then with long swing of leg he appeared to step into the saddle.

"Shore I knowed you was Jean Isbel," he said. "Everybody in the Tonto
has heerd old Gass Isbel sent fer his boy."

"Well then, why did you ask?" inquired Jean, bluntly.

"Reckon I wanted to see what you'd say."

"So? All right. But I'm not carin' very much for what YOU say."

Their glances locked steadily then and each measured the other by
the intangible conflict of spirit.

"Shore thet's natural," replied the rider. His speech was slow,
and the motions of his long, brown hands, as he took a cigarette
from his vest, kept time with his words. "But seein' you're one
of the Isbels, I'll hev my say whether you want it or not. My name's
Colter an' I'm one of the sheepmen Gass Isbel's riled with."

"Colter. Glad to meet you," replied Jean. "An' I reckon who riled
my father is goin' to rile me."

"Shore. If thet wasn't so you'd not be an Isbel," returned Colter,
with a grim little laugh. "It's easy to see you ain't run into any
Tonto Basin fellers yet. Wal, I'm goin' to tell you thet your old
man gabbed like a woman down at Greaves's store. Bragged aboot you
an' how you could fight an' how you could shoot an' how you could
track a hoss or a man! Bragged how you'd chase every sheep herder
back up on the Rim. . . . I'm tellin' you because we want you to git