The Indians heard, paused in their charge and wheeled to one side-there were five of them left. The reinforcements were too much for them, and with a parting volley they galloped off.

But Bull and Texas Pete were of no mind to let them go so easily. For a mile or more they pursued them, until they realized that their already almost spent horses could not outdistance the mounts of the Indians. Then they turned and loped slowly back toward the three upon the hillock.

Instantly the immediate necessity of defense had passed Diana Henders kneeled beside her father and lifted his head in her arms. Colby stepped to the opposite side of the prostrate man to help her. Suddenly she looked up into his yes, an expression of horror in hers.

"Oh, Hal! Hal! he's gone!" she cried, and burying her face in her arms, burst into tears.

The man, unaccustomed to a woman's tears, or a sorrow such as this, was at a loss for words, yet almost mechanically his arms went about her and drew her close to him, so that she stood with her face buried in the hollow of his shoulder as Bull and Texas Pete rode up the hill and dismounted beside them. They took in the pitiful scene at a glance, but they saw more in it than the death of "the old man," whom they both loved-at least Bull did.

In the attitude of Diana and Colby he read the death knell of whatever faint hope he might have entertained of ultimate happiness. It was a hurt and bitter man that lifted the dead body of his employer in strong arms and laid it across the saddle of his horse.

"You ride Pete's hors, Miss," he said gently. "Colby, you walk ahead with her. Pete an' I'll come along with the. old man."

They all did as he bid without question. There was something about the man that demanded obedience even if he was no longer foreman. It was always that way with Bull. Wherever he was he was the leader. Even though men mistrusted, or disliked him, and many did, they involuntarily obeyed him. Possibly because he was a strong man who thought quickly and accurately and was almost invariably right in his decision-it was certainly not because a large proportion of them loved him, for they did not. There was that something lacking in Bull-that quality which attracted the love of his fellows.

After Diana and Colby had gone ahead Bull and Pete roped the body of Elias Henders securely to the saddle and presently the sorrowful little cortege took its slow way back toward camp.

Chapter VII - EXIT WAINRIGHT

A WEEK or ten days after Elias Henders' funeral the Wainright buckboard drew into the Bar Y ranch yard and the Wainrights, senior and junior, alighted and approached the house. They found Diana in the office working on the books, which she had kept for her father when they were without a bookkeeper, which was the case at present.

She greeted them politely, but without marked cordiality. It was the first time that she had encountered either of them since her father's death, having refused to see the younger man on her return to the camp with Elias Hender's body.

"We been calc'latin' to drive ever for several days past, Miss Henders," said the elder man. "Thought mebby you might want some advice or suthin'. Anything we can do, we're at both at your service."

"That's very kind of you, indeed, I'm sure," replied the girl; "but really I have so many good friends here that I couldn't think of inconveniencing you. Everyone has been so kind and considerate."

"Well, they ain't no harm in offerin'," he continued. "Anything we can do, you know. If it's a little matter of money to tide you over till the estate's settled, why, just call on Jefferson Wainright-he's got a lot and he ain't stingy either."

"There is nothing, thank you," she said, with just the faintest tinge of asperity.

He rose slowly from his chair and shoved his fat hands into his pockets.

"I reckon I'll walk around a bit," he said. "I calc'late that you young folks got suthin' to say to one another," and he winked ponderously at them as he waddled through the doorway.

There was a strained silence for several minutes after he left. Jefferson Wainright, Jr., finally, after clearing his throat two or three times, broke it.

"The governor means all right," he said. "We'd really like to be of service to you, and after the-the talk we had that last night before-before your father was killed-you know-why, I hoped I might have the right to help you, Diana."

She drew herself up very straight and stiff. "I think we had better forget that, Mr. Wainright," she said.

"But you promised me an answer," he insisted.

"After what happened I should think you would know what the answer must be without being subjected to the humiliation of being told in words."

"Do you mean that you are blaming me, too, like the men did, for going for help. You would all have been killed if I hadn't.