“Wal, no offense meant, I'm sure,” responded Auchincloss. “An' mebbe there's somethin' in what you say... We was talkin' about them sheep your big cat killed. Wal, Milt, I can't prove it, that's sure. An' mebbe you'll think me doddery when I tell you my reason. It wasn't what them greaser herders said about seein' a cougar in the herd.” “What was it, then?” queried Dale, much interested. “Wal, thet day a year ago I seen your pet. He was lyin' in front of the store an' you was inside tradin', fer supplies, I reckon. It was like meetin' an enemy face to face. Because, damn me if I didn't know that cougar was guilty when he looked in my eyes! There!” The old rancher expected to be laughed at. But Dale was grave. “Al, I know how you felt,” he replied, as if they were discussing an action of a human being. “Sure I'd hate to doubt old Tom. But he's a cougar. An' the ways of animals are strange... Anyway, Al, I'll make good the loss of your sheep.” “No, you won't,” rejoined Auchincloss, quickly. “We'll call it off. I'm takin' it square of you to make the offer. Thet's enough. So forget your worry about work, if you had any.” “There's somethin' else, Al, I wanted to say,” began Dale, with hesitation. “An' it's about Beasley.” Auchincloss started violently, and a flame of red shot into his face. Then he raised a big hand that shook. Dale saw in a flash how the old man's nerves had gone. “Don't mention--thet--thet greaser--to me!” burst out the rancher. “It makes me see--red.... Dale, I ain't overlookin' that you spoke up fer me to-day--stood fer my side. Lem Harden told me. I was glad. An' thet's why--to-day--I forgot our old quarrel.... But not a word about thet sheep-thief--or I'll drive you off the place!” “But, Al--be reasonable,” remonstrated Dale. “It's necessary thet I speak of--of Beasley.” “It ain't. Not to me. I won't listen.” “Reckon you'll have to, Al,” returned Dale. “Beasley's after your property. He's made a deal--” “By Heaven! I know that!” shouted Auchincloss, tottering up, with his face now black-red. “Do you think thet's new to me? Shut up, Dale! I can't stand it.” “But Al--there's worse,” went on Dale, hurriedly. “Worse! Your life's threatened--an' your niece, Helen--she's to be--” “Shut up--an' clear out!” roared Auchincloss, waving his huge fists. He seemed on the verge of a collapse as, shaking all over, he backed into the door. A few seconds of rage had transformed him into a pitiful old man. “But, Al--I'm your friend--” began Dale, appealingly. “Friend, hey?” returned the rancher, with grim, bitter passion. “Then you're the only one.... Milt Dale, I'm rich an' I'm a dyin' man. I trust nobody... But, you wild hunter--if you're my friend--prove it!... Go kill thet greaser sheep-thief! DO somethin'--an' then come talk to me!” With that he lurched, half falling, into the house, and slammed the door. Dale stood there for a blank moment, and then, taking up his rifle, he strode away.