gone to drink--"

"Will you hush?" There were tears of anger in Josephine's voice. "He
isn't, I tell you!"

"What does he keep that jug in the closet for? And every few hours he
comes up to the house and goes into his room--and he never did that
before. And have you noticed his eyes? He'll scarcely talk any more, and
he just pretends to eat. At dinner to-day he scarcely touched a thing!
It's a sure sign, Phenie."

Ford was growing tired of that sort of thing. It dimmed the radiance of
Josephine's belief in him, to have Mrs. Kate so sure of his weakness. He
got up from the bed as quietly as he could and left the house. He was
even more thoughtful, after that, but not quite so gloomy--if one cared
enough for his moods to make a fine distinction.

Have you ever observed the fact that many of life's grimmest battles and
deepest tragedies scarce ripple the surface of trivial things? We are
always rubbing elbows with the big issues and never knowing anything
about it. Certainly no one at the Double Cross guessed what was always
in the mind of the foreman. Jim thought he was "sore" because of Dick.
Dick thought Ford was jealous of him, and trying to think of some scheme
to "play even," without coming to open war. Mrs. Kate was positive, in
her purely feminine mind--which was a very good mind, understand, but
somewhat inadequate when brought to bear upon the big problems of
life--that Ford was tippling in secret. Josephine thought--just what she
said, probably, upon the chill day when she calmly asked Ford at the
breakfast table if he would let her go with him.

Ford had casually remarked, in answer to a diffident question from Mrs.
Kate, that he was going to ride out on Long Ridge and see if any stock
was drifting back toward the ranch. He hadn't sent any one over that way
for several days. Ford, be it said, had announced his intention
deliberately, moved by a vague, unreasoning impulse.

"Can I go?" teased Buddy, from sheer force of habit; no one ever
mentioned going anywhere, but Buddy shot that question into the
conversation.

"No, you can't. You can't, with that cold," his mother vetoed promptly,
and Buddy, whimpering over his hot cakes, knew well the futility of
argument, when Mrs. Kate used that tone of finality.

"Will you let me go?" Josephine asked unexpectedly, and looked straight
at Ford. But though her glance was direct, it was unreadable, and Ford
mentally threw up his hands after one good look at her, an