without conviction.
The twisted side of his face wrinkled hideously, while the other side
smiled.

"You mentioned Blind Hell just now?" questioned Tresler, as the other
relapsed into a quiet survey of him.

"Blind Hell, did I?" said Nelson, repeating the name, a manner which
seemed to be a habit of his.

"Yes. What is it? What did you mean?"

Tresler's questions were a little peremptory. He felt that the
riding-breeches that had caused such notice in Forks were likely to
bring him further ridicule.

"Oh, it's jest a name. 'Tain't of no consequence. Say," the choreman
broke out suddenly, "you don't figger to git boostin' steers in that
rig?" He stretched out an abnormally long arm, and pointed a rough but
wonderfully clean finger at the flowing corduroys Tresler had now
become so sensitive about.

"Great Scott, man!" he let out testily. "Have you never seen
riding-breeches before?--you, a ranchman."

The tufted beard shot sideways again as the face screwed up and half
of it smiled.

"I do allow I've seen such things before. Oncet," he drawled slowly,
with a slight Southern accent, but in a manner that betokened a speech
acquired by association rather than the natural tongue. "He was a
feller that came out to shoot big game up in the hills. I ain't seen
him sence, sure. Guess nobody did." He looked away sadly. "We heerd
tell of him. Guess he got fossicking after b'ar. The wind was blowin'
ter'ble. He'd climbed a mount'n. It was pretty high. Ther' wa'n't no
shelter. A gust o' that wind come an'--took him."

Nelson had turned back to his tubs, and was again banging and rubbing.

"A mile down the trail, I think you said?" Tresler cried, springing
hastily into the saddle.

"Sure."

And for the first time Tresler's horse felt the sharp prick of the
spurs as he rode off.

Mosquito Bend Ranch stood in a wide clearing, with the house on a
rising ground above it. It was lined at the back by a thick pinewood.
For the rest the house faced out on to the prairie, and the verandahed
front overlooked the barns, corrals, and outhouses. It stood apart,
fully one hundred yards from the nearest outbuildings.

This was the first impression Tresler obtained on arrival. The second
was that it was a magnificent ranch and the proprietor must be a
wealthy man. The third was one of disappointment; everything was so
quiet, so still. There was no rush or bustle. No horsemen riding
around with cracking whips; no shouting, no atmo