drift unmeaningly toward the
rancher. A moment later it fell upon the papers he was so tightly
gripping. It was then that realization seemed to come upon him. He
reached out and handed the deeds to their owner. A moment later he was
on his feet, and had moved across to the front of the veranda, where he
stood, slim, erect, and with his back turned upon the others.

He cleared his throat and spoke in a steady voice.

"I can only hand you a decision on the intention as apart from the
legal aspect of the case," he said judicially. "It's clear to me no
saleable rights were given. There was no transaction over them. The
widow of this man had no rights to sell. If disinterested advice is
acceptable I should urge this. It's in view, I guess, of McFarlane's
expressed indifference to Peters' cattle grazing on his land. Let
Peters acknowledge he has no rights. Then let McFarlane enter into an
agreement that Peters can run his stock on his land, the right being
non-transferable. I should put the whole thing in writing."

"An' a darn good an' honest decision, too," cried Dug heartily.

The shadow of a beatific smile passed over Peters' small features.

"Bully!" he murmured. Then he added: "But I sort o' feel we both
oughter set the law on that--she devil."

Jeff turned abruptly. His movement was almost electrical.

"I shouldn't," he said sharply.

Dug caught a glimpse of the desperate light in his eyes.

"Why not?" There was a dash of resentment in Peters' tone.

But Jeff was spared a reply. Dug anticipated him with an oath.

"Gol darn you, because she's--a woman!" he cried, with a fierce warmth.
"Hell take it you ken have your rights. That's enough, I guess. I'll
have the papers wrote, an' have you sign 'em to-morrow. Meanwhile I'm
sick to death of the whole blamed thing. I quit right here."

His intention was plain enough. He meant there should be no
misunderstanding it. And the little man, Peters, took his dismissal
without demur.

The moment Peters had safely negotiated the saddle and vanished in a
cloud of dust, Dug pressed the whisky bottle upon his guest. Jeff
almost mechanically accepted it. He gulped down a stiff drink of neat
spirit. Dug watched him.

"Guess you're feelin' pretty darn saddle weary," he said kindly.

Jeff flung himself into his chair without replying.

Dug returned to his seat and gazed out at the yellow and purple
afterglow of sunset.

"Say, maybe you'd feel li