But watching closely, Stafford was forced to admit that Leviatt did not feel so strongly, or was cleverly repressing his emotions. There was no sign on the range boss's face that he had been hurt by the news. His face had grown slightly paler and there was a hard glitter in his narrowed eyes. But his voice was steady. "Well, now," he said, "that ought to tickle you a heap." "I won't be none disappointed," returned Stafford. Leviatt looked sharply at him and crossed his arms over his chest. "When was you talkin' to him?" he questioned. "Yesterday." Leviatt's lips moved slightly. "An' when did you say them cattle was rustled?" he asked. "Night before last," returned Stafford. Leviatt was silent for a brief time. Then he unfolded his arms and stood erect, his eyes boring into Stafford's. "When you expectin' Ferguson?" he questioned. "He didn't say just when he was comin' in," returned Stafford. "But I reckon we might expect him any time." Leviatt strode to the door. Looking back over his shoulder, he smiled evilly. "I'm much obliged to you for tellin' me," he said. "We'll be ready for him." A little over an hour after his departure from the hill, Ferguson rode up to the Two Diamond corral gate and dismounted. Grouped around the door of the bunkhouse were several of the Two Diamond men; in a strip of shade from the blacksmith shop were others. Jocular words were hurled at him by some of the men as he drew the saddle from Mustard, for the stray-man's quietness and invariable thoughtfulness had won him a place in the affections of many of the men, and their jocular greetings were evidence of this. He nodded shortly to them, but did not answer. And instead of lugging his saddle to its accustomed peg in the lean-to, he threw it over the corral fence and left it. Then, without another look toward the men, he turned and strode toward the manager's office. The latter was seated at his desk and looked up at the stray-man's entrance. He opened his lips to speak, but closed them again, surprised at the stray-man's appearance. During the months that Ferguson had worked at the Two Diamond, Stafford had not seen him as he looked at this moment. Never, during the many times the manager had seen him, had he been able to guess anything of the stray-man's emotions by looking at his face. Now, however, there had come a change. In the set, tightly drawn lips were the tell-tale signs of an utterable resolve. In the narrowed, steady eyes was a light that chilled Stafford like a cold breeze in the heat of a summer's day. In the man's whole body was something that shocked the manager into silence. He came into the room, standing near the door, his set lips moving a very little, "You heard anything from Leviatt yet?" he questioned. "Why, yes," returned Stafford, hesitatingly; "he was here, talkin' to me. Ain't been gone more'n half an hour. I reckon he's somewhere around now."