About a mile from Battle Butte they caught up with another rider, a young woman of perhaps twenty. The dark, handsome face that turned to see who was coming would have been a very attractive one except for its look of sulky rebellion. From the mop of black hair tendrils had escaped and brushed the wet cheeks flushed by the sting of the rain. The girl rode splendidly. Even the slicker that she wore could not disguise the flat back and the erect carriage of the slender body. Dingwell lifted his hat. "Good-evenin', Miss Rutherford." She nodded curtly. Her intelligent eyes passed from his to those of Fox. A question and an answer, neither of them in words, flashed forth and back between Beulah Rutherford and the little man. Dave took a hand in the line-up as they fell into place beside each other. "Hold on, Fox. You keep to the left of the road. I'll ride next you with Miss Rutherford on my right." He explained to the girl with genial mockery his reason. "Chet and I are such _tillicums_ we hate to let any one get between us." Bluntly the girl spoke out, "What's the matter?" The cattleman lifted his eyebrows in amused surprise. "Why, nothing at all, I reckon. There's nothing the matter, is there, Chet?" "I've got an engagement to meet your father and he won't let me go," blurted out Fox. "When did you make that hurry-up appointment, Chet?" laughed Dingwell. "You didn't seem in no manner of hurry when you was lying in the mesquite back there at Lonesome Park." "You've got no business to keep him here. He can go if he wants to," flashed the young woman. "You hear that, Chet. You can go if you want to," murmured Dave with good-natured irony. "Said he'd shoot me in the back if I hit the trail any faster," Fox snorted to the girl. "He wouldn't dare," flamed Beulah Rutherford. Her sultry eyes attacked Dingwell. He smiled, not a whit disturbed. "You see how it is, Chet. Maybe I will; maybe I won't. Be a sport and you'll find out." For a minute the three rode in silence except for the sound of the horses moving. Beulah did not fully understand the situation, but it was clear to her that somehow Dingwell was interfering with a plan of her people. Her untamed youth resented the high-handed way in which he seemed to be doing it. What right had he to hold Chet Fox a prisoner at the point of a rifle? She asked a question flatly. "Have you got a warrant for Chet's arrest?" "Only old Tried and True here." Dave patted the barrel of his weapon. "You're not a deputy sheriff?" "No-o. Not officially." "What has Chet done?" Dingwell regarded the other man humorously. "What have you done, Chet? You must 'a' broke some ordinance in that long career of disrespectability of yours. I reckon we'll put it that you obstructed traffic at Lonesome Park."