noon
Half way out he met a solitary Indian astride a faded-looking mustang , and the current of his wrath was temporarily diverted by a surly `` How ! '' Even this measure of friendliness was regretted when the big revolver came out of the rancher 's holster like a flash , and , head low on the neck of the mustang , heels in the little beast 's ribs , the aborigine retreated with a yell , amid a shower of ill-aimed bullets . Long after the figure on the pony had passed out of range , Blair stood pulling at the trigger of the empty repeater and cursing louder than before because it would not `` pop . '' Two hours later , when it was past noon , an uncertain hand lifted the wooden latch of the Big B Ranch-house door , and , heralded by an inrush of cold outside air , Tom Blair , master and dictator , entered his domain . The passage of time , the physical exercise , and the prairie air , had somewhat cleared his brain . Just within the room , he paused and looked about him with surprise . With premonition of impending trouble , the mongrel bristled the yellow hair of his neck , and , retreating to the mouth of his kennel , stood guard ; but otherwise the scene was to a detail as it had been in the morning .