Not a sneer or sarcasm passed his lips. The report done, he went on to
the barn and stabled his mare for the night. Then he passed on toward
his quarters.

Before he reached his destination, however, he was joined by Nelson.
The little man had evidently been waiting for him.

"Well?"

There was no greeting. Tresler put his monosyllabic question at once.
And the choreman responded without hesitation.

"She's bin astin' fer you three times. When wus you gittin' around
agin? I guessed I didn't know fer sure. She wus kind o' worrited, I
reckon." He paused, and his twisted face turned in the direction of
the foreman's hut. "She wus weepin' last night," he went on. Then he
paused again, and his shrewd eyes came back to Tresler's face. "She's
bin weepin' to-day," he said, with a peculiar look of expectation in
his manner.

"What's the trouble?" The question came short and sharp.

"Mebbe she's lonesome."

"That's not it; you've got other reasons."

Joe looked away again. "Jake's bin around some. But I guess she's
lonesome too. She's ast fer you." The little man's tone was full of
obstinacy.

Tresler understood his drift. If Joe had his way he'd march Diane and
him off to the nearest parson with no more delay than was required to
saddle two horses.

"I'm going to see her to-night," Tresler replied quietly. Then, as he
saw Jake appear again in the doorway, he said, "You'd better pass on
now. Maybe I'll see you afterward."

And Joe moved off without another word. Jake had seen them together,
but he was unsuspicious. He was thinking of the scars on his face, and
of something else that had nothing to do with their meeting. And his
thoughts made him smile unpleasantly.

If Tresler's first greeting had been indifferent, his reception, as he
came over to the bunkhouse now, was far from being so. Talk flowed
freely, inquiries hailed him on every side; jests passed, sometimes
coarse, sometimes subtle, but always cordial. All the men on the ranch
had a fair good-will for him. "Tenderfoot" he might be, but they
approved his grit, and with frontiersmen grit is all that matters.

After supper he separated himself from his companions under pretext of
cleaning his saddlery. He hauled a bucket of water, and went down to
the lower corrals and disposed his accoutrements for the operation,
but he did no work until he saw Arizona approaching. That unkempt
personage loafed up in a sort of manner that plainly said he didn't
care if