But Phil had had enough of it. This was too much like butchery. His
passion had spent itself. He struck, but with no force behind the blow.

Weaver went to the washstand, dashed some water on his face, and pressed
a towel against the raw wounds. He flung the red-soaked towel aside just
as Curly cantered up on Sanderson's horse. The cow-puncher stared at his
boss in amazement, opened his lips to speak, and thought better of it.
He looked at Phil, whose knuckles were badly barked and bleeding.

Curly had seen his master marked up before, but on such occasions the
other man was a sight for the gods to wonder at. Now Weaver was the
spectacle, and the other was untouched. In view of Buck's reputation as
a rough-and-tumble fighter, this seemed no less than a miracle. Curly
departed with the wonder unexplained, for Weaver dismissed him with a
nod.

"Like to see your sister before you go?" the cattleman asked curtly of
Phil, over his shoulder.

"Yes."

Buck led the way across the plaza to the house, and clapped his hands in
the hall. Josephine answered the summons.

"Tell Miss Sanderson that her brother would like to see her."

The woman vanished up the stairway, and the two men waited in silence.
Presently Phyllis stood in the door. Her eyes ignored Weaver, and were
only for her brother. Her first glance told her that all was well so far
as he was concerned, even though it also let her know that the boy was