own; an aggressive and insolent gaze that had for its backing sheer
physical courage and nothing more. It became a battle of mental
endurance and Corliss eventually won.

After the lapse of several seconds, the cowboy spoke to his horse.
"Come on, Doc! The son-of-a----- is loco."

Corliss heard, but held his peace. He stood watching the cowboy until
the latter was out on the road. He noticed that he took the northern
branch, toward Antelope. Then the rancher entered the house, picked up
his hat, buckled on his gun, and hastened to the corral. He saddled
Chinook and took the trail to the Loring rancho.

He rode slowly, trying to arrive at the best method of presenting his
side of the sheep-killing to Loring. He hoped that Eleanor Loring
would not be present during the interview with her father. He was
disappointed, for she came from the wide veranda as he rode up and
greeted him.

"Won't you come in?" she asked.

"I guess not. I'd like to see your father."

She knew that her father had forbidden Corliss the house, and, indeed,
the premises. She wondered what urgency brought him to the rancho.
"I'll call him, then."

Corliss answered the grave questioning in her eyes briefly. "The
sheep," he said.