half-interest in the Three Bar at the expiration
of the time if you'd only keep off the place. But at the last moment
you couldn't resist having it all. Ten more days and you'd have been
too late."

The man nodded slowly.

"Too late," he agreed and sat looking into the fire.

She had been almost a son to her father, had ridden the range with him,
managed the Three Bar during his sickness; and such was her loyalty to
his memory that not a trace of her bitterness had been directed toward
her parent. He had loved the Three Bar and had always believed that
old Bill Harris, its founder, had loved it too. His will had
stipulated that half of his property should go to the younger Harris
under the condition that the man should make his home on the Three Bar
for two out of the first three years after her father's decease. The
whole of it was to go to him in case she failed to make her own home at
the Three Bar during her co-heir's stay, or in the event of her
marriage to another before the expiration of three years.

"Of course I'm tied here for two years," she said. "Or left penniless.
If you can make it unpleasant enough to drive me away--which won't be
difficult--you win."

"I wouldn't count too strong on that," he counseled mildly.

"Then why did you come?" she insisted. "Half of it was yours by merely
keeping away."

"Maybe I'm sort of tied up myself--in ways you don't suspect," he
offered.

"Very likely!" she returned; "sounds plausible. You might offer to
marry me," she suggested when he failed to answer. "You could gain
full possession at once that way."

He removed his gaze from the fire and looked long at her.

"It will likely come to that," he said.

"I'll put a weapon in your hands," she retorted. "Whenever it does
come to that I'll leave the ranch--so now you know the one sure way to
win."

"I hope it won't pan out like that," he said. "I'll be
disappointed--more than I can say."

She rose and stood waiting for him to go.

"Good night, Billie," he said. "I expect maybe things will break all
right for us."

She did not answer and he went out. Waddles hailed him in friendly
fashion as he passed through the cookhouse, then wiped his hands and
stepped into Billie's quarters. Waddles was a fixture at the Three
Bar; he had ridden for her father until he had his legs smashed up by a
horse and had thereafter reigned as cook. He was confidential adviser
and self-appointed guardian of the