She had lowered her voice for the last part of this speech.  Now she made a sweeping gesture, closing her hand as if she had clutched their destinies in the palm of her hand and could throw it into their faces.

“You-all climb right back on your hosses and feed ’em the spur.”

They stood amazed, shifting from foot to foot, exchanging miserable glances.  She began to laugh; mysterious lights danced and twinkled in her eyes.  The laughter chimed away into words grown suddenly gentle, suddenly friendly.  Such a voice Riley Sinclair had never heard.  It walked into a man’s heart, breaking the lock.

“Why, Buck Mason, you of all men to be mixed up in a deal like this.  And you, Oscar Larsen, after you and me had talked like partners so many a time!  Denver Jim, we’ll have a good laugh about this necktie party later on.  Why, boys, you-all know that Jig ain’t guilty of no harm!”

“Sally,” said the wretched Denver Jim, “things seemed to be sort of pointing to a—­”

There was a growl from the rear of the party, and Riley Sinclair strode to the front and faced the girl.  “They’s a gent charged with murder inside,” he said.  “Stand off, girl.  You’re in the way!”

Before she answered him, her teeth glinted.  If she had been a man, she would have struck him in the face.  He saw that, and it pleased him.

“Stranger,” she said deliberately, making sure that every one in the party should hear her words, “what you need is a stay around Sour Creek long enough for the boys to teach you how to talk to a lady.”

“Honey,” replied Riley Sinclair with provoking calm, “you sure put up a tidy bluff.  Maybe you’d tell a judge that you knowed all these gents behind their masks, but they wouldn’t be no way you could prove it!”

A stir behind him was ample assurance that this simple point had escaped the cowpunchers.  All the soul of the girl stood up in her eyes and hated Riley Sinclair, and again he was pleased.  It was not that he wished to bring the schoolteacher to trouble, but it had angered him to see one girl balk seven grown men.

“Stand aside,” said Riley Sinclair.

“Not an inch!”

“Lady, I’ll move you.”

“Stranger, if you touch me, you’ll be taught better.  The gents in Sour Creek don’t stand for suchlike ways!”

Before the appeal to the chivalry of Sour Creek was out of her lips, smoothly and swiftly the hands of Sinclair settled around her elbows.  She was lifted lightly into the air and deposited to one side of the doorway.

Her cry rang in the ears of Riley Sinclair.  Then her hand flashed up, and the mask was torn from his face.

“I’ll remember!  Oh, if I have to wait twenty years, I’ll remember!”

“Look me over careful, lady.  Today’s most likely the last time you’ll see me,” declared Riley, gazing straight into her eyes.

A hand touched his arm.  “Stranger, no rough play!”