He said suspiciously: "It's got something to do with the tenderfoot in the room out there?" It was a palpable hit, for she coloured sharply. Then she took the bull by the horns. "What if it is?" "Sally, d'you mean to say you've fallen for that cheap line of lingo he passes out?" "Steve, don't try to kid me." "Why, you know who he is, don't you?" "Sure; Anthony Bard." "And do you know who Anthony Bard is?" "Well?" she asked with some anxiety. "Well, if you don't know you can find out. That's what the last girl done." She wavered, and then blinked her eyes as if she were resolved to shut out the truth. "I asked you to do me a favour, Steve." "And I will. You know that." "I want you to see that Bard gets safe out of this town." "Sure. Nothing I'd rather do." She tilted her head a little to one side and regarded him wistfully. "Are you double-crossin' me, Steve?" "Why d'you suspect me? Haven't I said I'd do it?" "But you said it too easy." The gentleness died in her face. She said sternly: "If you do double-cross me, you'll find I'm about as hard as any man on the range. Get me?" "Shake." Their hands met. After all, he did not guarantee what would happen to the tenderfoot after they were clear of the town. But perhaps this was a distinction a little too fine for the downright mind of the girl. A sea of troubles besieged the mind of Nash. And to let that sea subside he wandered back to the eating room and found the tenderfoot finishing his coffee. The latter kept an eye of frank suspicion upon him. So the silence held for a brooding moment, until Bard asked: "D'you know the way to the ranch of William Drew?" It was a puzzler to Nash. Was not that his job, to go out and bring the man to Drew's place? Here he was already on the way. He remembered just in time that the manner of bringing was decidedly qualified. He said aloud: "The way? Sure; I work on Drew's place." "Really!" "Yep; foreman." "You don't happen to be going back that way to-night?" "Not all the way; part of it." "Mind if I went along?" "Nobody to keep you from it," said the cowpuncher without enthusiasm. "By the way, what sort of a man is Drew?" "Don't you know him?" "No. The reason I want to see him is because I want to get the right to do some--er--fishing and hunting on a place of his on the other side of the range." "The place with the old house on it; the place Logan is?" "Exactly. Also I wish to see Logan again. I've got several little things I'd like to have him explain." "H-m!" grunted Nash without apparent interest. "And Drew?" "He's a big feller; big and grey." "Ah-h-h," said the other, and drew in his breath, as though he were drinking. It seemed to Nash that he had never seen such an unpleasant smile. "You'll get what you want out of Drew. He's generous." "I hope so," nodded the other, with far-off eyes. "I've got a lot to ask of him." CHAPTER XVII BUTCH RETURNS