"We won't talk about it any further," she said. "But understand, if there are any cattle thieves caught on the Flying W they must not be hanged. You must capture them, if possible, and take them to the proper officials, that they may have a fair trial. And we shall abide by the court's decision. I don't care to have any more murders committed here." His face paled. "Referrin' to Pickett, I reckon, ma'am?" he said. "Yes." She flung the monosyllable back at him resentfully. She felt him ride close to her, and she looked at him and saw that his face was grimly serious. "I ain't been thinkin' of the killin' of Pickett as murder, ma'am. Pickett had it comin' to him. You was standin' on the porch, an' I reckon you used your eyes. If you did, you saw Pickett try to pull his gun on me when my back was turned. It was either him or me, ma'am." "You anticipated that he would try to shoot you," she charged. "Your actions showed that." "Why, I reckon I did. You see, I've knowed Pickett for a long time." "I was watching you from an upstairs window," she went on. "I saw you when you struck Pickett with your fist. You drew your pistol while he was on the ground. You had the advantage--you might have taken his pistol away from him, and prevented any further trouble. Instead, you allowed him to keep it. You expected he would try to shoot you, and you deliberately gave him an opportunity, relying upon your quickness in getting your own pistol out." "I give him his chance, ma'am." "His chance." There was derision in her voice. "I have talked to some of the men about you. They say you are the cleverest of any man in this vicinity with a weapon. You deliberately planned to kill him!" He rode on, silently, a glint of cold humor in his eyes. He might now have confounded her with the story of Masten's connection with the affair, but he had no intention of telling her. Masten had struck the blow at him--Masten it must be, who would be struck back. However, he was disturbed over her attitude. He did not want her to think that he had killed Pickett in pure wantonness, for he had not thought of shooting the man until Uncle Jepson had warned him.