thinned, showing the thing that they sought; and beyond lay the gully. Randal caught the frozen flash of a waterfall across it as Lou said:
“Leave him. That will settle all things for ever.”
Three paces, and the black mare slung round to the grip on her bit. Art Scannell’s laugh shut off with a shriek.
“Randal!” he cried, and his whip cut across the face opposite.
Randal jerked the silver-set thing down to the creek far below.
“You’ll follow if you play up with me. Art,” he said.
Lou laughed.
“Go it. Art,” he cried, and slapped the boy’s knee.
Art stooped with a snarl, meeting his teeth in the thick of the hand; and Lou came out of the saddle with the brute that lives in every man quick on his face.
“Lou—don’t———” The girlish treble voice was over-dear to Randal. He made peace by such wit as he had, and Lou looked at him, grinning.
“I think you’ve done more harm than you know, to-night, Randal,” he said. “Take the young beggar where you like. I don’t want to be bothered with him.”
No mood held Lou for long, and he was
