you been goin' about makin' a talk that you was after me? Well, son,
here I am. Now let's see you eat!"

"I've said nothing about you," declared Andy. There was a groan from the
saloon. Once more all eyes flashed across to Jasper Lanning.

"Bah!" snorted Buck Heath, and raised his hand. To crown the horror, the
other stepped back. A little puff of alkali dust attested the movement.

"I'll tell you," roared Buck, "you ain't fittin' for a man's hand to
touch, you ain't. A hosswhip is more your style."

From the pommel of his saddle he snatched his quirt. It whirled, hummed
in the air, and then cracked on the shoulders of Andrew. In the dimness
of the saloon door a gun flashed in the hand of Jasper Lanning. It was a
swift draw, but he was not in time to shoot, for Andy, with a cry,
ducked in under the whip as it raised for the second blow and grappled
with Buck Heath. They swayed, then separated as though they had been
torn apart. But the instant of contact had told Andy a hundred things.
He was much smaller than the other, but he knew that he was far and away
stronger after that grapple. It cleared his brain, and his nerves
ceased jumping.

"Keep off," he said. "I've no wish to harm you."

"You houn' dog!" yelled Buck, and leaped in with a driving fist.

It bounced off the shoulder of Andrew. At the same time he saw those
banked heads at the windows of the saloon, and knew it was a trap for
him. All the scorn and the grief which had been piling up in him, all