"I can only hand you a decision on the intention as apart from the legal aspect of the case," he said judicially. "It's clear to me no saleable rights were given. There was no transaction over them. The widow of this man had no rights to sell. If disinterested advice is acceptable I should urge this. It's in view, I guess, of McFarlane's expressed indifference to Peters' cattle grazing on his land. Let Peters acknowledge he has no rights. Then let McFarlane enter into an agreement that Peters can run his stock on his land, the right being non-transferable. I should put the whole thing in writing." "An' a darn good an' honest decision, too," cried Dug heartily. The shadow of a beatific smile passed over Peters' small features. "Bully!" he murmured. Then he added: "But I sort o' feel we both oughter set the law on that--she devil." Jeff turned abruptly. His movement was almost electrical. "I shouldn't," he said sharply. Dug caught a glimpse of the desperate light in his eyes. "Why not?" There was a dash of resentment in Peters' tone. But Jeff was spared a reply. Dug anticipated him with an oath. "Gol darn you, because she's--a woman!" he cried, with a fierce warmth. "Hell take it you ken have your rights. That's enough, I guess. I'll have the papers wrote, an' have you sign 'em to-morrow. Meanwhile I'm sick to death of the whole blamed thing. I quit right here." His intention was plain enough. He meant there should be no misunderstanding it. And the little man, Peters, took his dismissal without demur. The moment Peters had safely negotiated the saddle and vanished in a cloud of dust, Dug pressed the whisky bottle upon his guest. Jeff almost mechanically accepted it. He gulped down a stiff drink of neat spirit. Dug watched him. "Guess you're feelin' pretty darn saddle weary," he said kindly. Jeff flung himself into his chair without replying. Dug returned to his seat and gazed out at the yellow and purple afterglow of sunset. "Say, maybe you'd feel like handin' me the reason you wouldn't set the law on to that--woman?" he went on presently. The question was by no means idle. It was inspired by the man's genuinely kindly nature. Somehow, he felt that he had been responsible for that which he had seen, still saw, in this man's eyes. But he was wholly unprepared for the reply forthcoming. It came promptly. Each word came distinctly, deliberately, in a voice of bitter coldness. The tragedy of it left the rancher speechless. "Because I married Elvine van Blooren just over six weeks ago." CHAPTER XIX THE RETURN HOME A long day of anxiety and fevered apprehension merged into a night of terror. It was the outcome of a conviction that was irresistible. The shadow of disaster was marching hard upon her heels. Nor had she the power to avoid it.