress which she suffered in silence. She saw him, later, as he passed her window, talking seriously to Chavis, and she imagined he was telling Chavis about the attack. Of course, she thought, with a wave of bitterness, Chavis would be able to sympathize with him. She went to her room shortly afterward.