, the first word he had said since Hume sprang
unexpectedly upon him, was lost in the low rumble of Martin Leland's
heavy voice.

"You've said what you wanted to say, Mr. Hume. We've heard it. We
understand each other. I can vouch for Conway's discretion. If you
are as careful yourself we are all right. I'll attend to both Ettinger
and Norfolk. I shall also see that at the end of the nine months the
Bar L-M is mine and that we have the water for Dry Valley."

Hume laughed. Without again looking toward Conway he stooped, picked
up the gauntlets he had let fall, and turned to the door.

"You are nobody's fool, Leland," he said patronisingly. "You are
taking a chance in freezing Red Shandon out but the law can't go after
you. And you stand to win a wad of money."

"Mr. Hume," interposed Leland sternly. "I am not taking over the Bar
L-M because there happens to be money in it. I am simply using the
weapon of retribution which God has seen fit to put into my hands--"

"Oh, rot!" grunted Hume sneeringly. "Don't come trying to square your
conscience with me. I say, go to it, if you can get across with it."

He jerked the door open and then stopped suddenly his hand still on the
knob.

"If you do slip up," he said bluntly, "if Red Shandon does hear about
it and gets busy, let me know. If he starts making trouble I can put
him where he'll be out of the way!"

The door closed loudly behind him.

CHAPTER X

SHANDON'S GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY

Wayne Shandon had grown more silent, more thoughtful than men had ever
known him. The two things which had come to him, one as unheralded as
the other, the gladness of a deep love, the bitterness which grew out
of Martin Leland's words, he kept to himself. He rode far and alone,
seeing very little of the men of the Bar L-M or of Garth, to whom he
still left the routine of the range, and who made the most of small
pretexts to keep up of Wayne's way. Shandon wanted time to think
coolly and deliberately for the first time in his life; he wanted time
to look inward as well as at what lay without, to cast up the balance
of what sums of good and bad were in his soul.

Until now he had been quite content with life as he found it. It had
afforded him infinite pleasure, it bubbled up sparklingly from the
fountain of contented youth, there had been no need for him to seek to
change its flashing current. Moreover, he had never had an incentive
to bestir himself. But th