the
futility of his position. With anyone other than Juliet Bissell, perhaps,
he realized that insistent pressure of his suit might have favorable
results. But this cool, calm girl offered no opportunity for argument or
hope.

"Mebbe if yuh waited a bit, yuh might think different about it," he
ventured nevertheless. She shook her head.

"No, Mike, I wouldn't, I am sure. If you care for me you will never
mention this again. And for my part, I shall always remember what you have
said to me to-day. It is a sweet thing for a girl to know that a man loves
her."

Such gracious refusals are effective with most men, both because they
succeed in closing a tender subject and at the same time leave an
unwounded pride. But Stelton was not the ordinary type of lover.

Repressed emotions in somber minds feed and grow fat upon their own
substance, and it was inconceivable that Stelton's genuine though
distorted love, an abnormal product of ten long years, should be
dismissed thus with a few words.

"Why won't you marry me?" he demanded, looking angrily into her level,
brown eyes.

"I have told you I did not love you. That is the reason and the best
reason in the world. Now I ask you to drop the subject."

"Love somebody else, I suppose," he sneered, baring his teeth in a fatal
attempt at an ugly smile.

"If I do, it is none of your business," she replied, her eyes beginning to
blaze.

"That dude sheepman, I allow. He's a gilt-edged vanderpoop, he is! But I'd
hate to be in his boots, if you want to know it."

"Look here, Mike Stelton," and Juliet drew her horse abruptly to a stop,
"either you say nothing more on this subject or I shall tell my father
what you have done this afternoon when we reach home."

Instantly the man saw he had gone too far, and, with a quickness born of
hatred, immediately changed his front.

"I was only thinkin' of protectin' you," he muttered, "and I'm sorry I was
ornery about things. That feller Larkin is a bad lot, that's all. He
wouldn't be out here if he wasn't."

Perhaps it was that Juliet had given a greater place to Larkin in her
thoughts than she realized; perhaps his eloquent defense of wool-growing
had not been sufficient explanation for his unheralded appearance on the
range. Whatever the reason, the girl rose to the bait like a trout when
the ice has left the rivers.

"What do you mean by that?" she demanded.

"You remember that feller Caldwell that rode in late to supper the ni