"Bet your life!" Then looking up to see the tall cowboy eyeing him with that half humorous smile, he rose and said: "Now we can start doing business. Tom, Miss Hunter wants a horse, says she can ride and wants the best we've got, right off, to-day. There's that bunch that's been ranging in Little Piñon all winter. Guess we'd better bring 'em down this forenoon and let her pick one." They departed. They had little to say to one another in the hours it required to gather the horses and bring them down, but when they were within sight of the corrals Hepburn began to speak as though what he had to say was the result of careful deliberation. "I don't want us to have any misunderstandin', Tom. This mornin' I figured you wanted to move and I don't want any man in the outfit who'd rather be somewhere else, so long as I'm runnin' it." He shifted his weight in the saddle and glanced at Beck, who rode looking straight ahead. "'Course, you and I ain't been pals. I've thought sometimes you didn't just like me--" "I s'pose she'll want a gentle horse," the other broke in. "Prob'ly.... "You and I can be friends, I know. We can get along--" "Look at this outfit!" Beck interrupted again, this time with better reason. Around the bend in the road appeared a queer cavalcade. It was headed by a pair of ancient mules drawing a covered wagon, on the seat of which sat a scrawny, discouraged man with drooping lids, mustache and shoulders. To the wagon were tied three old mares and behind them trailed a half dozen colts, ranging from one only a few weeks old to a runty three-year-old. These were followed by a score of cattle, mostly cows and yearling calves, and the rear was brought up by a girl, riding a big brown horse. She was young, and yet her face was strangely mature. She wore a hat, the worse for wear, a red shirt, open at the throat, a riding skirt and dusty boots. She was slouched easily in the saddle, as one who has ridden much. Tom spurred ahead to prevent their horses from entering a draw which opened on the road just where they must pass and as he slowed to a walk and looked back he saw Hepburn making a movement of one hand. That hand was just dropping to the fork of his saddle but--and he knew that this may have been purely a product of his imagination--he thought that it had been lifted in a gesture of warning. The foreman halted and the wagon stopped with a creak, as of relief. "Just foller on down and swing to the left. Keep right on. You'll pass the state boundry," Beck heard Hepburn say. The wagon started again and Dad joined him. "Goin' some place?" Tom asked. "Utah. He was askin' the way." Just then the girl came within easy talking distance. "Goin' far?" Tom asked. "Not so very fur," the other replied sullenly and swung a worn quirt against her boot. They rode on after their horses. "Nesters," Beck commented grimly. "They're a bad lot to see comin' in." "Thank God, they're headed for Utah," Dad replied.