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slugged time and again, until the foreman’s head rolled on his neck and he was staring unseeing at the floor. Frank caught his weight and said pantingly to Shibe, “Give me a hand, Red.”
    Red, his face tight and a little strained, came up and Frank said, “Throw him through the door.”
    â€œHe’s had enough, Frank.”
    Frank’s wicked eyes laid their hot glare on Shibe, and he said thickly, “I’m goin’ all the way, Red! Get away if you don’t like it!”
    Red took hold of Milabel’s belt, and together they threw him through the door out into the hard-packed dirt of the yard. He lit with a grunt, skidded a few feet and was utterly motionless. Hands on hips, panting, Frank said, “Call the crew off.”
    Shibe stepped to the back window and called to the men to hold their fire, and the shots dribbled off into silence.
    Frank stepped out under the porch and called to the corral, “Come and get your boss man, you riders.”
    There was a long silence in the corrals, and then the cook, still in shirt sleeves, and another man walked tentatively out of the corral into sight. They kept looking at the timber, but the guns were silent up there. The cook and the puncher tramped across the yard and hauled up beside Milabel, their veiled glances on Frank.
    Frank said, “Tote him off the place. Drive your horses off too, and if a Circle R rider shows his face on this lease again, he’ll know what kind of a welcome we’ll give him.”
    The rider, a wedge-faced and dirty Texan, said shortly, “We’ll be back.”
    He and the cook stooped and caught Milabel under the arms, and because of the big man’s weight they dragged him across to the corral, trailing twin furrows in the dust where his boots dug in.
    Slowly, then, Frank’s crew drifted up to the house, watching the Circle R riders saddle up, gather their remuda and turn it out. Last of all came a team and buckboard driven by the cook, and Milabel’s limp body was slacked on its bed. They filed off toward the west, the Circle R men silent and furious under the slacked rifles of Frank’s crew.
    When they were out of sight Red Shibe stirred faintly and looked at Frank and then at Otey. Otey shook his head soberly, regarding Frank.
    â€œAll right,” Frank said. “Bring the wagon in, Joe, and unload. We’re home.”

Chapter IV
    By next morning the Circle R had not retaliated, and Frank, taking Samse with him to round up the remainder of the horses, had left orders for Red and Otey to stay at the house and for the others to scatter into the timber and up and down the creek to keep watch.
    Otey, still suspicious of Red Shibe, had drifted out to the wagonshed after breakfast and was contemplating the black-smithing job necessary on the wagon. His examination was superficial, however, for Otey was thinking of other things. Ten men had left this place yesterday, ten mad men, and they would join another twenty men who would be just as angry when they heard the story of the eviction.
    Otey looked uneasily down toward the creek and shook his head and tried to put it out of his mind. He was a little sad, for he had seen what could happen to stubborn men, rash men, and he liked Frank. He brought his attention to bear on the wagon, squatting down to see if the timbers of the frame were sprung. From underneath it he saw, standing in the doorway, a man’s boots, and he raised up to find Red Shibe looking at him.
    They stared at each other a long moment, Otey’s seamed face resentful and suspicious.
    Red said, “Old-timer, it’s about time you and me made medicine.”
    â€œHow come that?” Otey said distantly.
    â€œI’m here to stay,” Red said “I like the boss. So do you, unless I’m wrong.”
    â€œI like him,” Otey said. “I don’t much like the company he picks up.”
    Red squatted against the doorway and said