“Mustn’t I?” he said stubbornly.  “I reckon that’s just what I’m goin’ to do.  I’ll learn Homer Webb to send his bad men to Los Portales lookin’ for trouble.  He can’t kill my riders an’ get away with it.”

“You know he didn’t do that.  This boy—­Clanton, if that’s his name—­had a feud with the Roush family.  One of them betrayed his sister.  Far as I can find out these Roush brothers were the scum of the earth,” Her bosom rose and fell fast with excitement.

“Howcome you to know so much about it, girl?  Not that it makes any difference.  They may have been hellhounds, but they were my riders.  These gunmen went into my own place an’ shot ’em down.  They picked the fight.  There’s no manner o’ doubt about that.”

“They didn’t do it on your account.  I tell you there was an old feud.”

“Webb thinks he’s got the world by the tail for a downhill pull.  I’ll show him.”

“Dad, you’re starting war.  Don’t you see that?  If you shoot these men he’ll get back by killing some of yours.  And so it will go on.”

“I reckon.  But I’m not startin’ the war.  He did that.  It was the boldest piece of cheek I ever heard tell of—­those two gunmen goin’ into Tolleson’s and shootin’ up my riders.  They got to pay the price.”

Lee cried out in passionate protest.  “It’ll be just plain murder, dad.  That’s all.”

“What’s got into you, girl?” he demanded, seizing her by the arms.  The chill of anger and suspicion filmed his light-blue eyes.  “I won’t stand for this kind of talk.  You go right into the house an’ ’tend to yore own knittin’.  I’ve heard about enough from you.”

He swung her round by the shoulders and gave a push.

Lee did not go to her room and fling herself upon the bed in an impotent storm of tears.  She stood thinking, her little fists clenched and her eyes flashing.  Civilization has trained women to feebleness of purpose, but this girl stood outside of conventional viewpoints.  It was her habit to move directly to the thing she wanted.  Her decision was swift, the action following upon it immediate.

She lifted her rifle down from the deer-horn rack where it rested and buckled the ammunition belt around her waist.  Swiftly she ran to the corral, roped her bronco, saddled it, and cinched.  As she galloped away she saw her father striding toward the stable.  His shout reached her, but she did not wait to hear what he wanted.

The hoofs of her pony drummed down the street.  She flew across the desert and struck the river just below town.  The quirt attached to her wrist rose and fell.  She made no allowance for prairie-dog holes, but went at racing speed through the rabbit weed and over the slippery salt-grass bumps.

In front of the cave she jerked the horse to a halt.

“Hello, in there!”

The tumble weeds moved and the head of Prince appeared.  He pushed the brush aside and came out.