."

He looked at her quickly.

"You seem to keep track of him."

She replied bluntly:

"He interests me."

"Why?" curtly. Canby looked malicious as he added: "He's a fizzle."

"He'll get his second wind some day and surprise you."

"He will?" Canby replied, curtly. "What makes you think it?"

"His aunt is a rich woman, and he could go limping back if he wanted to;
besides, he has what I call the 'makings'."

"He should feel flattered by your confidence in him," he answered,
uncomfortably.

"He doesn't know it."

Canby said no more, but it passed through his mind that Wallie would
not, either, if there was a way for him to prevent it.

CHAPTER XV

COLLECTING A BAD DEBT

Wallie and Pinkey picked up a few stray cattle on their way to the
homestead on Skull Creek. It was late in the afternoon when they reached
it, so they decided to spend the night there. The corral was down in
places, but with a little work it was repaired sufficiently to hold the
cattle they put in it.

As Pinkey had prophesied, it gave Wallie the "blues" to look at the
place where he had worked so hard and from which he had hoped so much.
He felt heartsick as he saw the broken fence-posts and tangled wire, the
weeds growing in his wheat-field, the broken window-panes, and the
wreckage inside his cabin.

The door had been left open and the range stock had gone in for shelter,
while the rats and mice and chipmunks had taken possession. Such of his
cooking utensils as remained had been used and left unwashed, and the
stove was partially demolished.

The only thing which remained as he had left it was the stream of salt
water that had cut a deeper channel for itself but had not diminished in
volume.

"I'll go over to Canby's and hit the cook for some grub and be back
pronto," said Pinkey.

Wallie nodded. He was in no mood for conversation, for the realization
of his failure was strong upon him, and he could not rid himself of the
mortification he felt at having made a spectacle of himself before
Helene Spenceley.

The future looked utterly hopeless. Without capital there seemed nothing
to do but go on indefinitely working for wages. His aunt had sent word
in a roundabout way that if he wished to come back she would receive
him, but this he did not even consider.

Sitting on what was left of his doorstep, he awaited Pinkey's return, in
an attitude of such dejection that that person commented upon it
jocosely. He rode up f