"Mix-up over that horse," replied Yorke laconically, "disputed ownership.
A chap named Moran tried to run a bluff over Larry that he'd lost the
horse as a colt. They got to scrapping and I ran 'em both up before
Gully, the J. P. here. Moran got fined twenty dollars and costs for
assaulting Blake. Say! look at that sky! Isn't it great?"

They turned in their saddles and looked westward. Clean-cut against a
pale yellow-ochre background and enveloped in a deep purple bloom, the
mighty peaks of the distant "Rockies" upreared their eternal snow-capped
glory in a salute to departing day. Above, where the opaline-tinted
horizon shaded imperceptibly into the deep ultramarine of evening, lay
glowing streamers of vivid crimson cloud-bank edged with the gleaming
gold of the sunset's after-glow.

It was a soul-filling sight. Against it the sordid contrast of the
sinister business in hand smote them like a blow from an unseen hand, as
they resumed their monotonous scanning of the trail on its either side.

Yorke presently voiced the impression in both their hearts. "My God'" he
murmured "the bitter irony of it! 'Peace on Earth, goodwill towards
men' . . . and this!--what?"




CHAPTER VII

_Oh! Bad Bill Brough, a way-back tough
Raised hell when he struck town;