“They’ll kill each other if they aren’t stopped!” cried Fowler.  “Stop them, Douglas!  O God, what a place!  What a place!”

“What a fight, you mean!” laughed Charleton.  “I put up ten dollars on Sioux.”

“Take you!” said Scott.

“If Spencer’s bull kills mine, he’ll pay for it!” cried Nelson.

“If they work into the corral,” shouted Douglas, “some of you help me put up the fence again and we’ll have them!”

“Well, but don’t stop the fight.”  Young Jeff gesticulated excitedly.  “I’m going to put up ten on Sioux!”

“Take you!” said Scott.

Nelson’s bull ripped Sioux’s flank for six inches and blood spurted to the ground.  Both the great heads were undistinguishable masses of blood.  Their hot breath hung frozen in the air.  The western sun turned all the world beneath the aspens to crimson.  The betting became more general and more hectic as the battle waxed more furious.  The Mormons forgot their grievance for the moment and backed their bull freely.

Suddenly Sioux freed himself, retreated and charged with the full force of his two thousand pounds.  He caught Nelson’s bull on the fore shoulder.  The visitor slid sideways, stumbled to his knees and rose, shaking the blood from his eyes.  He gave a look at Sioux, who was preparing to charge again, and turning he fled along the trail toward Scott’s ranch, uttering as he went the longdrawn and continuous bellow of the defeated bull.

Douglas, Judith, and John Spencer immediately roped Sioux.  Scott spurred his horse across the trail and drew his gun.  “Get back!” he said to two of the Mormons.  “That’s my bull!”

“No gun-play, Scott!” called Peter.

There was a sudden exodus of women and children down the home trail, but Judith continued talking soothingly to her bull.

Scott did not heed the postmaster.  He went on, to the Mormons.  “You blank-blanks have trimmed me out of my year’s profits!  I’m not going to lose the bull too!”

“Judith Spencer!” shouted Elijah Nelson, turning his horse toward Judith and her pet, “is that Scott Parsons’ bull?”

There was sudden silence, broken only by the distant bellow of the retreating warrior.  Judith sat very erect on Buster, her beaver cap on the back of her head, her wide gray eyes brilliant.  She looked at Scott.  His hard handsome face was expressionless.  Douglas ran across the yard and reached up to tap Elijah Nelson on the chest.

“Don’t drag a woman into this, you bastard American, you!  I was up there that summer running your cattle and I lost every one of them, if you want to know, and there was no woman helping me out, either.  Now, what are you going to do about that?”

Nelson lifted his hand.

“Wait a minute!” drawled Charleton..  “It sure-gawd is your bull, Nelson.  Scott ran it up to Mountain City, rebranded it there, and brought it back here in the spring.”