ut
there was just a shade of anxiety, too, in the glance with which he
favored his friend. However, he need have felt no misgivings. Bud
Tristram had none. He understood the keen business brain underlying
his friend's tumbled fair hair. Moreover, Jeff, who was only half the
older man's age, was regarded with something like parental affection.

They had fought their way up together from obscure beginnings to their
present affluence, as the owners of the "T.T." ranch and the "O----"
ranch respectively. They had been partners in all but name. Now they
contemplated a definite deed of that nature. It was a consummation
which the older man had looked forward to ever since he first lent a
hand to his new and youthful neighbor. It was a consummation which
Jeffrey, with acute foresight and honest purpose, had set himself to
achieve. If the older man regarded him with almost parental affection,
that regard was fully reciprocated. The business conference between
them had for its purpose their mutual advantage, and both men were
perfectly aware of the fact.

But the thought that slightly worried the younger man was the ease, the
unconcern of his future partner's attitude. It disquieted him because
it increased his responsibility. But long ago he had learned the
generous nature of the Great Bud. Long ago he had realized his
trusting simplicity. Now he would have preferred a keen
cross-examination of his statement. But none was forthcoming, and he
was forced to continue in face of the silent acceptance.

"Bud, old friend, I wish I could get you interested in--figures. And I
guess they surely are interesting, when you apply them to our own
concerns."

But Bud remained unmoved. He stretched himself in an ecstasy of ease,
raising his great arms above his grizzled head in profound enjoyment of
his bodily comfort.

He shook his head.

"Guess I know a steer. Guess I know grass when I see it. I wouldn't
say there's a brand in Montana I ain't familiar with. But
figgers--sums--they're hell. An' I don't guess I'm yearning for hell
anyway. Figgers is a sort o' paradise to you. You're built that way.
Say, I don't calc'late to rob you of a thing--not even paradise. We'll
take your figgers as they stand."

Jeffrey Masters shook his head.

"They're right, sure. But it's no sort of way to talk business."

"Business talk always makes me sweat."

It was quite impossible. Jeffrey was growing impatient. A frown
s