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"Stolen--pasture--tracked him up heah?" echoed Ellen, without any evidence of emotion whatever Indeed, she seemed to have been turned to stone

"Trackin' him was easy I wish for your sake it 'd been impossible," he said, bluntly

"For my sake?" she echoed, in precisely the same tone, Manifestly that tone irritated Isbel beyond control He entle he pushed her bent head back so he could look into her face

"Yes, for your sake!" he declared, harshly "Haven't you sense enough to see that?What kind of a game do you think you can play with aame to fool a man who's tryin' to be decent"

This ti And it inflamed Isbel

"You know your father's a horse thief!" he thundered

Outwardly Ellen remained the same She had been prepared for an unknown and a terrible blow It had fallen And her face, her body, her hands, locked with the supreave no betrayal of the crashing, thundering ruin within herthe piercing fire of Isbel's eyes, seeing in thehteous and terrible scorn In one flash the naked truth seemed blazed at her The faith she had fostered died a sudden death A thousand perplexing probleht

"Ellen Jorth, you know your father's in with this Hash Knife Gang of rustlers," thundered Isbel

"Shore," she replied, with the cool, easy, careless defiance of a Texan

"You know he's got this Daggs to lead his faction against the Isbels?"

"Shore"

"You know this talk of sheepmen buckin' the cattleazed darkly down upon her With his anger spent for the moment, he appeared ready to end the interview But he seee look of her, by the incoleamed in his pale, set face He shook his dark head and his broad hand went to his breast

"To think I fell in love with such as you!" he exclaiesture of helpless pathos and impotence

The hell Isbel had hinted at now possessed Ellen--body, raced, scorned by an Isbel! Yet loved by him! In that divination there flamed up a wild, fierce passion to hurt, to rend, to flay, to fling back upon hiht flew upon her like whips Pride of the Jorths! Pride of the old Texan blue blood! It lay dead at her feet, killed by the scornful words of the last of that fahter of a horse thief and rustler! Dark and evil and gri her enemies, true to the blood of the Jorths The sins of the father hter