mebbe, but there's somethin' else. I've overheard things now an' then I
couldn't make head or tail of, but they're up to somethin'--Yuh ain't
goin', are yuh?"

Buck had risen. "Got to," he shrugged. "Miss Thorne's waiting for me to go
down to the south pasture."

Bemis raised up on his pillows. "Well, listen; keep what I said under yore
hat, will yuh?"

"Sure," nodded Stratton reassuringly. "You needn't worry about that.
Anything else you want before I go?"

"Yes. Jest reach me my six-gun outer the holster there in the chair. If
I'm goin' to be left alone with that greaser, Pedro, I'd feel more
comfortable, someway, with that under my pillow."

Buck did as he requested and then departed. Something else! That was the
very feeling which had assailed him vaguely at times, that some deviltry
which he couldn't understand was going on beneath the surface. As he made
for the corral, a sudden possibility flashed into his mind. With her title
so precarious, might not Mary Thorne be at the bottom of a systematic
attempt to loot the Shoe-Bar of its movable value against the time of
discovery? But when he met her face to face the idea vanished and he even
felt ashamed of having considered it for a moment. Whatever crookedness
was going on, this sweet-faced, clear-eyed girl was much more likely to be
a victim than one of the perpetrators. The feeling was vastly strengthened
when he had saddled up and they rode off together.

"There's something I've been meaning to--to tell you," the girl said
suddenly, breaking a brief silence.

Buck glanced at her to find her eyes fixed on the ears of her horse and a
faint flush staining her cheeks.

"That room--" she went on determinedly, but with an evident effort. "A
man's room-- You must have thought it strange. Indeed, I saw you thought
it strange--"

Again she paused, and in his turn Buck felt a sudden rush of
embarrassment.

"I didn't mean to--" he began awkwardly. "It just seemed funny to find a
regular man's room in a household of women. I suppose it was your--your
father's," he added.

"No, it wasn't," she returned briefly. She glanced at him for an instant
and then looked away again. "You probably don't know the history of the
Shoe-Bar," she went on more firmly. "Two years ago it was bought by a
young man named Stratton. I never met him, but he was a business
acquaintance of my father's and naturally I heard a good deal of him from
time to time. He was a ranchman all his li