"I rather fancy I shall have very little to say in the matter. That Cassidy chap who is trying to catch Dave, went off without knowing the money was gone. My word! I should n’t care to be Schatz when Cassidy hears of it. Deuced odd no one saw him in Wayback but the banking people. However, the German will have to go. I wrote the Governor and Mr. McAllister this morning. Between them they can come to an agreement with Peters and we can buy the German out—or perhaps I should say his heirs. It’s a good sporting chance that it will be his heirs. Cassidy has a proper amount of suspicion in his character and no one will ambush him, I ’ll lay." "Good gracious! But you can’t afford to lose all that money, can you?" "It is a bit of a facer. But what of it? The range can stand it. In twenty years it will bring ten times the money for farm land, or I ’m much mistaken. I ’m sure the Governor will chance it and Buck will be glad to have me an active partner. He said as much." "Mr. Booth, did n’t you advance the money to Peters in the last partnership agreement?" "Oh, I say! Did they tell you that? Then you should know it was my advice that brought on his loss. But Buck is n’t obliged to put up any money with us; his experience and services are quite equal to the money I shall put up. I fancy Mr. McAllister will agree with me in that. All Buck wants is fair play, don’t you know." Margaret pulled her pony so that she had the advantage of a few feet nearer the house when she spoke. "Whitby," she said, very clearly, "you are a dear." Both ponies swung their noses towards home in the same moment. The burning blush on Margaret’s face streamed from it on the air-currents and settled on Whitby’s determined countenance, to leave him and float away to the rose clouds in the western sky. Whitby had the faster mount but Margaret rode a far lighter weight and the chase might have been a long one had she been very anxious to keep away. As it was a short half mile found them on even terms. Whitby’s arm went about the girl’s waist as the ponies ran stride for stride and she felt herself leaving the saddle. With reckless abandonment to the law of might she yielded and lay in his arms; their pace slowed to a walk, Whitby looking solemnly into the brilliant eyes that mockingly regarded him. "The good old rule, the simpler plan, that he shall take who hath the power," quoted Margaret. "And he shall keep who can," capped Whitby. "I can, Margaret, and I will," he declared, a deep note of earnestness in his voice. Margaret reached up and covered the steady eyes whose searching threatened the unconscious secrets of her heart. But her voice reached him, fainter, fraught with the vibration of sureness: "Whitby, you are a dear." CHAPTER XXVI HUNTERS AND HUNTED