When he came to the quicksand crossing he halted and examined the earth in the vicinity, smiling more broadly at the marks and hoof prints in the hard sand near the water's edge. Then he rode on. Two or three miles from the quicksand crossing he came suddenly upon Dakota's cabin. Dakota himself was repairing a saddle in the shade of the cabin wall, and for all that Langford could see he was entirely unaware of his approach. He saw Dakota look up when he passed the corral gate, and when he reached a point about twenty feet distant he observed a faint smile on Dakota's face. "Howdy, stranger," came the latter's voice. "How are you, my friend?" greeted Langford easily. It was not hard for Langford to adopt an air of familiarity toward the man who had figured prominently in his thoughts during a great many of the previous twenty-four hours. He dismounted from his pony, hitched the animal to a rail of the corral fence, and approached Dakota, standing in front of him and looking down at him with a smile. Dakota apparently took little interest in his visitor, for keeping his seat on the box upon which he had been sitting when Langford had first caught sight of him, he continued to give his attention to the saddle. "I'm from the Double R," offered Langford, feeling slightly less important, conscious that somehow the familiarity that he had felt existed between them a moment before was a singularly fleeting thing. "I noticed that," responded Dakota, still busy with his saddle. "How?" "I reckon that you've forgot that your horse has got a brand on him?" "You've got keen eyes, my friend," laughed Langford. "Have I?" Dakota had not looked at Langford until now, and as he spoke he raised his head and gazed fairly into the latter's eyes. For a moment neither man moved or spoke. It seemed to Langford, as he gazed into the steely, fathomless blue of the eyes which held his--held them, for now as he looked it was the first time in his life that his gaze had met a fellow being's steadily--that he could see there an unmistakable, grim mockery. And that was all, for whatever other emotions Dakota felt, they were invisible to Langford. He drew a deep breath, suddenly aware that before him was a man exactly like himself in one respect--skilled in the art of keeping his emotions to himself. Langford had not met many such men; usually he was able to see clear through a man--able to read him. But this man he could not read. He was puzzled and embarrassed over the discovery. His gaze finally wavered; he looked away. "A man don't have to have such terribly keen eyes to be able to see a brand," observed Dakota, drawling; "especially when he's passed a whole lot of his time looking at brands." "That's so," agreed Langford. "I suppose you have been a cowboy a long time." "Longer than you've been a ranch owner."