him a slow, graceful courtesy, and laughed at him. And so she
left him, her laughter floating back, taunting him.

Lee watched her until she had gone from his sight. Then he turned and
went down the knoll, into the night.

XIX

BUD LEE SEEKS CROOKED CHRIS QUINNION

Going down the knoll to the bunk-house, Bud Lee cursed himself at every
stride. He cursed Carson when the cattle foreman, turning to follow
him, addressed a merry remark to him concerning his "lady-killing
clothes." The words reminded him of Judith's and he didn't cherish the
remembrance. In the bunk-house Carson watched him curiously over his
old pipe as Lee began ripping off his dress-suit.

"A feller called you up a while ago," said Carson, still bright-eyed
with interest but pretending that that interest had to do with the new
wall telephone recently installed. "Sandy Weaver, it was. Said----"

"What did he want?" demanded Lee, swinging suddenly on Carson, his coat
balled up in his hand and hurled viciously under a bunk.

"Wasn't I telling you?" Carson grunted. "What's eating you, Bud? You
ac' mighty suspicious, like a man that had swallered poison or else was
coming down with the yeller jaundice or else was took sudden an'
powerful bad with love. They all treats a man similar----"

"Damn it," growled Lee irritably, "can't you tell me what Weaver said?"

"Said, call him up, real pronto," replied Carson cheerfully. "Say,
Bud, where in heck _did_ you get that outfit? By cripes, if I had a
regalia like that I'd be riding herd in 'em ev'ry Sunday! On the
square now----"

But Lee wasn't listening to him and Carson knew it. He had gone
quickly to the telephone, had rung the one bell for "Central," and a
moment later was speaking with Sandy Weaver of the Golden Spur saloon.
Carson sucked at his pipe and kept his eyes on Lee's face.

The ensuing conversation, only one side of which came to Carson, was
brief. Most of the talking was done by Sandy Weaver. Lee asked three
questions; the third a simple,

"Sure of it, Sandy?"

Then he jammed the receiver back upon its hook, and with no remark
continued his hurried dressing. When he had come in, his face had been
flushed; now it was suddenly red, the hot red of rage. His eyes, when
they met Carson's once, were stern, bright with the same quick anger.
When he had drawn on his working garb and stuffed his trousers into his
boots, he went to his bunk and tossed back the blanket. Fr