"Perhaps. But I'll ask you to remember that everything I did was open and aboveboard. If any of your cattle strayed, if any of _your_ fences were cut, I had nothing to do with it." "I believe you--now, after what Thursby's told me." "Thank you. We make progress. But there are two things more. Who cut the fence of my winter pasture?" For a moment Huntington was silent, his face reddening. "I did that," he replied at length, half defiantly, but in great confusion. "But why? There was nothing to be gained by that. There were no cattle in the pasture or near it." Huntington hesitated, shifting his weight uneasily from his left foot to his right, and back again to the left. Then he looked at Marion, saw the appeal in her eyes, and plunged. "I wanted to make you angry." "To make me angry?" "To make you do something reckless." Haig studied him, and saw that he was dealing with a man who was in some respects, and for all his physical strength, a boy--a child. He felt his anger rising, but put it down resolutely. "That was very foolish, Huntington!" he said, with some sharpness. "It certainly made me furious, as you saw later at the post-office." "But you were wrong to call me a liar and a thief. And that's something you've got to--" "Got to what?" demanded Haig quickly. Huntington did not answer at once. Claire's face, already as pale as it could well be, became drawn and ashen, while Marion, seeing the danger, unconsciously took a step forward, as if to throw herself between the two men. For some tense seconds Huntington and Haig faced each other belligerently. "Got to what, Huntington?" repeated Haig. "There's nothing I've _got_ to do." Huntington had not meant the "got" in the sense in which it was taken by Haig. He had begun to say, "You've got to admit that was pretty hard." But his unfortunate pause on the uncompleted sentence had justified Haig in putting the worst possible construction on the objectionable phrase. And now Huntington could not finish it as he had intended, without seeming to back down, or weaken. Nor could he afford to drop the mischievous word for another. In his desperation he took the boldest course, and made a more aggressive speech by far than any he had rehearsed for the occasion, and forgotten. "You've got to take that back!" he blurted out. It was Haig's turn now to ponder deeply. His first impulse was to tell Huntington to go to the devil, and thereupon to walk out of the house. But he had come there to make peace; and he bethought himself in time that to give way to anger would only be to allow Huntington the first victory he had ever had over him. Besides--he turned toward Marion, and saw her face distorted with apprehension. That decided the issue. "All in good time, Huntington," he said, with a smile. "Your actions certainly justified everything I said. What have you to say about your scheme to take my horse?"