nds.

"How are you?" he said with a nod, but without rising from his recumbent
attitude. "Goin' to stay long?"

His latter question sounded churlish, but Lablache understood his
meaning. It was of the horses the rancher was thinking.

"An hour, maybe," replied Lablache, breathing heavily as a result of his
climb out of the buckboard.

"Right Take 'em away, boys. Remove the harness and give 'em a good rub
down. Don't water or feed 'em till they're cool. They're spanking
'plugs,' Lablache," he added, as he watched the horses being led down to
the barn. "Come inside. Had breakfast?" rising and knocking the dust
from the seat of his moleskin trousers.

"Yes, I had breakfast before daylight, thanks," Lablache said, glancing
quickly down at the empty corrals, where his horses were about to
undergo a rubbing down. "I came out to have a business chat with you.
Shall we go in-doors?"

"Most certainly."

There was an expressive curtness in the two words. Bill permitted
himself a brief survey of the great man's back as the latter turned
towards the front door. And although his half-closed lids hid the
expression of his eyes, the pursing of the lips and the fluctuating
muscles of his jaw spoke of unpleasant thoughts passing through his
mind. A business talk with Lablache, under the circumstances, could not
afford the rancher much pleasure. He followed the money-lender into the
sitting-room.

The apartment was very bare, mannish, and scarcely the acme of neatness.
A desk, a deck chair, a bench and a couple of old-fashioned windsor
chairs; a small table, on which breakfast things were set, an old
saddle, a rack of guns and rifles, a few trophies of the chase in the
shape of skins and antelope heads comprised the furniture and
decorations of the room. And too, in that slightly uncouth collection,
something of the character of the proprietor was revealed.

Bunning-Ford was essentially careless of comfort. And surely he was
nothing if not a keen and ardent sportsman.

"Sit down." Bill indicated the chairs with a wave of the arm. Lablache
dubiously eyed the deck chair, then selected one of the unyielding
Windsor chairs as more safe for the burden of his precious body, tested
it, and sat down, emitting a gasp of breath like an escape of steam from
a safety-valve. The younger man propped himself on the corner of his
desk.

Lablache looked furtively into his companion's face. Then he turned his
eyes in the direction of the wi