Bud sang for two hours expectantly, but Marian did not appear, and Bud went off to the bunk-house feeling that his attempt to hearten her had been a failure. Of Honey he did not think at all, except to wonder if the two women were related in any way, and to feel that if they were Marian was to be pitied. At that point Jerry overtook him and asked for a match, which gave him an excuse to hold Bud behind the others. “Honey like to have caught me, to-night,” Jerry observed guardedly. “I had to think quick. I'll tell you the lay of the land, Bud, seeing you're a stranger here. Marian's man, Lew, he's a damned bully and somebody is going to draw a fine bead on him some day when he ain't looking. But he stands in, so the less yuh take notice the better. Marian, she's a fine little woman that minds her own business, but she's getting a cold deck slipped into the game right along. Honey's jealous of her and afraid somebody'll give her a pleasant look. Lew's jealous, and he watches her like a cat watches a mouse it's caught and wants to play with. Between the two of 'em Marian has a real nice time of it. I'm wising you up so you won't hand her any more misery by trying to take her part. Us boys have learned to keep our mouths shut.” “Glad you told me,” Bud muttered. “Otherwise----” “Exactly,” Jerry agreed understandingly. “Otherwise any of us would.” He stopped and then spoke in a different tone. “If Lew stays off the ranch long enough, maybe you'll get to hear her sing. Wow-ee, but that lady has sure got the meadow-larks whipped! But look out for Honey, old-timer.” Bud laughed unmirthfully. “Looks to me as if you aren't crazy over Honey,” he ventured. “What has she done to you?” “Her?” Jerry inspected his cigarette, listened to the whisper of prudence in his ear, and turned away. “Forget it. I never said a word.” He swept the whole subject from him with a comprehensive gesture, and snorted. “I'm gettin' as bad as Pop,” he grinned. “But lemme tell yuh something. Honey Krause runs more 'n the post-office.” CHAPTER ELEVEN: GUILE AGAINST THE WILY Bud liked to have his life run along accustomed lines with a more or less perfect balance of work and play, friendships and enmities. He had grown up with the belief that any mystery is merely a synonym for menace. He had learned to be wary of known enemies such as Indians and outlaws, and to trust implicitly his friends. To feel now, without apparent cause, that his friends might be enemies in disguise, was a new experience that harried him.