n' no mistake," put in Lem Harden.

Probably the keen Beasley had never before considered Milt Dale as a
responsible person; certainly never one in any way to cross his trail.
But on the instant, perhaps, some instinct was born, or he divined an
antagonism in Dale that was both surprising and perplexing.

"Dale, I've differences with Al Auchincloss--have had them for years,"
said Beasley. "Much of what he owns is mine. An' it's goin' to come to
me. Now I reckon people will be takin' sides--some for me an' some for
Al. Most are for me.... Where do you stand? Al Auchincloss never had no
use for you, an' besides he's a dyin' man. Are you goin' on his side?"

"Yes, I reckon I am."

"Wal, I'm glad you've declared yourself," rejoined Beasley, shortly,
and he strode away with the ponderous gait of a man who would brush any
obstacle from his path.

"Milt, thet's bad--makin' Beasley sore at you," said Lem Harden. "He's
on the way to boss this outfit."

"He's sure goin' to step into Al's boots," said another.

"Thet was white of Milt to stick up fer poor old Al," declared Lem's
brother.

Dale broke away from them and wended a thoughtful way down the road. The
burden of what he knew about Beasley weighed less heavily upon him, and
the close-lipped course he had decided upon appeared wisest. He needed
to think before undertaking to call upon old Al Auchincloss; and to that
end he sought an hour's seclusion under the pines.

CHAPTER III

In the afternoon, Dale, having accomplished some tasks imposed upon him
by his old friends at Pine, directed slow steps toward the Auchincloss
ranch.

The flat, square stone and log cabin of unusually large size stood upon
a little hill half a mile out of the village. A home as well as a fort,
it had been the first structure erected in that region, and the process
of building had more than once been interrupted by Indian attacks.
The Apaches had for some time, however, confined their fierce raids to
points south of the White Mountain range. Auchincloss's house looked
down upon barns and sheds and corrals of all sizes and shapes, and
hundreds of acres of well-cultivated soil. Fields of oats waved gray and
yellow in the afternoon sun; an immense green pasture was divided by a
willow-bordered brook, and here were droves of horses, and out on the
rolling bare flats were straggling herds of cattle.

The whole ranch showed many years of toil and the perseverance of
man. The brook irriga