“You’re a good sheriff, Price, and a good man, but you’re stupid as hell sometimes. To hold Miss Cathrew under your two-bit magnifying glass of suspicion as you do is drivelling twiddle—silly child’s play. True, she lives an out-of-the-ordinary life——” “I’ll say she does,” interrupted Selwood, “by what power does she hold together the worst set of off-scourings this country ever saw? Why do they obey her lightest word, step lively when she speaks in that high-and-mighty tone of hers? Tell me that. It ain’t natural—not by a long shot. And here’s another thing—a good two-thirds of them ain’t cattlemen. Never were. I know that every new one, as he has come in from time to time during these past three or four years, has had to be taught the cattle business. Caldwell, her foreman, is a cowhand—he came from Texas—and so is that long black devil they call Sud Provine, and one or two others, but the rest are city products, or I’m a liar—and why does she want that kind? And she keeps a heavy force for the amount of cattle she runs.” McKane spread his hands in eloquent resignation. “You two-bit officers!” he said. “You make me sick.” “Make you sick because you’re already sick for Kate Cathrew—who wouldn’t wipe her boots on you, and you know it.” “Sure, I know it. But that don’t prevent me taking up for a woman, anywhere, any time.” Uncertain of morals and dealings as the trader was, there was a simple dignity in his words which demanded respect, and they struck Selwood so. “I’m sorry I can’t see Cattle Kate in the proper light, McKane,” he said, “and that we’ve come to words and blows over her. Maybe I lack something fine which you possess—but she’s under my glass, all right, and I’m as sure as I stand here that some day its rays will show her up.” “As what?” “I’m not saying.” “Men have died in their boots for less than that.” “True—but I won’t.” “Maybe not.” “Look here, McKane—don’t mess into Kate Cathrew’s affairs. I’m giving you my hunch that the man who does is due for tragedy sooner or later—and you have no reason, for Kate don’t care for you.” “No—nor for any other man.” “Wrong,” said the sheriff succinctly. “Eh?” “Don’t forget the man who comes in once a year—and he’s due before so very long again—the man who sends her that regular letter from New York and who comes across the continent to see her?” “Mr. Lawrence Arnold? Why, he’s her business partner—owns a full half-interest in Sky Line.” “Well? You watch Kate’s face when you see them together again this summer.” “Hell!” said McKane again in that resigned voice, “how’d you ever get elected with those reasoning powers of yours?” “Oh—all right. But stay clear of Cattle Kate’s fringes—for some day there’s going to be the prettiest blow-up ever seen in the cattle country of the Deep Heart Hills—and Kate’s going mile high on the explosion.”