"It is rather severe," smiled Merle. "But you know, Mr. Willoughby has become a thorough Westerner. The lure of the hills and the valleys has taken complete possession of him."
"And yet he remains unspoiled." exclaimed the lieutenant. "But are you aware he is trying to tamper with my old allegiance to the East?"
"He wants me to resign my commission and take pot luck with him, as he terms it."
"You couldn't do better," exclaimed Grace enthusiastically.
While this conversation was going on, an exciting incident was taking place only a short distance away. Young Marshall Thurston had come with his father to the round-up, and was riding about watching the operations. Chancing to pass near, Dick Willoughby overheard him use an insulting epithet in regard to Miss Farnsworth--the young man was evidently peeved that the ladies had not sought him out instead of Munson, and it was obvious, too, that he had been drinking even at that early hour in the morning.
Swiftly wheeling, Dick rode up to him with a look of anger so intense that even the cowboys who knew him were taken aback.
"You foul-mouthed beast!" he hissed, as he pushed his quirt into the slanderer's face. "Just let me overhear you make a rude remark again about Miss Farnsworth and I will hammer the life out of you. You are nothing better than a drunken hobo, not fit to associate with ladies."
The outburst was so sudden that young Thurston was cowed and attempted no reply. But as Willoughby rode off he sent after him a look of sullen and resentful hatred. Two or three of the cowboys, who really were good friends of Dick Willoughby, but were nevertheless not above fawning for the favor of the heir to the great rancho, indicated that they were on Marshall's side.
"Guess two can play at the hammering game," remarked one.
"He don't come any of his rough-house business over you, Marshall, while I'm around," affirmed another, pugnaciously.
But the young man, still without uttering a word, turned gloomily away and started his pony in the direction of home.
"Guess he feels like another drink," grinned an irreverent youth.
"Hell," exclaimed an elderly man, the blacksmith at the rancho, "if the Thurston family don't beat the band for quarrels and bloody feuds!"