"Didn't know it was Bannister? What difference WOULD that make?"
she said impatiently.

Mac laughed. "What difference would it make, Judd?"

Morgan scowled, and the young man answered his own question. "We
don't any of us go out of our way more'n a mile to cross
Bannister's trail," he drawled.

"Do you wear this for an ornament? Are you upholstered with
hardware to catch the eyes of some girl?" she asked, touching
with the end of her whip the revolver in the holster strapped to
his chaps.

His serene, gay smile flashed at her. "Are y'u ordering me to go
out and get Ned Bannister's scalp?"

"No, I am not," she explained promptly. "What I am trying to
discover is why you all seem to be afraid of one man. He is only
a man, isn't he?"

A veil of ice seemed to fall over the boyish face and leave it
chiseled marble. His unspeaking eyes rested on the swarthy
foreman as he answered:

"I don't know what he is, ma'am. He may be one man, or he may be
a hundred. What's more, I ain't particularly suffering to find
out. Fact is, I haven't lost any Bannisters."