"Your hair and the sunlight on it. If I were a painter I should like to paint you now--and keep the picture."

"The first compliment you have ever paid me," she laughed, pleased nevertheless. "I shall remember it."

"And that's a compliment to me," he responded. "Funny what we recollect and what we don't. There doesn't seem to be any rule for it. But I think I shall always remember just how you look at this moment."

"That's very nice."

"I wonder if I may ask you something without offending you?"

"I don't think you would ask anything that should offend me."

"Thanks! It's this: I want to make things pleasant for you all. I've been wondering in my own mind why you came here. You won't misunderstand me. But why?"

"Have you forgotten your invitation?"

"No. But its acceptance was an unexpected piece of luck. There isn't much here to amuse you. What's the real reason?"

She looked full at him, and then dropped her eyes; her fingers plucked blades of gra.s.s and cast them aside.

"I don't think I know the answer," she replied at last. "For one thing, I thought I might help you--if you'd let me."

"Help me! How?"

"With money. You and the others."

"Good Lord!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Whatever put that in your head?"

"The only letter you ever wrote me. I could read between the lines.

Afterward Mr. Wade told me more. But he wouldn't take what I offered."

"I should say not--if you offered money. He was right."

"Do you mean that you wouldn't let me help you if you needed money?"

"Certainly I wouldn't."

"Because I'm a woman, I suppose."

"Partly. But I wouldn't let any one throw money away on what is apt to be a losing game."

"You think it that?"

"Size it up for yourself. You talked with Wade. Didn't he tell you so?"

"Practically, yes."

"Then you see! It wouldn't do at all."

"But it's my money. I can afford to lose it. I'll not have a pleasure or a luxury the less. And this is my pleasure. Would you refuse me this one thing? You lent _me_ money!"

"Ten dollars--pshaw! This is different. I'm more grateful than I can tell you. But there's no necessity--just yet, anyway."

"Then I won't consider it a definite refusal. That was one reason why I came. And then I wanted to see your country. I wanted something new. I can't explain it very well. I had to come; something made me."

She flushed, but the eyes that met his inquiring gaze were entirely steady.

"Something made me. If the Wades had not been coming I should have come alone. I'm frank with you, you see."

"Yes, I understand the feeling," Casey said. "I have had it myself.

I've had to get out of old surroundings sometimes. And I've always gone. Sometimes it has turned out well; sometimes not."

"We shall see how this turns out," she said, with a nod and a little laugh. "I've a feeling that I shall bring you luck."

"I believe you will," he agreed. "We'll say so, anyway. Just now I wouldn't trade places with any man on earth."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "JUST NOW I WOULDN'T TRADE PLACES WITH ANY MAN ON EARTH"]

She laughed in pure pleasure, bending toward him. "I appropriate that to myself. Don't dare to explain it. Do you come here often?"

"Not very often. That maze of coulee and b.u.t.te you see is a good cattle range. I come this way looking for strays. The last time I was here Sheila McCrae was with me."

Suddenly, for Clyde, the sunlight lost its golden charm. In an altered tone she said:

"Indeed!" And she added deliberately: "I don't think I ever met a nicer girl than Miss McCrae."

"No nicer anywhere," he agreed heartily. "Well, perhaps we'd better be moving. We have a long ride yet."

Their way led by devious cattle trails along the coulees, over ridges, into other coulees. Clyde lost all idea of direction, but her companion was never at a loss, and finally they emerged upon a broad, well-travelled trail. Then Clyde, after much inward debate, told Casey of her presence that morning at the interview with Dade and Cross.

"Well, they're quite a pair," said Casey. "They came to run some sort of a bluff, but concluded not to push it to a show-down. They'll make trouble for us, I suppose. They're simply hired men, and that's their job."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I wish I knew," he replied, shaking his head.

"Is it all worth while?" she asked. "I haven't asked a question about the blown-up dam and the cut ditches. I'm not going to. But where will it end? You admit that there may be violence--even bloodshed. Why not avoid it?"

"How?"

"By letting the courts settle it."

"If we could have our water till then, that's what we'd do. As it is--well, I'm afraid we can't afford to."

"I've already offered----"

"I know, I know," he interrupted; "but that's out of the question."

That evening dragged. There were long silences. n.o.body seemed inclined to talk. Wade went to sleep in his chair, his cigar dropping from his relaxing fingers. He grumbled when his wife woke him.