in the background, but, alone under the morning sun, it swept over him
and stung him to fury. There was just enough truth in the report to
demand its instant suppression.

Wilson was branding calves in his corral as Y.D. came up. He was alone
save for a girl of eighteen who tended the fire.

Wilson looked up with a hot iron in his hand, nodded, then turned to
apply the iron before it cooled. As he leaned over the calf Y.D. swung
his lariat. It fell true over the Englishman, catching him about the
arms and the middle of the body. Y.D. took a half-hitch of the lariat
about his saddle horn, and the well-trained horse dragged his victim in
the most matter-of-fact manner out of the gate of the corral and into
the open.

Y.D. shortened the line. After the first moment of confused surprise
Wilson tried to climb to his feet, but a quick jerk of the lariat sent
him prostrate again. In a moment Y.D. had taken up all the line, and sat
in his saddle looking down contemptuously upon him.

"Well," he said, "who's too handy with his branding-iron now?"

"You are!" cried Wilson. "Give me a man's chance and I'll thrash you
here and now to prove it."

For answer Y.D. clucked to his horse and dragged his enemy a few yards
farther. "How's the goin', Frank?" he said, in mock cordiality. "Think
you can stand it as far as the crick?"

But at that instant an unexpected scene flashed before Y.D. He caught