"Just move your hand a mite," Buck suggested in a quiet, level tone, which was nevertheless obeyed promptly. "Now, listen here. I want you to get this. I ain't longing to stick around any outfit when the boss don't want me. If the lady says I'm to go, I'll get out _pronto_; but I don't trust you, and she's got to tell me that face to face before I move a step. _Sabe?_" His eyes narrowed slightly, and Lynch, crumpling the unheeded money in his hand, stepped aside with an expression of baffled fury and watched him stride along the side of the house and disappear around the corner. He was far from lacking nerve, but he had suddenly remembered that letter to Sheriff Hardenberg, regarding which he had long ago obtained confirmation from Pop Daggett. If he could rely on the meaning of Stratton's little anecdote--and he had an uncomfortable conviction that he could--the letter would be opened in case Buck met his death by violence. And once it was opened by the sheriff, only Tex Lynch how very much the fat would be in the fire. So, though his fingers twitched, he held his hand, and presently, hearing voices in the living-room, he crept over to an open window and, standing close to one side of it, bent his head to listen. CHAPTER XVII THE PRIMEVAL INSTINCT On the other side of the house Buck found the mistress of the ranch and her two guests standing in a little group beside one of the dusty, discouraged-looking flower-beds. As he appeared they all glanced toward him, and a troubled, almost frightened expression flashed across Mary Thorne's face. "Could I speak to you a moment, ma'am?" asked Stratton, doffing his Stetson. That expression, and her marked hesitation in coming forward, were both significant, and Buck felt a sudden little stab of anger. Was she afraid of him? he wondered; and tried to imagine what beastly lies Lynch must have told her to bring about such an extraordinary state of mind. But as she moved slowly toward him, the anger ebbed as swiftly as it had come. She looked so slight and frail and girlish, and he observed that her lips were pressed almost as tightly together as the fingers of those small, brown hands hanging straight at her sides. At the edge of the porch she paused and looked up at him, and though the startled look had gone, he could see that she was still nervous and apprehensive. "Should you rather go inside?" she murmured. Buck flashed a glance at the two Mannings, still within hearing. "If you don't mind," he answered briefly. In the living-room she turned and faced him, her back against the table, on which she rested the tips of her outspread fingers. She was so evidently nerving herself for an interview she dreaded that Buck almost regretted having forced it. "I won't keep you a minute," he began hurriedly. "Tex tells me you have no more use for me here." "I'm--sorry," fell almost mechanically from her set lips. "But he didn't tell me why."