e isolated families, what with scraping
every dollar here and there that he might be on time with his final
payment to Henry Pollard? Must he further puzzle over the insolent whims
of a captious girl?

Which was all very well, and yet as he turned Comet's head toward the
Poison Hole ranch the blood was still hot on his brow, his thoughts were
still busy with Winifred Waverly and the enigma she was to him, while
his mind, still touched with the opiate of the loveliness of her, was
filled with the picture she made in the moment of her flaming
accusation.

"I have been calling her Miss Grey Eyes!" he mused angrily. "That name
doesn't suit her. Little Blue Blazes would be better!"

"Mr. Thornton!"

It was Henry Pollard's voice, and for a moment Thornton had no thought
of heeding it. But the voice called again, and he drew an impatient
rein, waiting.

"Well," came his answer shortly. "What do _you_ want?"

"I want to talk business with you or I wouldn't stop you," Pollard
returned coolly. He came close to Comet's head and in the same, cool,
impersonal voice continued.

"When time comes for your last payment are you going to be able to make
it?"

"Until time does come," Thornton snapped at him, "it's my business what
I'm going to do."

"Certainly it's your business. But since you've put fifteen thousand
into it already I guess you won't slip up on the last five thousand. Now
it's nearly five months until that payment falls due, isn't it?"

"Well? Talk fast, Pollard."

"I want to make you a proposition. I need money, and I don't mind saying
that I need it bad! I've got a chance for something good, something big,
in a mining speculation, and I'm short of cash. If I could raise the
money within thirty days..."

Thornton laughed.

"Nothing doing, Pollard," he cut in. "When your money's due you can
come talk to me. Not before."

"I said I had a proposition, didn't I?" went on Pollard evenly. "I see
where I can make by it, and I'm willing for you to profit at the same
time."

"Spit it out. Where do I get off?"

"You owe me five thousand yet."

"Five thousand with interest, six per cent...."

"Forget the interest; I don't want it. And I'll carve five hundred
dollars off the five thousand too, if you'll raise it within thirty
days. That is my proposition. What do you say to it?"

For a little Buck Thornton was silent, thinking swiftly. For the life of
him he could not but look for some trickery in any propo