The Cattle-Baron's Daughter. Harold Bindloss

was a boldness in their carriage, and a grace that approached the statuesque in every poise. Still, she started when they passed one wooden building where blue-shirted figures with rifles stood motionless in the verandah.

      “The jail,” said Torrance, quietly. “The Sheriff has one or two rioters safe inside there.”

      They found an indifferent meal ready at the wooden hotel, and when they descended in riding dress a wagon with their baggage was waiting outside the door, while a few mounted men with wide hats and bandoliers came up with three saddle-horses. Torrance bestowed the maid in the light wagon, and, when the two girls were mounted, swung himself into the saddle. Then, as they trotted down the unpaved street, Hetty glanced at him and pointed to the dusty horsemen.

      “What are the boys for?” she asked.

      Torrance smiled grimly. “I told you we had our troubles. It seemed better to bring them, in case we had any difficulty with Larry’s friends.”

      “Larry’s friends?” asked Hetty, almost indignantly.

      Torrance nodded. “Yes,” he said. “You have seen a few of them. They were carrying the flag with the inscription at the depot.”

      Hetty asked nothing further, but Flora Schuyler noticed the little flash in her eyes, and as they crossed the railroad track the clear notes of the bugles rose again and were followed by a tramp of feet. Glancing over their shoulders the girls could see men moving in a body, with the flag they carried tossing amidst the dust. They were coming on in open fours, and when the bugles ceased deep voices sent a marching song ringing across the wooden town.

      Hetty’s eyes sparkled; the stockriders seemed to swing more lightly in their saddles, and Flora Schuyler felt a little quiver run through her. Something that jingling rhythm and the simple words expressed but inarticulately stirred her blood, as she remembered that in her nation’s last great struggle the long battalions had limped on, ragged and footsore, singing that song.

      “Listen,” said Hetty, while the colour crept into her face. “Oh, I know it’s scarcely music, and the crudest verse; but it served its purpose, and is there any nation on earth could put more swing and spirit into the grandest theme?”

      Torrance smiled somewhat drily, but there was a curious expression in his face. “Some of those men are drawing their pension, but they’re not with us,” he said. “It’s only because we have sent in all the boys we can spare that the Sheriff, who has their partners in his jail, can hold the town.”

      A somewhat impressive silence followed this, and Flora Schuyler glanced at Hetty when they rode out into the white prairie with two dusty men with bandoliers on either flank.