clear through. Queer thing she could
ever have fancied him. But I don't know, either. He's a right good
looker, and has lots of cheek; that goes a long way with girls. Likely
he was mighty careful before her. And he'd not been brought up against
the acid test, then."

His roving eyes took in with disgust the stains of tobacco juice
plastered all over the clean surface of the rocks.

"I'll bet a doughnut she never knew he chewed. Didn't know it myself
till now. Well, a man lives and learns. Buck Weaver told me he came on a
dead cow of his just after the rustlers had left. Fire still smoldering.
Tobacco stains still wet on the rocks. And one of the horses had a hind
hoof that left a blurred trail. Surely looks like Mr. Tom Dixon is
headed for the pen mighty fast."

He turned and strolled back to the house, smiling to himself.

CHAPTER XIV

A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION

Breakfast finished, Weaver cast about for some diversion to help him
pass the time.

This room, alone of those he had seen in the house, seemed to reflect
something of the teacher's dainty personality. There were some framed
prints on the walls--cheap, but, on the whole, well selected. The rugs
were in subdued brown tints that matched well the pretty wall paper. To
the cattleman, it was pathetic that the girl had done so much with such
frugal means to her hand. For plainly her meagre efforts were
circumscribed by the purse limitation.

Ranging over the few books in the stand, he selected a volume of verse
by Markham, and, turning the leaves aimlessly, chanced on "A Satyr
Song."

I know by the stir of the branches,
The way she went;
And at times I can see where a stem
Of the grass is bent.
She's the secret and light of my life,
She allures to elude;
But I follow the spell of her beauty,
Whatever the mood.

"Knows what he's talking about--some poet, that fellow," Buck cried
aloud to himself, for it seemed to him that the Californian had put into
words his own feeling. He read on avidly, from one poem to another, lost
in his discovery.

It was perhaps an hour later that he came back to a realization of a
gnawing desire. He wanted a pipe, and the need was an insistent one. It
was of no use to argue with himself. He surely had to have one smoke.
Longingly he fingered his pipe, filled it casually with the loose
tobacco in his coat pocket, and balanced the pros and cons in his mind.
From behind the win