“Powerful description,” Rock commented. “Still it sort of fits Elmer--all the Duffys, more or less. They’re inclined to be more aggressive than they ought. Well, I guess it doesn’t make much difference if I do pass as Doc. I’m not trying to put anything over on anybody doing that. Now----” He went on to tell her about meeting the girl at the Maltese Cross. He described the man who had glared at him and puzzled him by his attitude, but he didn’t tell Nona this latter detail. He merely wanted to know who was who. “That was Buck Walters, range foreman of the Maltese Cross,” she confirmed Rock’s guess. “Did Doc Martin ever have any sort of run-in with him?” he asked. “Heavens, no! I would certainly have heard of it if he had. Why?” “Oh, he seemed rather stand-offish, that’s all,” Rock answered indifferently. “Buck thinks rather highly of himself,” Nona told him. “He’s in charge of a big outfit. The Maltese Cross is an estate, and he is one of the administrators. He’s pretty high-handed. There are men in this country who don’t like him much. But I don’t think Doc cared two whoops, one way or the other. Probably Buck was thinking about something.” “Very likely. And who is the yellow-haired _dulce_?” “Alice Snell. She and a brother inherit the whole Maltese Cross outfit when the boy comes of age.” “She told me to tell you to ride down to see her--that she’d be at the ranch all summer.” Thus Rock delivered the message. “I didn’t hardly know what she was talking about.” “Alice never does talk about anything much, although she talks a lot,” Nona said coolly. “Her long suit is getting lots of attention.” “Well, I expect she gets it,” Rock ventured. “She’s good looking. Heiress to a fortune in cows. She ought to be popular.” “She is,” Nona said--“especially with Buck Walters.” “Oh! And is Buck popular with her?” Rock asked with more than mere curiosity. This was an item that might be useful in the task of sizing up Buck Walters and his way with the Maltese Cross. “She detests him, so she says,” Nona murmured. “Then why does she stick around up here in this forsaken country, when she doesn’t have to?” “You might ask her,” Nona replied. Rock had squatted on his heels, picking pods off the vines and chucking them by handfuls into the pan. “I might, at that,” he agreed, “when I have a chance.” “Alice is very ornamental,” Nona Parke continued thoughtfully. “But quite useless, except to look at. She gives me a pain sometimes, although I like her well enough.” “You’re not very hard to look at yourself, it happens,” Rock told her deliberately. “And I don’t suppose you object to being ornamental as well as very useful and practical.” Nona looked at him critically. “Don’t be silly,” she warned.