"Ther' never was one made," he said easily. "I don't guess you'll find it ther'--'less you use trick eyes. Here--say, Peters has given you his story right. I ain't no kick comin' to a word of it. But this thing has more sides to it than you'd fancy. Now, I don't just care a cuss Peters' grazin' two hundred, or five hundred head of stock on my pastures. But if Peters bo't rights an' ken prove it, why, he's the right to sell 'em on to any feller who comes along, which kind o' turns my ranch into common land. Nothin' doin'. No, siree!" Jeff had abandoned his search of the papers. Nor was he regarding either of the men. His eyes were directed through the lacing of creeper, his gaze concentrated upon the purple vista of the hills. His brows were depressed with profound thought. Nor were the blue depths of his eyes easy. Peters' whole attention was upon the rancher. "Now, see right here, Masters," Dug went on, after a deeply considering pause. "I got a story to tell you I'd have liked to hold up, an' the reason I hate handin' it you is jest a sort o' fool sense of honor. Howsum, when folks git gay I can't see you're right to hold your hand. Now, them rights are sold by the law fellers of that widder woman, an', I guess, actin' under her instructions. Now, she knows she don't own no rights to sell. Wal, I allow she's on the crook." "Crook?" Jeff's interrogation came swiftly, in a harsh voice utterly unlike his own. Then his eyes came round to the face of the rancher. There was something deadly in the steadiness of their regard. "This widow," he said. "Her name is Van Blooren. What is her first name, and the first name of her--husband?" Before Dug could reply Peters pointed at the deeds of sale. "Guess her full name's writ ther'," he said. "Elvine van Blooren. Sort of queer name, ain't it? It sort o' hit me that way when I first see it. Kind o' good name fer a--crook." Jeff's eyes dropped to the papers again as Dug gave the other information required. "The man's name was Robert--Bob. Called hisself when he was here. Y'see, his paw was some swell guy who guessed his son had made some darn fool marriage. An' I allow he was wise. Howbe, their names an' sech don't cut no ice." "No." Jeff's monosyllable brought Dug's gaze swiftly in his direction. The next moment they were looking squarely into each other's eyes, and, as far as Jeff was concerned, Peters was entirely forgotten. "Will you tell me all you know of--this woman?" Jeff said, after a moment. "I guess it'll be necessary--before we're through." "Sure. That's how I figgered." A momentary tension seemed to have been relaxed. Dug once more settled himself at his ease.