Allen was continuing on his way toward the hills when his attention was again attracted by the sound of hoofbeats. Looking to his left, he saw a horseman approaching from inside the pasture. He recognized both horse and rider at once, but kept sullenly on his way.
Pennington rode up to the opposite side of the fence along which ran the trail that Allen followed.
“What are you doing here, Allen?” he asked in a not unkindly tone.
“Mindin’ my own business, like you better,” retorted the ex-stableman.
“You have no business back here on Ganado,” said Pennington. “You’ll have to get off the property.”
“The hell I will!” exclaimed Allen.
At the same time he made a quick movement with his right hand; but Pennington made a quicker.
“That kind of stuff don’t go here, Allen,” said the younger man, covering the other with a forty-five. “Now turn around and get off the place, and don’t come on it again. I don’t want any trouble with you.”
Without a word, Allen reined his horse about and rode down the cañon; but there was murder in his heart. Pennington watched him until he was out of revolver range, and then turned and rode back to Grace Evans.