So now, after studying Spur Treadwell, he knew him to be a man of great force, a dominating character, yet one who was utterly unscrupulous, who would fight with the brutality of a bull and the savageness of a tiger. He shrewdly surmised that the man's weakness was his vanity. Here was a man who possessed the force to make other people carry out his wishes, but would fail because of his pride. "Who's the kid?" Spur Treadwell asked, as he cast a searching glance at Allen. "A kid from down Fort Worth way--he's lookin' for a job." Allen chuckled to himself. One-wing's words implied that he knew for a fact that Allen had come from Fort Worth. It was a little thing, but it might some day serve to throw some suspicious person off the scent. "All right, kid, yuh go aroun' back an' ask cooky to get yuh some chuck, an' I'll see yuh later," Spur Treadwell said. "Yuh know right well, Spur, that 'Arizona' won't give him nothin' at this time of the day," a young girl cried, as she stepped out of the door onto the porch. "All right, Dot, yuh're great at carin' for ol' animals, hobos, an' kids--go feed him yourself." Spur Treadwell laughed and shrugged his great shoulders. Dot Reed was a young girl of about nineteen, with dark, curling hair and vivid blue eyes. Bidding Allen to follow her, she reëntered the house and led the way to the kitchen. She cut some cold meat and placed a platter of it on the oilcloth-covered table with some bread and butter. Quickly she stirred up the embers in the kitchen stove, built a fire, and placed a coffeepot on to boil. Allen followed her with his eyes as she prepared the meal. "Gosh, I don't blame Slivers none at all, yuh sure are a real girl," he told himself. "I'm bettin' yuh're Dot Reed," Allen told her, with his mouth full of meat. "How did yuh know? What is your name?" she asked with a smile. "A gent tol' me about yuh. He said yuh was the best-lookin' gal in seven States," he said, grinning. "My handle is Jim Ashton." She decided she liked this boy and she smiled again with the condescension of a girl of nineteen looking down at a mere boy of eighteen. "An' your dad, John Reed, owns this outfit?" he asked. Her face clouded and her lip trembled. She was silent and looked away. "He was killed a month ago," she said at last. This was news to Allen and came to him as a shock. Slivers had hoped that John Reed would help clear his name. It meant they had lost a powerful ally. Allen now understood the lines of worry he had noticed in the girl's face. He waited for her to go on. Dot Reed looked at Allen and saw something in his face that inspired her with confidence. There was a look of understanding that was unusual for one of his age. "Dad surprised two rustlers over near Hard Pan, an' they shot him," she faltered. "Did they get the coyotes?" "Yeh, Spur Treadwell an' the twins come along an' shot them both. They--they----" She faltered, and the tears sprang to her eyes. "They?" he urged her gently.