Rose reviewed the incidents from which she had drawn her conclusion. Tex was impressed. "That’s not guessing. That’s pure reason," he declared. "You will tell M’sieu Peters about the itch?" she inquired eagerly. "Why don’t you tell him? I can’t risk going out to the ranch." "No! No! Dave must not suspect. You tell him quick so Dave not think it is me." "Why, Dave is in a hole. Harris will squeal the minute I put my fingers on him." "He will suspect. He must not—Oh! you do not understand." Tex indented his hat on the left side; that was Dave: then on the right side; that was Buck: then, with careful precision, in the middle of the crown; that was Rose. He studied the result with thoughtful attention. "Like Dave?" he inquired, casually. "I—" she began with passionate intensity but paused. "No," she answered, more calmly. "No," repeated Tex. He smoothed out the left-hand depression with an air of satisfaction. "That ’s good," he continued, "because I shall have to put a crimp, a very serious crimp, in his anatomy one of these days. I can feel it coming. What do you think of Buck?" "M’sieu Peters is a good man—a good man," she repeated, dreamily. Tex glanced at her and back at his hat, which he eyed malevolently. Then he sighed. "Oh, well, every man has to find it out for himself," was his irrelevant comment. "Where does Schatz stand in this?" "Dave say he try to get back the range. But Dave he is so much a liar." "Yes, I should say he was a pretty good liar. Well, I ’ll be going." "But no!" she exclaimed. "You must eat supper," and she began hastily to make preparations. "You did n’t offer Dave any," suggested Tex, with a ghost of a grin. "No," she admitted, seriously. "Sometimes I must, but to-night it is not necessary. I am glad, always, to see him go." "Well, so am I," agreed Tex. "Here, let me do that." Tex learned much during the meal that went to confirm the suspicions he had already formed. Also his opinions in regard to women-kind in general seemed less plausible than before. But though shaken, they were not routed; and when he took up his hat in leaving, the two dimples in it looked at him mockingly. "Oh, well, what’s the use?" he said. "Good-night, Miss LaFrance," and he threw the hat on his head as it was. CHAPTER XII A HIDDEN ENEMY