ousand, 'cep' fer one clause
in them papers. This widder woman owned a right to graze up to two
hundred head o' stock on Mr. McFarlane's range. There was no mention
o' lease, nor nothin' to talk of payin' fer it. The right was in the
deed of sale, clear an' unquestioned. You'll see it right there in
them papers. Wal, I'm runnin' a hundred of stock, and the half section
is under cultivation. Now, Mr. McFarlane comes on me with the news
that this widder woman had no such rights to sell, an' that she and her
man were only allowed to graze their stock on his grass to help them
out. He's acted white over it so far, an' ain't taken no sort of
action. He's jest let my fool cows an' their calves run around chewin'
till their jaws is tired, which is a white way of seein' things. All
he's handed me is that I ain't got no right, an' the thing stands
pending your decision. He says the whole proposition is jest business.
He's got to safeguard the values of his property. Now, sir, I claim
them rights by right of that deed, an' if ther's any case it's between
that Van Blooren widder an' Mr. McFarlane. You got my papers,
an'--wal, how d'you guess I stand?"

The little man's eyes were anxious as he made his final appeal. But no
satisfaction was forthcoming at the moment. Jeff's head was bent over
the papers he had been handed. His eyes were hidden. He seemed wholly
engrossed upon the various clauses in the deed. Finally he spoke
without looking up.

"There's no deed granting grazing rights executed by Mr. McFarlane
here," he said.

Before Peters could reply, Dug broke in.

"Ther' never was one made," he said easily. "I don't guess you'll find
it ther'--'less you use trick eyes. Here--say, Peters has given you
his story right. I ain't no kick comin' to a word of it. But this
thing has more sides to it than you'd fancy. Now, I don't just care a
cuss Peters' grazin' two hundred, or five hundred head of stock on my
pastures. But if Peters bo't rights an' ken prove it, why, he's the
right to sell 'em on to any feller who comes along, which kind o' turns
my ranch into common land. Nothin' doin'. No, siree!"

Jeff had abandoned his search of the papers. Nor was he regarding
either of the men. His eyes were directed through the lacing of
creeper, his gaze concentrated upon the purple vista of the hills. His
brows were depressed with profound thought. Nor were the blue depths
of his eyes easy. Peters' whole at