and--got busy. You'd be astonished if you saw the way they hatched
out--after that. You see," he added whimsically, "there's just about
only one way of makin' life act the way you need it. Set your back
teeth into the seat of things, and--hang on."

But Nan's reply was slow in coming, and her usually ready laugh was not
in evidence. His final remark had brought very near the surface all
those feelings and thoughts she had striven so hard to bury where they
could no longer offend. It seemed to the man that her eyes had grown
unnecessarily serious. But then he did not know that there was any
unusual interest for her in the fact that Jeff Masters was escorting
Mrs. Van Blooren.

When she did speak it was with her gaze fixed upon the couple ahead.

"Yes, that's it," she said. "Hang on. Hang on with every ounce of
courage and strength you've got. And if you've got to go under, why, I
guess it's best done with a smile, eh?" Quite abruptly she indicated
the woman in front. "I do think she's real beautiful, don't you?"

"Who?" The man had no concern for anybody at that moment but the girl
at his side.

"Who? Say, aren't you just foolish. I was thinking of Mrs. Van
Blooren."

The man laughed.

"I surely am," he declared. "And I've won prizes for thought-reading
at parlor games, too."

They both laughed. Then Nan went on with a persistence which was quite
lost upon the thought-reader.

"Who is she? Mrs. Van Blooren?" she demanded.

"Why, you met her, sure?" Then the man added with some significance:
"She's riding with Jeff Masters."

"Oh, yes. I've met her. I met her last night, and I've seen her many
times before." Then she added with a shadow of coldness in her manner:
"But she doesn't belong to the cattle folk."

The man's eyes were following the direction of Nan's.

"No-o," he said seriously. "Guess I'm not wise. They say her husband
was a rancher--before he acted foolish an' died."

Nan's laugh came readily.

"That's bright. I don't guess he started running cattle--after."

Dugdale chuckled explosively.

"Who's to say?" he cried. Then he went on with enthusiasm: "Say,
wouldn't it be bully to think of? Just get a thought of it. Flapping
around with elegant store wings, rounding up golden steers trimmed with
fancy halos, and with jeweled eyes. Branding calves of silver with
flaming irons and turning 'em out to feed on a pasture of purple grass
with emeralds and sapphires for