"Not so fast, you!" he said coolly. The two men glared at each
other for a brief instant.
"Take your hand off my horse!" exclaimed Murrell hoarsely, his
mouth hot and dry with a sense of defeat.
"Can't you see she'd rather be alone?" said Carrington.
"Let go!" roared Murrell, and a murderous light shot from his
eyes.
"I don't know but I should pull you out of that saddle and twist
your neck!" said Carrington hotly. Murrell's face underwent a
swift change.
"You're a bold fellow to force your way into a lover's quarrel,"
he said quietly. Carrington's arm dropped at his side. Perhaps,
after all, it was that. Murrell thrust his hand into his pocket.
"I always give something to the boy who holds my horse," he said,
and tossed a coin in Carrington's direction. "There--take that
for your pains!" he added. He pulled his horse about and rode
back toward the cross-roads at an easy canter.
Carrington, with an angry flush on his sunburnt cheeks, stood
staring down at the coin that glinted in the dusty road, but he
was seeing the face of the girl, indignant, beautiful--then he
glanced after Murrell.
"I reckon I ought to have twisted his neck," he said with a deep
breath.
CHAPTER VI
BETTY SETS OUT FOR TENNESSEE
Bruce Carrington came of a westward-looking race. From the low
coast where they had first settled, those of his name had
followed the rivers to their headwaters. The headwaters had sent
them forth toward the foot-hills, where they made their,
clearings and built their cabins in the shadow of the blue wall
that for a time marked the furthest goal of their desires.
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