hat that should end the incident. Also,
she still felt rather resentful toward Masten for his attitude toward Tom
Chavis after she had complained. And also, lurking deep in her
unsophisticated mind was a most feminine impulse to sting Masten to
jealousy. She looked up to meet Vickers' gaze, fixed curiously upon her.

"Could you recommend this man--Randerson?" she asked.

"Why, ma'am, he's got the best reputation of any man in these parts!"

"But is he efficient?"

"Meanin' does he know his business? Well, I reckon. He's got the best
head for range work of any man in the country! He's square, ma'am. An'
there ain't no man monkeyin' with him. I've knowed him for five years,
an' I ain't ever knowed him to do a crooked trick, exceptin'"--and here
he scratched his head and grinned reminiscently--"when he gets the devil
in him which he does occasionally, ma'am--an' goes to jokin', ma'am. But
they're mostly harmless jokes, ma'am; he's never hurt nobody, bad. But he
got a level head--a heap leveler than a lot of folks that--"

"I think Tom Chavis would make a good range boss, Ruth," said Masten. He
did not look at her, and his words were expressionless.

"Mister man," said Vickers evenly, "what do you know about Tom Chavis?"

Masten looked quickly at Vickers, and as quickly looked away, his face
slowly reddening.

"He's foreman now, isn't he?" he said. "It seems that Harkness trusted
him that much."

"There's a first time for every man to go wrong, Mister," said Vickers.

Masten's voice was almost a sneer.

"Why don't you tell Chavis that?"

"I've told him, Mister--to his face." Vickers' own face was growing dark
with wrath.

"You were range boss after Harkness' death," persisted Masten. "Why
didn't you discharge Chavis?"

"I'm askin' the new boss for permission to do it now," declared Vickers.
"It'll be a good wind-up for my stay here."

"We shall keep Chavis for the present," said Ruth. "However," she added
firmly, "he shall not be range boss. I do not like him."

Vickers grinned silent applause. And again Uncle Jepson had trouble with
his pipe. Aunt Martha worked her knitting needles a little faster.
Masten's face paled, and the hand that held the cigar quickly clenched,
so that smoking embers fell to the porch floor. Whatever his feelings,
however, he retained his self-control.

"Of course, it is your affair, Ruth," he said. "I beg your pardon for
offering the suggestion."

But he left them shortly aft