her a debt o' gratitood, an' I can't never
pay it no other ways, so I'll jest see my slug finds his carkis right,
'fore he does me in."

Arizona stepped back with an air of triumph. He could see no flaw in
his plan. It was splendid, subtle.

It was the one and only way to settle all the problems centering round
the foreman. Thus he would pay off a whole shoal of debts, and rid
Diane of Jake forever. And he felt positively injured when Tresler
shook his head.

"You would pay her ill if you did that," he said gravely. "Jake was
probably only trying to frighten her. Besides, he is her father's
foreman. The man he trusts and relies on."

"You ain't got no savee," Arizona broke out in disgust. "Say, he won't
need no foreman when Jake's out of the way. You'll marry the gal,
an'----"

But he got no further. Tresler interrupted him coldly.

"That's enough, Arizona. We aren't going to discuss it further. In the
meantime, believe me that I am wide awake to my position, and to Miss
Marbolt's, and ready to do the best for her in emergency. I must get
on now, for I have several things to do before I turn in."

Arizona had no more to say. He relapsed into moody silence, and, as
they moved away together, Tresler was thankful for the freakish chance
that had made this man come to him with his plan before putting it
into execution. It was dark now, and as they reached the bunkhouse
they parted. Tresler deposited his saddle at the barn, but he did not
return to the bunkhouse. He meant to see Diane before he turned in, by
hook or by crook.

He knew that the time had come when he must actively seek to help her.
When Jake openly threatened her, and she was found weeping, there was
certainly need of that help. He was alarmed, seriously alarmed, and
yet he hardly knew what it was he feared most. He quite realized the
difficulties that confronted him. She had given him no right to
interfere in her affairs. More, she would have every reason to resent
such interference. But, in spite of this, he held to his resolve. It
was his love that urged him on, his love that overbore his scruples,
his gravest apprehensions. He told himself that he had the right which
every man has. The right to woo and win for himself the love he
covets. It was for Diane to say "yea" or "nay," not her father. There
was no comfort she had been accustomed to, or even luxury, that he
could not give her. There was no earthly reason why he should not try
to win her.