him if I had n't taken a hand into the game."
So Original Bill jogged on through the velvety dark toward Two Moons, and just beyond his saddle horn floated a dim vision of a girl with an aureole of yellow gold framing unconquered eyes that blazed hate.
Hours before the first light of the town glimmered over the top of the last rolling divide, resolution had taken firm root in the breast of the range inspector. He was going to meet up with this fighting daughter of the Vikings once more. If she had retreated to the Spout with Zang Whistler, all right; into the Spout he would ride, come one come forty, and he would bring out with him Hilma Ring and Whistler. The girl and her lover had won the first pot, Original grimly reflected, but there would still be another deal. It was not easy for one of Original's caliber to admit defeat; the very quick of his soul was galled by the outlaw's escape from a trap the range inspector had patiently spread for the head of the Teapot Spout gang of herd raiders. But deeper still rankled the thought that it had been a woman's hand that foiled the springing of this trap, that a woman had stretched him insensible when for long years no hand of man
