f you were on the square, which
you're not, we couldn't ever be anything to each other. Understand?
There's a reason, besides your being above me. I can't stand it. Stop
playing with me or I'll--I'll..."

Whatever I meant to say was not spoken, for Sally turned deathly white,
probably from my grasp and my looks as well as my threat.

I let go of her, and stepping back to my horse choked down my emotion.

"Russ!" she faltered, and there was womanliness and regret trembling
with the fear in her voice. "I--I am on the square."

That had touched the real heart of the girl.

"If you are, then play the game square," I replied darkly.

"I will, Russ, I promise. I'll never tease or coax you again. If I do,
then I'll deserve what you--what I get. But, Russ, don't think me a--a
four-flush."

All the long ride home we did not exchange another word. The traveling
gait of Sally's horse was a lope, that of mine a trot; and therefore, to
my relief, she was always out in front.

As we neared the ranch, however, Sally slowed down until I caught up
with her; and side by side we rode the remainder of the way. At the
corrals, while I unsaddled, she lingered.

"Russ, you didn't tell me if you agreed with me about Diane," she said
finally.

"Maybe you're right. I hope she's fallen in love with Steele. Lord knows
I hope so," I blurted out.

I bit my tongue. There was no use in trying to be as shrewd with women
as I was with men. I made no reply.

"Misery loves company. Maybe that's why," she added. "You told me Steele
lost his head over Diane at first sight. Well, we all have company. Good
night, Russ."

That night I told Steele about the singular effect the story of his
treatment of Vey had upon Miss Sampson. He could not conceal his
feelings. I read him like an open book.

If she was unhappy because he did something really good, then she was
unhappy because she was realizing she had wronged him.

Steele never asked questions, but the hungry look in his eyes was enough
to make even a truthful fellow exaggerate things.

I told him how Diane was dressed, how her face changed with each
emotion, how her eyes burned and softened and shadowed, how her voice
had been deep and full when she admitted her father hated him, how much
she must have meant when she said she was between two fires. I divined
how he felt and I tried to satisfy in some little measure his craving
for news of her.

When I had exhausted my fund and stretched