"But I didn't come up here to fight!" "Neither did the President of the United States take his seat in Washington to fight," she pointed out, keeping that level glance fixed on his face. "Oh, as to that," mused Oliver after a thoughtful pause, "I guess I _can_ fight. They didn't send me back from France as entirely useless. But it strikes me as a very stupid proceeding. Look here, Miss Selden--how many acres of grass does your step--er--Old Man Selden run cows on for the summer grazing?--how many acres in the Clinker Creek Country, in short?" Jessamy pursed her lips. "Perhaps four thousand," she decided after thought. "Uh-huh. And on my forty there's about fifteen acres, all told, that represents grass land. The rest is timber and chaparral. Now, fifteen acres added to four thousand makes four thousand fifteen acres. The addition would take care of perhaps five additional animals for the three months or more that his stock remains in that locality. Do you mean to tell me that Adam Selden would attempt to run a man out of the country for that?" She closed her eyes and nodded her head slowly up and down in a childlike fashion that always amused him. It meant "Just that!" He gave a short laugh of unbelief. "Listen," she cautioned: "Don't make the fatal mistake of taking this matter too lightly, Mr. Drew." "But heavens!" he cried. "A man who would attempt to dispossess another for such a slight gain as that would rob a blind beggar of the pennies in his cup! I've had a short interview with Old Man Selden. Corrupt he may be, but he struck me as an old sinner who would be corrupt on a big scale. I couldn't think of the masterful old reprobate I talked with as a piker." Jessamy locked a leg about her saddle horn. "You've got him about right," she informed her companion. "One simply is obliged to think of him as big in many ways." Oliver's leg now crooked itself toward her, and he slouched down comfortably. "Say," he said, "I don't get you at all." "Don't get me?" She was not looking at him now. "No, I don't. One moment you said he would put the skids under me for the slight benefit from my fifteen acres of grass. Next moment you maintain that he is not a piker." "Yes." Oliver rolled a cigarette. Not until it was alight did he say: "Well, you haven't explained yet." She was silent, her eyes on the glittering snow of the far-off Sierras. For the first time since he had met her he found her strangely at a loss for words. And had her direct gaze faltered? Were her eyes evading his? And was the rich colour of her skin a trifle heightened, or was it the glow from the sun, ever reddening as it climbed its ancient ladder in the sky? She turned to him then--suddenly. There was in her eyes a look partly of amusement, partly of chagrin, partly of shame. "I can't answer you," she stated simply. "I blundered, that's all. Opened my mouth and put my foot in it." "But can't you tell me how you did that even?"