"You an' me sized up that proposition same like." "We're a slick pair," grunted MacGonigal sarcastically. "That's as may be--I've heerd folk say wuss ner that 'bout you," said Jake. "But what I want ter know is this: S'pose some other low-down cuss gits busy, and stirs his gray matter thinkin' hard on things he saw in the newspaper, what's ter be done?" MacGonigal brought his big red face very near Jake's olive-skinned one. "If he's on the ranch, bounce him; if he's in Bison, let me know," he growled. Meanwhile, the man whose interests they were planning to safeguard had looked up in anger when a shadow darkened the open window; but he started to his feet in sheer amazement when he saw Dacre and heard his voice. "You?" he cried. "How in God's name did _you_ get here?" "You were in trouble, Power, and I count it a poor friendship that shirks a few days' journey when a chum is in distress." Their hands met, and Power's white face showed a wave of color. He was deeply stirred. For the moment he was an ordinary man, and subject to ordinary emotions. "I had better be outspoken," continued Dacre. "I got in touch with Mr. MacGonigal, and he informed me of your mother's death; so I have hurried across America to be with you. Being rather afraid you might stop me en route, I requested MacGonigal not to tell you I was coming." "But I regard your action as a most kindly one." "Yes, now that I am here. For all that, old man, you might have wired very emphatic instructions on the point to Omaha yesterday." "My dear fellow, you find me in a house of mourning. Won't you sit down? You must be tired. Can I get you anything?" "My bones are stiff for want of exercise--that is all. Now, if you want to be a perfect host, have my traps sent to my room.... Don't say you haven't a spare bedroom!... Good! I'll just open a bag, and get some tea--of course, you can't possibly produce any decent tea--and your cook will boil a kettle, and after we have refreshed on the beverage that cheers while it does not inebriate, you will take me for a walk around this delightful ranch of yours. You see, I don't mean to let you mope here by yourself. That is the last thing the dear lady who has been taken from you would wish. You will regard me as a beastly nuisance, but that cannot be helped." The ghost of a smile twinkled in Power's eyes. He was quite alive to his friend's object in rattling along in this fashion; but it was an undeniable relief that he should be compelled to follow the lead given so cheerfully. "To show that you are welcome I'll even drink your strong tea," he said. "Nor am I alone here, as you seem to imagine. There are three ladies in the house--Mrs. Moore and her daughters, Minnie and Margaret. Hand over your bohea to Mrs. Moore--she'll dispense it properly, and appreciate it, too, I have little doubt."