“Reckon you've got that cougar chained in your cabin door?” queried Beasley, and there was a barely distinguishable shudder of his muscular frame. Also the pupils dilated in his hard brown eyes. “Tom ain't chained. An' I haven't no cabin, Beasley.” “You mean to tell me that big brute stays in your camp without bein' hog-tied or corralled!” demanded Beasley. “Sure he does.” “Beats me! But, then, I'm queer on cougars. Have had many a cougar trail me at night. Ain't sayin' I was scared. But I don't care for that brand of varmint.... Milt, you goin' to stay down awhile?” “Yes, I'll hang around some.” “Come over to the ranch. Glad to see you any time. Some old huntin' pards of yours are workin' for me.” “Thanks, Beasley. I reckon I'll come over.” Beasley turned away and took a step, and then, as if with an after-thought, he wheeled again. “Suppose you've heard about old Al Auchincloss bein' near petered out?” queried Beasley. A strong, ponderous cast of thought seemed to emanate from his features. Dale divined that Beasley's next step would be to further his advancement by some word or hint. “Widow Cass was tellin' me all the news. Too bad about old Al,” replied Dale. “Sure is. He's done for. An' I'm sorry--though Al's never been square--” “Beasley,” interrupted Dale, quickly, “you can't say that to me. Al Auchincloss always was the whitest an' squarest man in this sheep country.” Beasley gave Dale a fleeting, dark glance. “Dale, what you think ain't goin' to influence feelin' on this range,” returned Beasley, deliberately. “You live in the woods an'--” “Reckon livin' in the woods I might think--an' know a whole lot,” interposed Dale, just as deliberately. The group of men exchanged surprised glances. This was Milt Dale in different aspect. And Beasley did not conceal a puzzled surprise. “About what--now?” he asked, bluntly. “Why, about what's goin' on in Pine,” replied Dale. Some of the men laughed. “Shore lots goin' on--an' no mistake,” put in Lem Harden. Probably the keen Beasley had never before considered Milt Dale as a responsible person; certainly never one in any way to cross his trail. But on the instant, perhaps, some instinct was born, or he divined an antagonism in Dale that was both surprising and perplexing. “Dale, I've differences with Al Auchincloss--have had them for years,” said Beasley. “Much of what he owns is mine. An' it's goin' to come to me. Now I reckon people will be takin' sides--some for me an' some for Al. Most are for me.... Where do you stand? Al Auchincloss never had no use for you, an' besides he's a dyin' man. Are you goin' on his side?” “Yes, I reckon I am.” “Wal, I'm glad you've declared yourself,” rejoined Beasley, shortly, and he strode away with the ponderous gait of a man who would brush any obstacle from his path. “Milt, thet's bad--makin' Beasley sore at you,” said Lem Harden. “He's on the way to boss this outfit.” “He's sure goin' to step into Al's boots,” said another.