Brill Healy, boss of the rodeo by election, was in charge.  He was an expert handler of cattle, one of the best in the country.  It was his nature to seek the limelight, though it must be said for him that he rose to his responsibilities.  The owners knew that when he was running the round-up few cattle would slip through the net he wound around them.

“Hello, Brill!” shouted the young man as he rode up.

“Hello, son!  Too bad about the fire.  I’ll want to hear about it later.  Looking for a job?” he flung hurriedly over his shoulder.  For he had not even a minute to spare.

“I reckon.”

Phil did not wait to be assigned work, but joined the calf branders.

Not until night had fallen and they were gathered round in a semicircle leaning against their saddles did Phil find time to tell the story of the fire.  There was some haphazard comment when he had finished, after which Slim spoke.

“So the nester hauled you out.  Ce’tainly looks like he’s plumb game.  You said he was afire when he got you into the open, didn’t you, Phil?”

The boy nodded.  “And all in.  He fainted right away.”

“With him still burning away like the doctor’s fire there,” murmured Healy ironically, with a slight gesture toward the cook.

Phil looked at him angrily.  “I didn’t say that.  Some one put the fire out.”

“Oh, some one!  Might a man ask who?”

Phil had not had any intention of telling, but he found himself letting Healy have it straight.

“Phyllis.”

“About what I thought!” Healy said it significantly, and with a malice that overrode his discretion.

“What do you mean?” demanded the boy fiercely.

“I ain’t said anything, have I?” Healy came back smoothly.

Yeager’s quiet voice broke the silence that followed, while Phil was trying to voice the resentment in him.

“You mean what we’re all thinking, Brill, I reckon—­that she is the sort to forget herself when somebody needs her help.  Ain’t that it?”

The eyes of the two met steadily in a clash of wills.  Healy’s gave way for the time, not because he was mastered, but because he did not wish to alienate the rough, but fair-minded, men sitting around.

“You’re mighty good at explaining me to the boys, Jim.  I expect that is what I mean,” he answered sullenly.

“Sure,” put in Purdy, with amiable intent.

“But when it comes to Mr. Keller I can explain myself tol’able well.  I don’t need any help there, Jim, not even if he is yore best friend.”

“If you’ve got anything to say against him, I’ll ask you to say it when I’m not around,” broke in Phil.  “You’ll recollect, please, that he’s my friend, too.”

“That so?  Since, when, Phil?” the rodeo boss retorted sarcastically.

“Since he went into the fire after me and saved my life.  Think I’m a coyote to round on him?  I tell you he’s a white man clear through.  In my opinion, he’s neither a rustler nor a bank robber.”  He was flushed and excited, but his gaze met that of his former friend and challenged him defiantly.