“But—­what’s broke?  Why should Tighe be so keen on bumping off this pink-ear when dad says no?”

“They’ve found out who he is.  It seems Street is an alias.  He is really Royal Beaudry, the son of the man who used to be sheriff of the county, the one who crippled Jess the day he was killed.”

The slim youth in the high-heeled boots whistled.  He understood now why Tighe dared to defy his father.

“All right, Boots.  With you in a minute, soon as I get my hat and let Dan know.”

“No.  I’m to stay here till dad sends for me.  He doesn’t want me near the trouble.”

“You mean you’re to stay at Rothgerber’s.”

“No, here.  Tighe may attack Rothgerber’s any time to get this young Beaudry.  I heard shooting as I came up.”

“But—­you can’t stay here.  What’s dad thinking about?” he frowned.

“If you mean because of Mr. Dingwell, I know all about that.”

“Who told you?” he demanded.

“Dad can’t keep secrets from me.  There’s no use his trying.”

“Hm!  I notice he loaded us with a heap of instructions not to let you know anything.  He’d better learn to padlock his own tongue.”

“Isn’t there a room where I can sleep here?” Beulah asked.

“There’s a cot in the back room,” he admitted sulkily.  “But you can’t—­”

“That’s another thing,” she broke in.  “Dad doesn’t want Dan left alone with Mr. Dingwell.”

“Who’s that out there, Ned?” growled a heavy voice from inside.

Beulah followed her brother into the hut.  Two men stared at her in amazement.  One sat on the bed with a leg tied to the post.  The other was at the table playing solitaire, a revolver lying beside the cards.  The card-player was Meldrum.  He jumped up with an oath.

“Goddlemighty!  What’s she doing here?” he demanded in his hoarse raucous bass.

“That’s her business and mine,” Rutherford answered haughtily.

“It’s mine too, by God!  My neck’s in the noose, ain’t it?” screamed the former convict.  “Has everybody in the park got to know we’re hiding Dingwell here?  Better put it in the paper.  Better—­”

“Enough of that, Dan.  Dad is running this show.  Obey orders, and that lets you out,” retorted the young man curtly.  “You’ve met my sister, haven’t you, Dave?”

The cattleman smiled at the girl.  “Sure.  We had a little ride together not long since.  I owe you a new raincoat.  Don’t I, Miss Beulah?”

She blushed a little.  “No, you don’t, Mr. Dingwell.  The mud came off after it dried.”

“That’s good.”  Dave turned to Rutherford.  The little devils of mischief were in his eyes.  “Chet Fox was with us, but he didn’t stay—­had an engagement, he said.  He was in some hurry to keep it, too.”