"An' you've got a right to know. If we deal, I'll stay with you long enough to wise you up to the whole layout. That would be no more than right. I'm considerable used to judgin' men, an' I think you can handle it. Let 'em know right off the reel that you ain't afraid of any of 'em--an' get this before you start out: A man ain't God A'mighty because he happens to run cattle, an' he ain't the Devil because he runs sheep, neither. There's cattlemen on this range I wouldn't trust as far as I could throw a bull by the tail, an' there's sheep-men can have anything I've got just on their say-so--mind you, that ain't the general run--pickin' 'em in the dark, I'd tie to a cow-man every time--but there's exceptions, as the fellow says, to every rule. If that confounded Tex hadn't quit----" "_Tex!_" cried Alice, and Endicott smiled at the glad eagerness of the tone. The old cattleman glanced at her in surprise: "Yes, my foreman. Best man on the range--handled men the easiest you ever saw. Never had any trouble with the sheep outfits--but just the same, there ain't a sheep-man south of the river that would care to try to put anything over on him--nor no one else, neither. There ain't any bluff an' bluster about him, he's the quietest hand you ever saw. But, somehow, lookin' into them eyes of his--a man just naturally stops to think--that's all." "Oh, what is he like? Tell me about him! What is his name?" "Name's Tex. That's all I know, an' that's all----" "Tex Benton?" interrupted the girl. The man regarded her curiously. "Maybe, or, Tex Smith, or Tex Jones, or Tex somethin else." "I--we knew a Tex, once----" Colston laughed: "There's lots of Texes here in the cow-country. Tryin' to find one that you didn't know no more about than that would be like me goin' East an' sayin' I knew a man by the name of John." "How long has he worked for you?" "He quit last evenin'. If he'd of stayed till day after tomorrow, it would have been just a year." The old man's voice had softened, and his gaze strayed to the far hills. "I made him foreman when he'd b'en with me a month," he continued after a short pause. "I can pick men." Another pause. "He--he called me 'Dad'." "Did he know you were going to sell?" asked Endicott. The old man shook his head. "Then, why did he quit?" Somehow, the question sounded harsh, but the man seemed not to notice. There was an awkward silence during which the old man continued to stare out over the hills. "He quit to get drunk," he said abruptly, and Endicott detected a slight huskiness in his tone. Across the table, Alice gasped--and the sound was almost a sob.