Josephine looked at the jug upon the floor beside him, bent and lifted it very gently from the floor; tilted it to the window so that she could look into it, tilted her nose at the odor, and very, very gently put it back where she had found it. Then she stood and looked down at Ford with her eyebrows pinched together. She did not move, after that, and she certainly did not speak, but her presence for all that became manifest to him. He lifted his head and stared at her over an elbow; and his eyes were heavy with trouble, and his mouth was set in lines of bitterness. "Did you want me for something?" he asked, when he saw that she was not going to speak first. She shook her head. "Is it--pretty steep?" she ventured after a moment, and glanced down at the jug. He looked puzzled at first, but when his own glance followed hers, he understood. He stared up at her somberly before he let his head drop back upon his arms, so that his face was once more hidden. "You've never been in bell, I suppose," he told her, and his voice was dull and tired. After a minute he looked up at her impatiently. "Is it fun to stand and watch a man--What do you want, anyway? It doesn't matter--to you." "Are you sure?" she retorted sharply. "And--suppose it doesn't. I have Kate to think of, at least." He gave a little laugh that came nearer being a snort. "Oh, if that's all, you needn't worry. I'm not quite that far gone, thank you!" "I was thinking of the ranch, and of her ideals, and her blind trust in you, and of the effect on the men," she explained impatiently. He was silent a moment. "I'm thinking of myself!" he told her grimly then. "And--don't you ever--think of me?" She set her teeth sharply together after the words were out, and watched him, breathing quickly. Ford sprang up from the bunk and faced her with stern questioning in his eyes, but she only flushed a little under his scrutiny. Her eyes, he noticed, were clear and steady, and they had in them something of that courage which fears but will not flinch. "I don't want to think of you!" he said, lowering his voice unconsciously. "For the last month I've tried mighty hard not to think of you. And if you want to know why--I'm married!" She leaned back against the door and stared up at him with widening pupils. Ford looked down and struck the jug with his toe. "That thing," he said slowly, "I've got to fight alone. I don't know which is going to come out winner, me or the booze. I--don't--know." He lifted his head and looked at her. "What did you come in here for?" he asked bluntly. She caught her breath, but she would not dodge. Ford loved her for that. "Dick told me--and I was--I wanted to--well, help. I thought I might--sometimes when the climb is too steep, a hand will keep one from--slipping." "What made you want to help? You don't even like me." His tone was flat and unemotional, but she did not seem able to meet his eyes. So she looked down at the jug.