e now and then when the sting was too sharp to ignore. With
the glasses he could see the sweat-roughened hide ripple convulsively
to dislodge the pestering insects, could see the flaring nostrils as
the horse blew out the dust gathered from his hungry nosing amongst
the coarse grass and weeds. The man Lance did not at once discover,
but after a little he saw him rolled in canvas to protect himself from
the mosquitoes. He seemed already fast asleep.

"He needs it," said Lance grimly, with his twisted smile, and went
back to the roan.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

LANCE PLAYS THE GAME

That night Lance sauntered into the bunk house, placidly ignoring the
fact that Tom was there, and that some sort of intermittent conference
was taking place. Cool and clean and silk-shirted and freshly shaved,
the contrast was sharp between him and the men sprawled on their beds
or sitting listlessly around the table playing keno. Tom lifted an
eyebrow at him; Lance sent him a look to match and went over to the
card players.

They did not want him in the bunk house. He who had spent nearly all
of his life on the Devil's Tooth ranch knew that he was not wanted.
They did not want him to know that he was not wanted, and by their
very effort to hide it did they betray themselves.

"Didn't go to Jumpoff after all, dad," Lance remarked idly, a rising
inflection turning the phrase into a question.

Tom grunted and got up to go. His men cast furtive glances at one
another, looked at Lance from under their brows, noted the silk
shirt and the low, tan Oxfords, and the texture and cut of his
gray trousers with the tan leather belt that had a small silver
buckle. Plain as it was they knew that buckle was silver. They saw
how clean-cut was the hairline at the back of his head and over his
ears--sure sign that he was "citified." And toward the man who is
citified your purely range-bred product cherishes a distinct if
secret grudge. His immaculate presence made them all feel frowsy and
unwashed and ill-clad. And to hide how conscious he was of his own
deficiencies, the man who sat nearest Lance lifted his hat and
rumpled his hair still more.

"Duke and Al didn't get in yet, eh?" Lance picked up an extra deck of
cards and began to shuffle them absent-mindedly but nevertheless
dexterously.

"Nope--they stayed out," replied a blond man named Winters. They
called him "Chilly."

"Hot weather for working cattle," Lance observed indifferently.