"Something—but I was too blessed drunk to catch it. Explain."
San Saba was not rash with his words. It took time to reach down and bring out the phrase that at once illumined his own character and his opinion of the other man's. "Said we was both rascals an' that it paid rascals to stick together."
Lispenard grinned. "Admirable powers of perception—and deception."
"Both good items to have," was San Saba's laconic answer. "How'd yo' know I was still in the country?"
It was Lispenard's turn to be shrewd. "There's something sticking in your craw, my boy. And I thought you'd hang around till you swallowed it."
San Saba's little red eyes were partially curtained behind a screen of cigarette smoke, but the Blond Giant was startled to see a film of colour moving across those pupils. The cigarette suffered destruction; the foreman sighed. "Yo' not such a poor hand, yo'self, friend. We wouldn't make a bad pair."
"I've thought about that. This sedentary life palls on me. Not to mention the puritanical atmosphere surrounding the Circle G. I had enough of that sort of thing back East. Don't appreciate it out here. My forte is something different."
"Big words," mused San Saba.
"When are you pulling freight?"
"Direct questions ain't stylish," was the man's dry rejoinder.
"Oh, come out of it!" grumbled Lispenard. "If I'm going to trail with you..."
He felt again the weight of that hard, unfriendly glance. The light of day was directly in San Saba's eyes, yet it was queer how little of that light reflected back from the ex-foreman's face. Something cold and deadly lay coiled behind the brittle, impassive features; Lispenard had a sudden doubt. The foreman looked at the Eastern horizon once more; he seemed to be calculating, his nutlike head bent forward. He rose.
"I'll wait here fo' yo', friend. When yo' come we'll go. They's still a bone to pick, understan'? But it can wait. Ain't no hurry. It's a long life."
"Bully. United we stand—divided we doubt. You'll be wanting grub, old-timer. Hiding in the hills on an empty belly is a cursed poor vacation."
San Saba permitted the wisp of a smile to pass his colourless lips. "Yo' learn fast, friend. I give yo' credit Where'll yo' get it?"
"I'll drop into Nelson in the morning and load up. See you here to-morrow at dark. Providing you're not afraid of my bringing the posse."
San Saba rose. "It's a bet. As to the posse..." He raised and lowered his thin shoulders, and Lispenard had an uncomfortable sensation of fitting too snugly with the man's purposes. There was now and then the hint of death about this character. It popped out, unsuspected, in those catlike gestures, in the occasional sidewise flashes of eye. He dismissed the thought. He outweighed San Saba a full fifty pounds; he had learned something of the rough and tumble himself. Let San Saba walk the narrow path with him. He, too, had his plans. San Saba spoke again. "Then we pull freight, eh, friend?"
"Not to-morrow. Give me a couple more days."
"She's a pretty wench," ventured the ex-foreman.
"Damn your sly tongue, she is," grunted Lispenard. He extended his arm. "Bargain signed, sealed, and notaried." San Saba's hand was clammy, there was no pressure to the grip. Lispenard felt the reservations in that bargain, but he dismissed his fears, got to his horse, and rode off, flinging back a casual arm. Beyond sight of the renegade he wiped a drop of sweat from his temple and grinned.
"By the Lord, I'll have my cake and I'll eat it too. That gentleman will be good to me. I can be sly as well. And he's an old enough head to teach me a few things."
He crossed the ford and unsaddled, throwing the horse into a corral. And when he came inside the door of the main cabin and saw the girl he threw up both arms in pleased surprise.
"Kit Ballard—of all the beautiful happenings!"
She bad a brilliant smile for him as he crossed the room and took both her arms. "Still the same gallant Apollo," said she gaily. And then, seeing how quiet Tom had turned, she disengaged her hands. "How like the old times. If we only had another lady we might put on one of those cotillions."
Lispenard threw his hat across the room. "There is another, by George! Thomas, I command you to ride over and get the prairie beauty."
Christine Ballard's smile tightened, though it was wholly imperceptible to Tom. She threw a swift glance at Lispenard—a glance that he perfectly understood—and murmured:
"Yes? Tell us about her, Tom. You have been keeping something from me."
IX. CONFLICT
Tom roused himself from a study; and though he was still a little under the spell of this girl's brilliant, elusive beauty, he felt a strong irritation at having Lorena Wyatt's name introduced into the conversation. It put him on the defensive, and he answered almost curtly, "There is nothing to tell."
"Ah," murmured Christine, and with her feminine instincts perceiving the danger signals she turned the subject gracefully. "It's good to see you, Claudie. The same impetuous hero. Did you ever know how many hearts you broke with that conquering air of yours? The figure of romance! Oh, yes!"
Lispenard grinned. "Happy days. Wouldn't it be great sport to spend that time all over again?"
"No," said she, each word bearing its full burden of thoughtfulness, "I'm not sure I'd care to." Tom, blunt man as he was, caught the lingering wistfulness, and it made him the more uncomfortable.
"Each day unto itself. Why look backward?"
"I—I hope so," she agreed. Her hand made a slow gesture. "Claudie, wasn't Tom always the contemplative figure, though? What was it you men called him—the barbarian? Why was that?"
Lispenard rolled a cigarette. "Well, he was always ready to fight. That overweening Texas honour of his put us all on nettles. He also had an extremely matter-of-fact way in speaking of murder and sudden death. A hair-raising calm, so to speak. Some of those wild, weird yarns I used to disbelieve—until I came West."
"Well," said she, appraising Gillette between half-closed lids, "he hasn't changed a whit except to grow more sober. His native heath agrees well with him."
"Oh, he's built for ruling his kingdom," murmured Lispenard. His smile grew somewhat shorter. "I could always whip him—until I touched him too hard. Had more weight, more science, a cooler head than he ever dreamed of having. But when I stung him a few times—"
"The specimen being thus dissected, we will now pass to other things," drawled Tom. "Render your verdict on Blondy."
"Quite fit—quite the same debonair heart disturber."
"Thanks," said the Blond Giant; he rose, made a profound bow, and started out. "But you see only the surface calm. On my honour, Kit, I'm a rough and tough character; a seething furnace roars beneath this placid mug. Oh, you have no idea."
She waited until he was outside before raising her palms in plain distaste. "Ugh! How he has hardened."
"Pay no attention to what he tells you, Kit," said Tom.
"I see it!" she flashed back. "Once that boldness fascinated me. Now it's actually repulsive. How thick his chin is—how heavy his eyes!"
Gillette doubled his hands, looking somberly at her. "Why did you come?"
"I like that, sir! If I am not welcome..."
"Don't fence with me, Kit. You do it too easily."
She seemed half inclined to be sober, yet not for a moment did she allow the tantalizing smile to desert her. "I told my father I needed a change of climate. He was shocked—oh, very