“Yes.” Keith's tone was not quite what he meant it to be; he did not intend it to be ironical, as it was. “It's a snap for the Pool, all right. It gives them a cinch on the best of the range, and all the water. I didn't give milord credit for such business sagacity.” Beatrice leaned over that she might read his eyes, but Keith turned his face away. In the shock of what he had just learned, he was, at the moment, not the lover; he was the small cattleman who is being forced out of the business by the octopus of combined capital. It was not less bitter that the woman he loved was one of the tentacles reaching out to crush him. And they could do it; they--the whole affair resolved itself into a very simple scheme, to Keith. The gauntlet had been thrown down--because of this girl beside him. It was not so much business acumen as it was the antagonism of a rival that had prompted the move. Keith squared his shoulders, and mentally took up the gauntlet. He might lose in the range fight, but he would win the girl, if it were in the power of love to do it. “Why that tone? I hope it isn't--will it inconvenience you?” “Oh, no. No, not at all. No--” Keith seemed to forget that a superabundance of negatives breeds suspicion of sincerity. “I'm afraid that means that it will. And I'm sure Sir Redmond never meant--” “I believe that kid has got a bite at last,” Keith interrupted, getting up. “Let me take hold, there, Dorman; you'll be in the creek yourself in a second.” He landed a four-inch fish, carefully rebaited the hook, cast the line into a promising eddy, gave the rod over to Dorman, and went back to Beatrice, who had been watching him with troubled eyes. “Mr. Cameron, if I had known--” Beatrice was good-hearted, if she was fond of playing with a man's heart. “I hope you're not letting that business worry you, Miss Lansell. You remind me of a painting I saw once in Boston. It was called June.” “But this is August, so I don't apply. Isn't there some way you--” “Did you hear about that train-robbery up the line last week?” Keith settled himself luxuriously upon his back, with his hands clasped under his head, and his hat tipped down over his eyes--but not enough to prevent him from watching his Heart's Desire. And in his eyes laughter--and something sweeter--lurked. If Sir Redmond had wealth to fight with, Keith's weapon was far and away more dangerous, for it was the irresistible love of a masterful man--the love that sweeps obstacles away like straws. “I am not interested in train-robberies,” Beatrice told him, her eyes still clouded with trouble. “I want to talk about this lease.” “They got one fellow the next day, and another got rattled and gave himself up; but the leader of the gang, one of Montana's pet outlaws, is still ranging somewhere in the hills. You want to be careful about riding off alone; you ought to let some one--me, for instance--go along to look after you.”