r her
benefit--"what good would it do me? If I turned out to be the best
rider, the best shot, the best roper of steers, what then?"

"My father," she answered, simply, "like every other man who does big
things on a big scale, is always looking for good men, for foremen,
for men like Bat Truxton, like Brayley, and for men who must do work
for which such men as Brayley are unfit--men who have got an education
and have retained their strength of manhood through it. You could
grow; you could step from one position to another, you could yourself
be a strong man, a big man, a man like my father, like your father.
Don't you see? You could be that sort of a man, a real man, a man's
man, instead of being the sort of man who is sent upon a girl's errand
because none of the other men can be spared. You have done the natural
thing heretofore; the fault has not been yours. You have merely been
unfortunate in being too fortunate. But now, don't you see, it is
different. Now you are being submitted to the test. Why, even your
friend, Roger Hapgood--"

"Leave out the _friend_ part. What about him?"

"He is taking hold. He is shaking off the listlessness which has clung
to him ever since he was born. Father learned from him that he had
studied law in college and got him a place with Mr. Winston in
Crawfordsville. And he is working, working hard, and making good!"

"You seem to know everything, Miss Crawford."

"Oh, this is so simple. Mr. Winston is father's lawyer. Mr. Hapgood
has ridden back to the Half Moon several times upon business for the
firm."

Conniston frowned, little pleased. The Half Moon range-house, then,
was open to Hapgood as a friend, as an equal. It was closed to Greek
Conniston as a day-laborer! And he knew well enough why Hapgood was
staying, why he was working so hard. He had not forgotten the
pale-eyed man's appreciation of the girl--and of her father's wealth.
He knew that Roger Hapgood was working for much more than his monthly
stipend, for much more than the love of the law.

He whirled suddenly toward the girl, surprising her in her scrutiny of
his frowning face.

"Why do you care what I do?" he cried, almost fiercely. "Why do you
tell me to go ahead, to do something? What difference does it make to
you? Will you tell me?"

She returned his look steadily, answered steadily, not hesitating.

"Because it seemed to me a shame for a man like you to be a pawn in a
game all of his life while he might be