hort, I guess,' he concluded lamely.

'I see,' responded Howard, whereas he saw nothing at all very clearly.
He busied himself with his pen, shook it savagely, opened his
cheque-book. 'Ten thousand this trip, wasn't it?'

Carr hesitated.

'I had figured on twelve five,' he said. 'Wasn't that the amount due
now?'

Howard hunted through the back of the drawer and finally found a little
memorandum book. He turned through the pages upon which he had
scribbled notes of purchases of cattle and horses and of ranch
equipment, passed on to a tabulation of his men's wages, and finally
stopped at a page devoted to his agreement with his friend.

'Here you are,' he said when he had found it. 'Ten thousand, due on
the eleventh of the month. I'm pretty near a week late on it, John,'
he smiled.

Carr however had his own note-book with him; readily he found his own
entry.

'I've set it down here as twelve thousand five hundred,' he said
quietly. 'You remember we talked over a couple of methods of payment,
Al. But,' and he snapped the rubber band about his book and dropped it
into his pocket, 'what's the odds? Let it go at ten.'

'No,' said Howard. 'Not if you've counted on more.' A flush ran up
into his face and his eyes were inscrutable. He was conscious of being
in the absurd mood to note trifles; John had come with his memoranda,
John had meant to ask him for the money. 'I'd just as lief pay
twenty-five hundred extra now as at any time.' And with lowered head
and sputtering pen he wrote the cheque.

'I don't want to inconvenience you, Al,' Carr accepted the cheque with
certain reluctance. 'Sure it's all right?'

'Sure,' said Howard emphatically. He tossed the pen and book into the
drawer. Now the awkwardness of the silence upon them was more marked
than ever before. Carr tarried only a few minutes, during which both
men were ill at ease. Only an expressionless 'So long!' passed between
them when he got up to go. They might see each other again before Carr
went East; they might not. Howard went back to his chair at the table,
staring moodily at the bluebird feather.

Nothing of the instinct of a clerk had ever filtered into the habits of
Alan Howard. His system of books was simple. He set down in one place
the amounts which came in; in another place those expended. He added
and subtracted. He deposited his money in the bank and checked it out.
He must bank more when the last was gone. That was