he could get out of bed and into a saddle was to spur his
way hard and fast to her; to make her, against a score of burly
cousins, his own; and never to release her from his sudden arms
again.

With de Spain, to think was to do; at least to do something, but not
without further careful thinking, and not without anticipating every
chance of failure. And his manner was to cast up all difficulties and
obstacles in a situation, brush them aside, and have his will if the
heavens fell. Such a temperament he had inherited from his father's
fiery heart and his mother's suffering, close-set lips as he had
remembered them in the little pictures of her; and he now set himself,
while doing his routine work every day, to do one particular thing--to
see, talk to, plead with, struggle with the woman, or girl,
rather--child even, to his thoughts, so fragile she was--this girl who
had given him back his life against her own marauding relatives.

For many days Nan seemed a match for all the wiles de Spain could use
to catch sight of her. He spent his days riding up and down the line
on horseback; driving behind his team; on the stages; in and out of
the streets of Sleepy Cat--nominally looking for stock, for equipment,
for supplies, or frankly for nothing--but always looking for Nan.

His friends saw that something was absorbing him in an unusual, even
an extraordinary way, yet none could arrive at a certain conclusion as
to what it was. When Scott in secret conference was appealed to by
Jeffries, he smiled foolishly, at a loss, and shook his head.

Lefever argued with less reticence. "It stands to reason, Jeffries. A
man that went through that ten minutes at Calabasas would naturally
think a good deal about what he is getting out of his job, and what
his future chances are for being promoted any minute, day or night, by
a forty-five."

"Perhaps his salary had better be raised," conceded Jeffries
reflectively.

"I figure," pursued Lefever, "that he has already saved the company
fifty thousands in depredations during the next year or two. The
Calabasas gang is busted for five years--they would eat out of his
hand--isn't that so, Bob?"

"The Calabasas gang, yes; not the Morgans."

John's eyes opened on Scott with that solemnity he could assume to
bolster a baldly unconvincing statement. "Not now, Bob. Not now, I
admit; but they will."

Scott only smiled. "What do you make out of the way he acts?"
persisted Lefever, resenting h