ettled upon his broad brow, and the man in the rocker watched it with
amused eyes.

Quite suddenly the younger man's impatience broke forth into verbal
protest.

"Say, you make me mad. Was there ever such a feller looking for sharps
to play him? How do you know I'm not out to beat you? Why, I could
roll you for every dollar you possess without lying awake five minutes
at night. It's not fair, Bud. It's not fair to me--to you--to your
little Nan----"

"What's not fair to Nan?"

Bud's twinkling eyes shot round upon the open French window with an
alertness scarcely to be expected in a man of such apparent mental
indolence. Jeffrey's eyes cleared of their hot impatience as they
sought a similar direction. The gaze of both men encountered the
picture of a brown-eyed, brown-haired girl of exquisite proportions,
standing framed in the open window. She was clad in a riding suit of
light material, with a long-skirted coat which obviously concealed the
divided skirt beneath. Her long, brown top boots were white with dust
of the trail, and her vicious-looking Mexican spurs hung loosely upon
her heels. Her eyes were bright with intelligence and good humor, and
her pretty oval face smiled out from under the wide brim of an ample
prairie hat.

Jeff began to laugh.

"It's your crazy old father, Nan," he cried. "Say, just look at him.
Feast your eyes on him. Can you beat it? Here we are right up to our
necks in an epoch-making business proposition and he don't concern
himself two whoops. Was there ever such a bunch of simple trusting
folly as is rolled up in that six feet three of good-hearted honesty?
_That's_ what's not fair to--Nan."

The girl came and laid a protecting hand upon the flannel-clad
shoulders of her father. Just for a moment her laughing eyes gazed
affectionately down upon the recumbent form of the only parent she
possessed, and whom she idolized. He was stretched out luxuriously,
his great be-chapped legs reaching to the table leg as a support to
hold the rocker at a comfortable poise. His shirt sleeves were rolled
up displaying a pair of arms like legs of mutton. The beadwork
wristlets were held fixed in their position by the distended muscles
beneath them. She was proud of him, this father who went through the
world trusting human nature, and handling cattle as only an artist in
his profession can handle them.

Then her dancing eyes sought the face of Jeffrey Masters. Her smile
remain