"What did you say," asked de Spain indifferently, "had been the matter with Nan Morgan?" Her name seemed a whole mouthful to speak, so fearful was he of betraying interest. "Why, I really didn't say, sir. And I don't know. But from what she says, and the way she coughs, I'm thinking it was a touch of this p-new-monia that's going around so much lately, sir." His listener recalled swiftly the days that had passed since the night he had seen her wet through in the cold rain at Sleepy Cat. He feared Jim's diagnosis might be right. And he had already made all arrangements to meet the occasion now presenting itself. Circumstances seemed at last to favor him, and he looked at his watch. The down stage bringing Nan back would be due in less than an hour. "Jim," he said thoughtfully, "you are doing the right thing in showing some good-will toward the Morgans." "Now, I'm glad you think that, sir." "You know I unintentionally rubbed their backs the wrong way in dragging Sassoon out." "They're jealous of their power, I know--very jealous." "This seems the chance to show that I have no real animosity myself toward the outfit." Since de Spain was not looking at him, McAlpin cocked two keen and curious eyes on the sphinx-like birthmark of the very amiable speaker's face. However, the astute boss, if he wondered, made no comment. "When the stage comes in," continued de Spain quietly, "have the two grays--Lady and Ben--hitched to my own light Studebaker. I'll drive her over to the Gap myself." "The very thing," exclaimed McAlpin, staring and struggling with his breath. "In some way I've happened, both times I talked with her, to get in wrong--understand?" McAlpin, with clearing wits, nodded more than once. "No fault of mine; it just happened so. And she may not at first take kindly to the idea of going with me." "I see." "But she ought to do it. She will be tired--it's a long, dusty ride for a well woman, let alone one that has been ill." "So it is, so it is!" De Spain looked now shamelessly at his ready-witted aid. "See that her pony is lame when she gets here--can't be ridden. But you'll take good care of him and send him home in a few days--get it?" McAlpin half closed his eyes. "He'll be so lame it would stagger a cowboy to back him ten feet--and never be hurt a mite, neither. Trust me!" "No other horse that she could ride, in the barn?" "No horse she could ride between Calabasas and Thief River." "If she insists on riding _something_, or even walking home," continued de Spain dubiously, for he felt instinctively that he should have the task of his life to induce Nan to accept any kind of a peace-offering, "I'll ride or walk with her anyway. Can you sleep me here to-night, on the hay?" "Sleep you on a hair mattress, sir. You've got a room right here up-stairs, didn't you know that?" "Don't mind the bed," directed de Spain prudently. "I like the hay better."