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 stirring the fellow's anger against it, which he relieved in cuffs and curses, as he might have misused a man.

"Where do you think you're goin' to?" he asked the girl, red to the gills, furious in his mounting anger, which his abuse of the horse appeared to rouse to sudden heat.

The girl was pulling at the reins, which she had twisted around her hand. Between the two of them the horse was having an unhappy time, pitching and lunging, sidling and twisting, its mouth dribbling the foam of torture. Rawlins was so engrossed in the struggle that he forgot his place as a neutral, leaving his concealment, drawing near to see the outcome. Neither of the parties to the squabble saw him, although he had come to the fence in his eagerness.

"Let go that bridle!" said the girl, panting in a white fury that was the hotter for its helplessness.

"No, I'll not let go! No, I'll not let go!" the fence-rider declared. "What a' you doin' inside of this fence—say?"

He fired that at her several times, yanking the bridle savagely, fingers through the ring of the bit, repeating himself explosively.

"Take your dirty hands off my horse and let me go!" the girl demanded, giving up her struggle to break loose out of consideration for her horse.

"This ain't the first time you've cut this fence!" the guard accused.

He left off jerking the horse to lean over and jaw at her, making a menace with his free hand.

"That ain't half of it," she returned, as defiant as he was angry.