just a glimpse of it--just enough to indicate what might happen. The
girl who had been tending the fire was rushing upon him with a red-hot
iron extended before her. Quicker than he could throw himself from the
saddle she had struck him in the face with it.

"You brand our calves!" she cried in a fury of recklessness. "I'll brand
YOU--damn you!"

Y.D. threw himself from the saddle, but in the suddenness of her
onslaught he failed to clear it properly, and stumbled to the ground. In
a moment she was on him and had whipped his gun from his belt.

"Get up!" she said. And he got up.

"Walk to that post, put your arms around it with your back to me, and
stand there." He did so.

The girl kept him covered with the revolver while she released the
lariat that bound her father.

"Are you hurt, Dad?" she inquired solicitously.

"No, just shaken up," he answered, scrambling to his feet.

"All right. Now we'll fix him!"

The girl walked to the next post from Y.D.'s, climbed it leisurely and
seated herself on the top.

"Now, Mr. Y.D.," she said, "you are going to fight like a white man,