“You needn’t lecture me. I’m not your wife and I don’t think I’m going to be,” cut in Nora, whose temper was ruffled on account of having had to wait for him as well as for other reasons. “Y’u surely wouldn’t make me sue y’u for breach of promise, would y’u?” he demanded, with a burlesque of anxiety that was the final straw. Nora turned on her heel and headed for the house. “Now don’t y’u get mad at me, honey. I was only joking,” he explained as he pursued her. “You think you can laugh at me all you please. I’ll show you that you can’t,” she informed him icily. “Sho! I wasn’t laughing at y’u. What tickled me—” “I’m not interested in your amusement, Mr. McWilliams.” “What’s the use of flying out about a little thing like that? Honest, I don’t even know what you’re mad at me for,” the perplexed foreman averred. “I’m not mad at you, as you call it. I’m simply disgusted.” And with a final “Good night” flung haughtily over her shoulder Miss Nora Darling disappeared into the house. Mac took off his hat and gazed at the door that had been closed in his face. He scratched his puzzled poll in vain. “I ce’tainly got mine good and straight just like Reddy got his. But what in time was it all about? And me thinkin’ I was a graduate in the study of the ladies. I reckon I never did get jarred up so. It’s plumb discouraging.” If he could have caught a glimpse of Nora at that moment, lying on her bed and crying as if her heart would break, Mac might have found the situation less hopeless. CHAPTER XXI. THE SIGNAL LIGHTS In a little hill-rift about a mile back of the Lazy D Ranch was a deserted miner’s cabin. The hut sat on the edge of a bluff that commanded a view of the buildings below, while at the same time the pines that surrounded it screened the shack from any casual observation. A thin curl of smoke was rising from the mud chimney, and inside the cabin two men lounged before the open fire. “It’s his move, and he is going to make it soon. Every night I look for him to drop down on the ranch. His hate’s kind of volcanic, Mr. Ned Bannister’s is, and it’s bound to bubble over mighty sudden one of these days,” said the younger of the two, rising and stretching himself. “It did bubble over some when he drove two thousand of my sheep over the bluff and killed the whole outfit,” suggested the namesake of the man mentioned. “Yes, I reckon that’s some irritating,” agreed McWilliams. “But if I know him, he isn’t going to be content with sheep so long as he can take it out of a real live man.” “Or woman,” suggested the sheepman. “Or woman,” agreed the other. “Especially when he thinks he can cut y’u deeper by striking at her. If he doesn’t raid the Lazy D one of these nights, I’m a blamed poor prophet.”