“Yet you profit by it, you profit by it; and the receiver of stolen goods is as bad as the thief.” Fogg had beheld this collocution from the ranch house, and now he galloped up, his fat body swaying heavily in his creaking saddle. Though perturbed, his round fat face beamed like a kindly sunset. “How are you, Justin; how are you?” he cried. “Hope that racket at Clayton’s didn’t rob you of your sleep last night. It was a successful meeting, and I’m glad that it was, having had something to do with getting it up.” He mopped his hot forehead with his handkerchief. “Davison, a word with you! The Deep River Company write that they want to buy some of our cattle.” Fogg’s hand was again on the wheel. Justin was glad to ride on, for Davison’s savage assault had left him breathless. He was hurt, but tried hard not to be angry. He was still determined to see Lucy, even though Davison’s words practically forbade him the house. Ben was absent so much from the ranch now that Justin hardly expected to meet him; yet he did meet him, in front of the ranch house door. Ben had long since discarded cowboy clothing, and he had lost much of the cowboy tan, his face being now white and unhealthy-looking, as if bleached by late hours and artificial lights. It took on a surly look, when he saw Justin. “I shouldn’t think you’d care to come over here now,” he said, curtly. “If it’s pleasant for you, it isn’t pleasant for me.” “I hope we can be friends,” Justin urged. “I’m sure I want to be yours.” He had not recovered his equanimity, and his face was flushed. “Well, I don’t want to be yours! You may deny it if you want to, but you played me a mean, dirty trick. You probably had it in mind, when you put up that melodramatic exhibition at the fire.” Justin found great difficulty in keeping his temper. Hot words burned on his trembling lips. “I won’t talk with you, Ben,” he declared, hoarsely. “Is Lucy in? I should like to see her.” “Find out if she’s in,” Ben snapped, and turned toward the corrals. Lucy met Justin at the door. Though she smiled in welcome, he could see that she was troubled. “Don’t mind what Ben says,” she urged, as she took Justin’s hat and then led the way to the sitting room. “He was crusty,” said Justin, “but I can’t blame him.” Having gained the sitting room she turned to Justin, admiration in her troubled eyes. “Justin, I ought to be proud of you, and I am—I can’t help being—but this is, in a way, very unfortunate and distressing. Ben wasn’t worthy of that place, as I know only too well, and as you know; but he is so very bitter over his defeat, and Uncle Philip is the same. Ben has been in a stubborn rage ever since the election, and has said some sharp things to me about it—as if I could help it, or had anything to do with it!” “I’m sorry.” He took a chair. “I suppose I’ve lost Mr. Davison’s good-will entirely. When I met him a few minutes ago he forbade me the house. But I wanted to see you, and came on.”