"You been in the saddle since sunup," he said. "You hain't had nuthin' to eat since breakfast--I don't see what keeps you alive." "Hope, Dad, hope. It is what we women live upon. Some cherish it all their lives, and never reap a harvest. I watch the sun leap over the edge of the world at dawn, and hope that before it sinks behind the western hills the man I love will come home to my heart. Oh, Dad, I'm not myself! I haven't been myself since the day I sent him away--my heart isn't here. It's out in the desert behind yon mountains--with Jack." "Thar, thar, don't take on so, honey." Kneeling beside her father, she laid her head on his lap, as she did in childhood when overwhelmed with the little troubles of the hour. Looking into his eyes, she sighed: "Oh, Dad, it's all so tangled. I haven't known a peaceful moment since he went away. I've sent him away into God knows what unfriendly lands, perhaps never to return--never to know how much I loved him." Patting her head, as if she were a tired child, he said: "It'll all come out right in the end. You can't never tell from the sody-card what's in hock at the bottom of the deck." Further confidences between father and daughter were interrupted by the boys of the round-up dashing up to the wagon, with Peruna in the midst of the group. Peruna had been disarmed. Dragging the prisoner from his bronco, they led him before Allen, who had risen from his seat. "What's all this, boys?" asked the ranchman. Sage-brush, as foreman, explained: "This yere's Peruna of the Lazy K outfit." Allen looked at the prisoner, who maintained a sullen silence. "What's he been doin'?" "Mostly everything, but Fresno caught red-handed brandin' one of our yearlin's," cried Sage-brush. "It's a lie!" broke in Peruna, glancing doggedly from one to another of his guards. He knew death was the penalty of the crime of which he stood accused. He felt that a stout denial would gain him time, and that Buck and his outfit might come up and save him. "Polite your conversation in the presence of a lady," cried Parenthesis, nodding toward Echo. "That calf was follerin' my cow," answered Peruna sullenly. "It was follerin' one of our longhorned Texas cows with the Sweetwater brand spread all over her," shouted Show Low, moving menacingly toward the cowering Peruna. "Fresno he calls him," continued Sage-brush, taking up the story; "an' this yere Peruna--drinking bad turns loose his battery and wings Fresno some bad--then little Billie Nicker comes along, and Peruna plugs him solid." Poor Billie had been Show Low's bunkie on many a long drive. That veteran now paid this last tribute to his friend. "Billie, who ain't never done no harm to no one--" "He reached for his gun--" began Peruna. Sage-brush would not let him finish his lame defense.