She left him frowning among his papers. In his small, tyrannical way he had settled that case, finally and completely, to his own thinking, as he had disposed of wild-riding Alan Macdonald and his bold, outlandish petition. CHAPTER VII THROWING THE SCARE Banjo Gibson arrived at Macdonald's place the following day, from Sam Hatcher's ranch across the river, bringing news that three homesteaders on that side had been killed in the past two days. They had been shot from the willow thickets as they worked in their fields or rode along the dim-marked highways. Banjo could not give any further particulars; he did not know the victims' names. Macdonald understood what it meant, and whose hand was behind the slaying of those home-makers of the wilderness. It was not a new procedure in the cattle barons' land; this scourge had been fore-shadowed in that list of names which Frances Landcraft had given him. The word had gone out to them to be on guard. Now death had begun to leap upon them from the roadside grass. Perhaps his own turn would come tonight or tomorrow. He could not be more watchful than his neighbors had been; no man could close all the doors. The price of life in that country for such men as himself always had been unceasing vigilance. When a man stood guard over himself day and night he could do no more, and even at that he was almost certain, some time or other, to leave a chink open through which the waiting blow might fall. After a time one became hardened to this condition of life. The strain of watching fell away from him; it became a part of his daily habit, and a man grew careless about securing the safeguards upon his life by and by. "Them fellers," said Banjo, feeling that he had lowered himself considerably in carrying the news involving their swift end to Macdonald, "got about what was comin' to 'em I reckon, Mac. Why don't a man like you hitch up with Chadron or Hatcher, or one of the good men of this country, and git out from amongst them runts that's nosin' around in the ground for a livin' like a drove of hogs?" "Every man to his liking, Banjo," Macdonald returned, "and I don't like the company you've named." They never quarreled over the point, but Banjo never ceased to urge the reformation, such as he honestly believed it to be, upon Macdonald at every visit. The little troubadour felt that he was doing a generous and friendly turn for a fallen man, and squaring his own account with Macdonald in thus laboring for his redemption.