the time came to make a stand the association nominated Beaudry for
sheriff and elected him. He had prosecuted the thieves remorselessly
in spite of threats and shots in the dark. Two of them had been put by
him behind bars. Others were awaiting trial. The climax had come when
he met Anse Rutherford and his companion at Battle Butte, had defeated
them both single-handed, and had left one dead on the field and the
other badly wounded.

Men said that John Beaudry was one of the great sheriffs of the West.
Perhaps he was, but he would have to pay the price that such a
reputation exacts. The Rutherford gang had sworn his death and he knew
they would keep the oath.

The man sat with one hand resting on the slim body of the sleeping boy.
His heart was troubled. What was to become of little Royal without
either father or mother? After the manner of men who live much alone
in the open he spoke his thoughts aloud.

"Son, one of these here days they're sure a-goin' to get yore dad.
Maybe he'll ride out of town and after a while the hawss will come
galloping back with an empty saddle. A man can be mighty unpopular and
die of old age, but not if he keeps bustin' up the plans of rampageous
two-gun men, not if he shoots them up when they're full of the devil
and bad whiskey. It ain't on the cyards for me to beat them to the
draw every time, let alone that they'll see to it all the breaks are
with them. No, sir. I reckon one of these days you're goin' to be an
orphan, little son."

He stooped over the child and wrapped the blankets closer. The muscles
of his tanned face twitched. Long he held the warm, slender body of