strongly about her, but since you do, I respect you for not wanting
to take it. However, the loan isn't to you, it's to me; it's a business
proposition, and when we return it we'll pay interest."

He was listening sullenly and she read in his wavering look that he was
weakening.

"You must be sensible, Jap. Be reasonable, for we haven't a dollar, and
look--here are five hundred of them! We simply can't refuse."

She saw the greedy glint in his eyes as she held the money toward him,
and knew that the battle was over.

"I'll not have anything to do with it, anyway."

She could have smiled at his continued pretence of reluctance, his
fictitious dignity, if it had not saddened her. As she returned the
money to the bureau drawer and slowly closed it she was conscious that
in her heart she would have been glad and proud if he had not yielded.

CHAPTER XII

THE DUDE WRANGLER

With his tongue in his cheek, literally, and perspiring like a
blacksmith, Teeters sat at the table in the kitchen of the Scissor Ranch
house, and by the flickering light of a candle in a lard can wrote
letters to the heads of the Vanderbilt and Astor families, to the
President and those of his Cabinet whose names he could remember.

Briefly, but in a style that was intimate and slightly humorous, Teeters
conveyed the information that he was starting a dude ranch, and if they
were thinking of taking an outing the coming summer they would be
treated right at the "Scissor" or have their money refunded. He
guaranteed a first class A1 cook, with a signed contract to wash his
hands before breakfast, a good saddle horse for each guest, and plenty
of bedding.

He did not aim to handle over ten head of dudes to start with, so, if
they wanted to play safe, they had better answer upon receipt of his
letter, he warned them, signing himself after deliberation:

Yure frend
C. TEETERS

"I'll bet me I'll buy me some lamp chimbleys and heave out this
palouser. A feller can't half see what he's doin'," he grumbled as he
eyed a large blot on the envelope addressed to the President. "The whole
place," sourly, "looks like a widdy woman's outfit."

Teeters hammered down the flaps with a vigor that made the unwashed
dishes on the table rattle, and grinned as he pictured the astonishment
of Major Stephen Douglas Prouty, who was still postmaster, when he read
the names of the personages with whom he, Teeters, was in
correspondence--after which h