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rifles in inspired disarray.
    McCaslon had to shove a stack of magazines out of the way to gain entrance. The far door, opening onto the rest of the house, was open.
    McCaslon said, “Wait here,” took off his hat, and walked through the far door. Webb could hear voices, one of them a woman’s, and it spoke curtly. Presently McCaslon loomed up in the doorway and said, “Come along.” His face had an uneasy, harassed look about it.
    Webb followed him into a passage which led onto a large room, furnished in a style outmoded years before. All the furniture, Webb guessed, had been freighted out in Conestoga wagons. By the big coal-oil lamp resting on the table in the center of the room Webb could see a girl sitting in a deep leather chair beside the fireplace, which held a bed of red coals. Tolleston was standing over her, and he raised his head to glance at Webb, then returned his gaze to the girl.
    â€œAnswer me,” he said sharply.
    There was no reply. McCaslon cleared his throat.
    â€œWe’ll wait in the office, Buck.”
    â€œYou’ll wait right here!” Buck said bluntly, and added. “You used to dandle her on your knee, Mac. You’ve licked her more than once. But she’s a little above tellin’ things to people now. Wants privacy.” He addressed the girl mockingly. “Well, you’ve got it. Now, will you tell me where you’ve been?”
    The girl rose and stared coolly at Webb and McCaslon. She was almost the height of her father, dressed in clothes similar to his. Her mass of tawny, wind-blown hair lay in a loose knot at the base of her neck. Her full mouth was set firmly, and there was more than a hint of her father in the line of her jaw. Webb thought she would smile at McCaslon; she almost did, and then apparently decided it was no time for it.
    â€œIf that’s all, dad, I’ll go,” she said quietly.
    Tolleston snorted. “Mrs. Partridge is waitin’ in the kitchen, keepin’ your food warm. This is the second time this week she’s had to do that.”
    â€œHow many times has she waited supper for you this week?” she asked him mockingly.
    â€œWhat’s that got to do with it?” Tolleston snapped. “When I’m late, it’s for a reason. And I can ride this range in safety because I carry a gun.”
    The girl was not looking at him now; she was watching Webb, a mixture of friendliness and curiosity in her voice. She said to Mac, “Did you come in to talk to dad, Mac?”
    Mac nodded. To her father she said, “You might introduce your guest to me, dad, instead of combing me over.”
    â€œHe’s no guest,” Tolleston said grimly. “He’s a jailbird. You ride all over Heaven knows where with trash like him runnin’ loose in the county. For Pete’s sake, girl, can’t you see it? And you won’t tell me where you go?”
    For answer she leaned over and kissed her father, then left the room, glancing strangely at Webb as she went.
    Tolleston growled something in his throat and yanked out his tobacco sack. He rolled a smoke swiftly, lighted it, and stood on the hearth, teetering on his heels, looking at the floor.
    McCaslon cleared his throat and Buck looked up, then said, “Oh! Sit down.”
    It was a long minute before Tolleston spoke, and when he did he talked swiftly to Mac.
    â€œI want a man sent over to this man’s country—or what he claims is his country—to check up on his story. Who can you spare?”
    Mac thought a moment and said, “Regan, I reckon.”
    â€œGo get him. Bring another man along that you can spare for a couple of days, too. Better make it Budrow.”
    Mac went out and returned with Stoop and the innocent-looking man. Webb did not know which was Regan until Tolleston said, “Listen careful to this, Regan.”
    â€œSure,” Stoop said.
    Tolleston addressed Webb. “Tell him where this place