“Have it your way.  I’m through.”  And Corliss stepped to his horse.

“Well, I ain’t!” cried Loring.  “I’m jest startin’ in!  You better crawl your cayuse and eat the wind for home, Mr. Concho Jack!  And lemme tell you this:  they’s twenty thousand head of my sheep goin’ to cross the Concho, and the first puncher that runs any of my sheep is goin’ to finish in smoke!”

“All right, Loring.  Glad you put me on to your scheme.  I don’t want trouble with you, but if you’re set on having trouble, you can find it.”

The old man straightened and shook his fist at the rancher.  “Fust time you ever talked like a man in your life.  Nex’ thing is to see if you got sand enough to back it up.  There’s the gate.”

Corliss mounted and wheeled his horse.  The girl, who stood beside her father, started forward as though to speak to the rancher.  Loring seized her arm.  Her face flamed and she turned on her father.  “Dad!  Let me go!”

He shrunk beneath her steady gaze.  He released her arm and she stepped up to Corliss.  “I’m sorry, John,” she said, and offered her hand.

“You heard it all, Nell.  I’d do anything to save you all this, if I could.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.”

“Well, try and get Will—­to—­stop drinking.  He—­I heard all about it.  I can’t do anything to help.  You ought to look after him.  He’s your brother.  He’s telling folks in Antelope that you refused to help him.  Is that so?”

“I refused to give him two hundred dollars to blow in if that’s what you mean.”

“Did you quarrel with Will?”

“No.  I asked him to come home.  I knew he wouldn’t.”

“Yes.  And I think I know how you went at it.  I wish I could talk to him.”

“I wish you would.  You can do more with him than anybody.”

Loring strode toward Corliss.  The girl turned to her father.  He raised his arm and pointed toward the road.  “You git!” he said.  She reached up and patted his grizzled cheek.  Then she clung to him, sobbing.

CHAPTER VIII

AT “THE LAST CHANCE”

The afternoon following the day of his discharge from the Concho, Fadeaway rode into Antelope, tied his pony to the hitching-rail in front of “The Last Chance,” and entered the saloon.  Several men loafed at the bar.  The cowboy, known as “a good spender when flush,” was made welcome.  He said nothing about being out of employment, craftily anticipating the possibility of having to ask for credit later, as he had but a half-month’s pay with him.  He was discussing the probability of early rains with a companion when Will Corliss entered the place.

Fadeaway greeted him with loud, counterfeit heartiness, and they drank together.  Their talk centered on the Concho.  Gradually they drew away from the group at the bar.  Finally Corliss mentioned his brother.  Fadeaway at once became taciturn.