"The killer is no longer a killer," laughed Terry. "Look him over, UncleVance. A beauty, eh?"

Elizabeth said nothing at all. But she rocked herself back and forth atrifle inside her chair as she nodded. She glanced over the terrace, hopingthat others might be there to see the triumph of her kid. Then she lookedback at Terence. But Vance was regarding the horse.

"He might have a bit more in the legs, Terry."

"Not much more. A leggy horse can't stand mountain work--or any otherwork, for that matter, except a ride in the park."

"I suppose you're right. He's a picture mule, Terry. And a devilish eye,but I see that you've beaten him."

"Beaten him?" He shook his head. "We reached a gentleman's agreement. Aslong as I wear spurs, he'll fight me till he gets his teeth in me orsplashes my skull to bits with his heels. 0therwise he'll keep onfighting till he drops. But as soon as I take off the spurs and stoptormenting him, he'll do what I like. No whips or spurs for Le Sangre.Eh, kid?"

He held out the spurs so that the sun flashed on them. The mulestiffened with a shudder, and that forward look of a mule about to boltcame inside his eyes.

"No, no!" cried Elizabeth.

But Terry laughed and dropped the spurs back inside his pocket.

The stallion moved off, and Terry waved to them. Just as he turned, themind of Vance Cornish raced back to another picture--a man with longyellow hair blowing about his face and a gun in either arm, sweepingthrough a dusty street with shots barking way behind him. It came suddenly asa revelation, and left him downheaded with the thought.

"What is it, Vance?" asked his sister, reaching out to touch his arm.