“I will. Or any of the boys, for thet matter. Springer’s orders.” Jane started with surprise and then blushed rosy red. Tex, also, appeared confused at his disclosure. “Miss Stacey, I oughtn’t have said that. It slipped out. The boss said we needn’t tell you, but you were to be watched an’ taken care of. It’s a wild range. You could get lost or thrown from a horse.” “Mr. Springer is very kind and thoughtful,” murmured Jane. “The fact is, this heah ranch is a different place since you came,” went on Tex as if emboldened. “An’ this beatin’ around the bush doesn’t suit me. All the boys have lost their haids over you.” “Indeed? How flattering,” replied Jane, with just a hint of mockery. She was fond of all her admirers, but there were four of them she had not yet forgiven. The tall foreman was not without spirit. “It’s true all right, as you’ll find out pretty quick,” he replied. “If you had any eyes you’d see that cattle raisin’ on this heah ranch is about to halt till somethin’ is decided. Why, even Springer himself is sweet on you.” “How dare you!” flashed Jane, suddenly aghast. “I ain’t afraid to tell the truth,” declared Tex, stoutly. “He is. The boys all say so. He’s grouchier than ever. He’s jealous. He watches you—” “Suppose I told him you had dared to say such things?” interrupted Jane, trembling on the verge of strange emotion. “Why, he’d be tickled to death. He hasn’t got nerve enough to tell you himself.” This cowboy, like all his comrades, was hopeless. She was about to attempt to change the conversation when Tex took her into his arms. She struggled—and fought with all her might. But he succeeded in kissing her cheek and then the tip of her ear. Finally she broke away from him. “Now—” she panted. “You’ve done it—you’ve insulted me. Now I’ll never ride with you again—even speak to you.” “Shore I didn’t insult you,” replied Tex. “Jane—won’t you marry me?” “No.” “Won’t you be my sweetheart—till you care enough to—to—” “No.” “But, Jane, you’ll forgive me, an’ be good friends again?” “Never!” Jane did not mean all she said. She had come to understand these men of the ranges—their loneliness—their hunger for love. But in spite of her sympathy and affection she needed sometimes to be cold and severe. “Jane, you owe me a good deal—more than you’ve any idea,” said Tex, seriously. “You’d never have been here but for me,” he said, solemnly. Jane could only stare at him. “I meant to tell you long ago. But I shore didn’t have nerve. Jane, I—I was that there letter writin’ fellar. I wrote them letters you got. I am Frank Owens.” “No!” exclaimed Jane. She was startled. That matter of Frank Owens had never been cleared up. It had ceased to rankle within her breast, but it had never been forgotten. She looked up earnestly into the big fellow’s face. It was like a mask. But she saw through it. He was lying. He was brazen. Almost she thought she saw a laugh deep in his eyes.