use, and Lance used
it. He could not think,--he could not face his own trouble when he was
near Mary Hope. She drove everything else from his mind, and Lance
knew that some things must not be driven from his mind. He had set
himself to do certain things. Now, with Mary Hope loving him, there
was all the more reason why he should do them.

The ranch seemed deserted, though of course it was late and he knew
that every one would be in bed. He found a lantern, put Coaley into
the box stall again, and spent a long time rubbing him down and
carrying him fresh hay and water. He went up then and roused Sam
Pretty Cow, who was sleeping in the small cabin he had elected to make
his own private habitation on the ranch. Sam Pretty Cow told him that
no one had come home as yet.

"Two, three days, I dunno. Mebby Tom comes then," he hazarded,
blinking at Lance. "This too quick. Nobody comes back same day, you
bet."

Lance stood looking down at him, scowling thoughtfully. "Sam, you've
been a long time with the outfit. You've been a good man. You aren't
crippled up--and you're the best rider of the bunch of us. Why don't
_you_ go out any more?"

Sam lighted a cigarette, blew out the blazing match and laid the burnt
stub carefully on a box. He smoked stolidly, gazing at the dingy wall
before him.

"Bust them bronks in the corral," he said at last, grinning briefly.
"You stay long, you see me ride. Uh-huh--yo' bet."

"Well, yes. That's all right. But why don't you go with the outfit?"
Lance leaned against the wall, arms folded, studying him. It was
almost hopeless, trying to get anything out of Sam Pretty Cow; still,
Lance tried it.

Sam Pretty Cow looked up at him, looked down at his bare feet that he
had swung out of bed when Lance wakened him.

"Uh-huh. That's why. That all right, I'm go. That ain't all right, I'm
don' go. You bet."

Lance tap-tapped his right arm with the fingers of his left hand,
chewed his lip and looked at Sam Pretty Cow.

"Still, dad lets you stick around the outfit," he drawled meaningly.

Sam Pretty Cow shot a quick glance toward him, looked at the door,
relaxed again and studied his toes which he wriggled on the dirty
floor.

"I'm good man, you bet. I'm mind my business." He drew a long breath,
glanced again from the door to Lance's face. "Tom's damn smart
man--me, I'm mebby smarter. I dunno."

Lance looked down at him, smiling strangely. "Sam, I'm minding my
business, too. I'm doing it by--n