For a moment he continued to gaze steadily into the furious, blood-shot eyes of the miner. Then he smiled, picked up his box with his free hand, and moved away in the direction of the house with the broken window. Fifty feet from the group, he tossed the pistol into the road. It lay there half-buried in the dust. The crowd of miners milled around uneasily and murmured under their breaths. It was an unwritten law that no man interfere in the little misunderstandings and arguments of any other man. One of them walked out into the road, secured the discarded weapon, and silently handed it back to its owner. It was evident that the tall man was one of these creatures who frequently attained a doubtful leadership in the early days of the West through sheer brutality and terrorism, and the ability to kill too quickly to be killed themselves. As he scrambled to his feet, his small, darting eyes caught the question and doubt in the faces of the men around him. He burst into a volley of profanity, raised the weapon, and pointed it at the disappearing figure. Before he could fire it, however, there was an interruption. A big roan horse had darted suddenly from nowhere, flashed before the group, and reared up on its haunches before him. Now a riding-crop swung through the air and descended on his wrist. For the second time that afternoon, the revolver was sent spinning from his fingers. Mad with pain and fury, he reached for the weapon. But the rider forced the horse against him and jostled him back. He looked up into the snapping blue eyes of a remarkably handsome and remarkably pale girl. She was dressed in a riding costume almost mannish in its Western simplicity, and a very serviceable revolver was suspended at her side from a well-stocked cartridge-belt. “You coward!” she blazed. “Would you kill a man with his back turned!” He was silent a moment, trying to meet the fiery gaze. “Don’t reckon I owe you no account o’ my doin’s,” he answered with a curious mixture of deference and sullenness. “You better be on your way. I don’t fight with women!” “Oh, you don’t! But you’re perfectly willing to shoot a man when he’s not looking! Brave, aren’t you?” His eyes dropped before her. For some reason, the man seemed to become a different creature in her presence. When he answered, it was almost respectfully. “I don’t intend to have no quarrel with you, anyhow.” “No?” Her eyes quickly ran over the smirking faces of the group behind him. “I’m glad to hear it. But I can’t help wondering why I’m so highly honored.” “You know why just as well as I do!” The girl flushed. “I’m not just sure that I understand what you mean,” she answered coldly. “But if you insinuate what I think you do, I advise you not to make a remark like that again, if you value your life! I don’t! Perhaps you understand me.” His face darkened; but the ugly smile appeared again on his lips.