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She looked up in time to see her husband swing past the corral, coming toward her. She watched him dismount stiffly. He let the reins drop, passed his hand over his mouth, then up to his hat brim, and loosened it from his forehead. He turned his back to the three men in the ramada shade as if intentionally ignoring them; then looked from Ellis to her father and said, “Well?”

And now Ivan Kergosen was faced with the calm, deliberate gaze of this man. He saw that Phil Treat was not wearing a gun; he saw that he was trail dirty and had moved slowly, to stand now, tall but stooped, with his hands hanging empty.

He could handle this man. Kergosen was sure of that now, but he respected him and he had planned this meeting carefully. Leo Pyke, who openly disliked Treat, and Sandal and Grady, who had been with him longer than any of his other riders, would deal with Treat if he objected. No, there would be no trouble. But he formed his words carefully before he spoke.

Then he said, “You made a mistake. So did my daughter. But both mistakes are corrected as of this moment. Ellis is going home and you have ten minutes to pack your gear and get out. Clear?”

“And my stock?” Treat said.

“You’re selling your stock to me,” Kergosen said, “so there’ be nothing to delay you.” His hand went into his coat and came out with a folded square of green paper. “My draft on the Willson Bank to cover the sale of your yearling stock. Thirty head. When you draw the money, the canceled draft is my receipt.” He extended his hand. “Take it.” Treat did not move and Kergosen’s wrist flicked out and the folded paper floated—fell to the ground. “Pick it up,” Kergosen said. “Your time’s running out.” He looked at Ellis then. “Mount up.”

ELLIS ALMOST SPOKE, frightened, angry, and unsure of herself now, but she looked at her husband and waited.

Treat stood motionless, still gazing up at Kergosen. “You have five men and I have myself,” he said. “That makes a difference, doesn’t it?”

“If this is unjust,” Kergosen said, “then it’s unjust. I’ll say it only once more. Your time’s running out.”

Treat’s eyes moved to Ellis. “Do what he says.” He saw the bewildered look come over her face, and he said, “Go home with him, Ellis, and do what he tells you.” Treat paused. “But don’t speak one solitary word to him as long as you’re under his roof. Not till I come for you.” He said this quietly in the brittle silence that hung over the yard, and now he saw Ellis nod her head slowly.

He looked up at Kergosen, who was staring at him intently. “Mr. Kergosen, we can’t argue with you and we can’t fight you, but take Ellis home and you’ll know she isn’t just your daughter anymore.”

“You don’t threaten me,” Kergosen said.

“No,” Treat said, “you’ve got iron fists, a hundred and thirty square miles of land, and you sit there like it’s the high seat of judgment. But you live with Ellis now, if you can.”

Kergosen said, “Pick up that draft.”

Treat shook his head.

“As God is my judge, I mean you no harm,” Kergosen said. “But you don’t leave me a choice.”

He nodded to Leo Pyke as he reined his bay in a tight circle and rode out. Ellis had mounted and now she followed him, looking back past the two riders who fell in behind her as she passed the corral and started across the meadow.

They were not yet out of sight, but nearing the aspen stands when Pyke said to Sandal and Grady, “So he won’t pick it up.”

Treat looked at him, then stooped, without loss of dignity, unhurriedly, and picked up the draft. “If it bothers you,” he said.

Pyke grinned. “He’s not so big now, is he?”

The Mexican rider, Sandal, said, “Like a field hand. I thought he was something with a gun.”

“A story he made up,” the third man, Grady, said.

Pyke said to Sandal, “Move his horse out of the way.”

Sandal winked at Grady. “And the Henry, uh?” He led Treat’s claybank to the corral and lifted the Henry rifle from the saddle boot as he shooed him in. He walked back to them, studying the rifle, holding it at belt level. Without looking at them, as if not aiming, he flipped the