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II. THE NESTER
III. CAUGHT RED-HANDED
IV. "I'M A RUSTLER AND A THIEF, AM I?"
V. AN AIDER AND ABETTOR
VI. A GOOD FRIEND
VII. A SHOT FROM AMBUSH
VIII. MISS GOING-ON-EIGHTEEN
X. INTO THE ENEMY'S COUNTRY
XI. TOM DIXON
XII. THE ESCAPE
XIII. A MISTAKE
XIV. A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION
XV. THE BRAND BLOTTER
XVI. A WATERSPOUT
XVII. THE HOLD-UP
XVIII. BRILL HEALY AIRS HIS SENTIMENTS
XIX. THE ROAN WITH THE WHITE STOCKINGS
XX. YEAGER RIDES TO NOCHES
XXI. BREAKING DOWN AN ALIBI
XXIII. AT THE RODEO
XXV. LARRY TELLS A BEAR STORY
XXVI. THE MAN HUNT
XXVII. THE ROUND-UP
The rider slewed in the saddle with his whole attention upon possible pursuit.
She drew back as if he had struck her, all the sparkling eagerness driven from her face.
"Drop that gun!"
They grappled in silence save for the heavy panting that evidenced the tension of their efforts.
Phyllis leaned against the door-jamb and looked down the long road which wound up from the valley and lost
itself now and again in the land waves. Miles away she could see a little cloud of dust travelling behind the
microscopic stage, which moved toward her almost as imperceptibly as the minute-hand of a clock. A bronco
was descending the hill trail from the Flagstaff mine, and its rider announced his coming with song in a voice
young and glad.
"My love has breath o' roses,
O' roses, o' roses,
And cheeks like summer posies
All fresh with morning dew,"
floated the words to her across the sunlit open.
If the girl heard, she heeded not. One might have guessed her a sullen, silent lass, and would have done her less than justice. For the storm in her eyes and the curl of the lip were born of a mood and not of habit. They had to do with the gay vocalist who drew his horse up in front of her and relaxed into the easy droop of the
experienced rider at rest.
"Don't see me, do you?" he asked, smiling.
Her dark, level gaze came round and met his sunniness without response.
"Yes, I see you, Tom Dixon."
"And you don't think you see much then?" he suggested lightly.
She gave him no other answer than the one he found in the rigor of her straight figure and the flash of her dark
The girl chose to ignore him and withdrew her gaze to the stage, still creeping antlike toward the hills.
"My love has breath o' roses,
movement of impatience she brushed back a rebellious lock of blue-black hair from her temple.
"Somebody's acting right foolish," he continued jauntily. "It was all in fun, and in a game at that."
"I wasn't playing," he heard, though the profile did not turn in the least toward him.
"Well, I hated to let you stay a wall-flower."
"I don't play kissing games any more," she informed him with dignity.
"Sho, Phyl! I told you 'twas only in fun," he justified himself. "A kiss ain't anything to make so much fuss
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