We
can stand now, can't we? I guess we're not going to fail Jeff now he's
in trouble. Jeff's been all for us. We're going to be all for him.
He needs us, Daddy, and--I'm glad in a way. Say, my heart nigh breaks
every time I peek into his poor sad an' troubled face. Jeff's just
beating his soul dead. And if the Obar gets wrong, it'll sure be the
end of everything for him. It mustn't, Daddy. Things mustn't go
wrong. 'Deed they mustn't. It's up to us. You must show me how,
Daddy. You're wise to it all. You're strong. You know. Show me.
Put me wise, an' I'll--take Jeff's place."

The girl's words came full of a passionate sincerity. There were no
half measures in this child of the prairie. Her love was given, a
wealth of generous feeling and loyal self-sacrifice. Her father read
with a rare understanding. And in his big heart, so rough, so warm, he
cursed with every forceful epithet of his vocabulary the folly of the
man he had marked out for a son.

"We'll make good, or--bust," he said, with a warmth that almost matched
the girl's.

Then he pointed ahead where the hollow opened out, and a large clump of
trees marked dividing ways.

"I guessed you'd best see this. It's one o' them notions o' Jeff's.
That play ain't worth a cent."

"Ah!"

They rode up to the bluff in silence. And after a moment's search Bud
drew rein before a heavy tree trunk, to which was secured a printed
sheet. He pointed at it, and, for a while, neither spoke. Nan was
taking in the disfigurements with which it was covered, and she read
the words written across it in bold but illiterate characters:

"We're wise to her. She don't git no second chanst."

The rest of the disfigurings were mischievous, and of almost indecent
character.

"Does Jeff know?" Nan's question was almost a whisper.

"I ain't told him."

Bud's reply was one of doubt.

"He--he ought to be told."

Then Bud suddenly abandoned the restraint he had been exercising.

"Oh ----! Ther' ain't no use. He can't do a thing. He wouldn't do a
thing. I tell you we're jest suckin'-kids in this racket. We got to
lie around crazy enough to fancy we're goin' to git the drop on these
bums. What a country! What a cuss of a lay-out wher' you got to set
around watching a darnation gang o' toughs whittlin' away your work
till they got you beat to a mush. Here, I'm goin' to start right in.
I'm goin' to get around Calthorpe. The sheriff's got to git busy, a