tention was upon the rancher.

"Now, see right here, Masters," Dug went on, after a deeply considering
pause. "I got a story to tell you I'd have liked to hold up, an' the
reason I hate handin' it you is jest a sort o' fool sense of honor.
Howsum, when folks git gay I can't see you're right to hold your hand.
Now, them rights are sold by the law fellers of that widder woman, an',
I guess, actin' under her instructions. Now, she knows she don't own
no rights to sell. Wal, I allow she's on the crook."

"Crook?" Jeff's interrogation came swiftly, in a harsh voice utterly
unlike his own. Then his eyes came round to the face of the rancher.
There was something deadly in the steadiness of their regard. "This
widow," he said. "Her name is Van Blooren. What is her first name,
and the first name of her--husband?"

Before Dug could reply Peters pointed at the deeds of sale.

"Guess her full name's writ ther'," he said. "Elvine van Blooren.
Sort of queer name, ain't it? It sort o' hit me that way when I first
see it. Kind o' good name fer a--crook."

Jeff's eyes dropped to the papers again as Dug gave the other
information required.

"The man's name was Robert--Bob. Called hisself when he was here.
Y'see, his paw was some swell guy who guessed his son had made some
darn fool marriage. An' I allow he was wise. Howbe, their names an'
sech don't cut no ice."

"No."

Jeff's monosyllable brought Dug's gaze swiftly in his direction. The
next moment they were looking squarely into each other's eyes, and, as
far as Jeff was concerned, Peters was entirely forgotten.

"Will you tell me all you know of--this woman?" Jeff said, after a
moment. "I guess it'll be necessary--before we're through."

"Sure. That's how I figgered." A momentary tension seemed to have
been relaxed. Dug once more settled himself at his ease.

"'Tain't a pretty yarn, when you come to think," he said, his brows
contracting under his feelings. "Men are jest men, an' I guess you
don't generly expect more'n a stink from a skunk. But with women it's
diff'rent. When a feller thinks of women, he thinks of his mother, or
sweetheart, or his wife. An' when he thinks that way, why, I don't
guess he figgers to find bad wher' he reckoned ther' was only good.
Howsum, it kind o' seems to me human nature's as li'ble to set a feller
cryin' as laffin' most times. This thing come over that Lightfoot
gang. We got most of 'em, and those we got if they