ifty-fifty. Indeed, as the
hand of Jordan crushed over his own he came perilously near to making a
clean breast of everything, but the memory of his fat and growing
bank-account gagged the confession.

"If that's the way things are standing," Jordan was saying, "we got to
get rid of this skunk Perris. Good-looking, as I remember him, and
Marianne is so darned lonely on the ranch that she might begin to take
him serious and--Hervey, I'll give you a written note. That'll be
authority. I'll give you a note to Marianne, telling her that I've got
to go across the mountains and that I want you to have the running of
the place till I get back. I guess that'll give you a free hand, Lew!
You fire that Perris, and when he's gone, send me word over to the hotel
in Lawrence. That's where I'll go."

Hervey appeared dubious with great skill.

"I'll take the note, Jordan," he said, putting all the despair he could
summon into his tone. "But it sure goes hard--the idea of losing my
place up here. I've been in the Valley so long, you see, that it's like
a home to me."

"And who the devil said anything about you leaving? Ain't I just now
about to give you a note to run the ranch while I'm gone?"

"Sure you are. And I'll take it--and fire Perris. But when you come
back--that's the end of me!"

"What?"

"You know how your daughter is. She'll plumb hate me when I come back
with orders to run things. She'll think I asked for 'em."

"I'll tell her different."

"Were you ever able to convince her, once she made up her mind?"

"H-m-m," growled Jordan.

"And she'll never rest till things are so hot for me that I got to get
out. Not that I grudge it, Jordan. I'd give up more than this job for
your sake. Only it sure makes me homesick to think about starting out at
my time of life and riding herd for a strange outfit."

"You ride for another outfit?" said Jordan. "And after you've worked
this game on Perris for me? I'll tell you what, Lew, if you get Perris
safe off the ranch you can stop worrying. You're foreman for life! You
have my word for it."

"But suppose--" protested Hervey faintly.

"Suppose nothing. You have my word. Besides, I'm tired of talking!"

With well-acted diffidence, Lew held out the paper, which Oliver Jordan
snatched and smoothed on his knee. Then Hervey rode closer, lighted a
match, and held it so that the rancher could see to write.

"Dear Marianne," scrawled the pencil, "this is to let you know that I