--" he began. The girl's eyes chilled.

"H'm," said Benham, again.

CHAPTER XII

EXPOSED TO THE SUNLIGHT

It was a month before Trevison went to town, again. Only once during that
time did he see Rosalind Benham, for the Blakeleys had vacated, and goods
and servants had arrived from the East and needed attention. Rosalind
presided at the Bar B ranchhouse, under Agatha's chaperonage, and she had
invited Trevison to visit her whenever the mood struck him. He had been in
the mood many times, but had found no opportunity, for the various
activities of range work claimed his attention. After a critical survey of
Manti and vicinity, J. C. had climbed aboard his private car to be whisked
to New York, where he reported to his Board of Directors that Manti would
one day be one of the greatest commercial centers of the West.

Vague rumors of a legal tangle involving the land around Manti had reached
Trevison's ears, and this morning he had jumped on Nigger, determined to
run the rumors down. He made a wide swing, following the river, which took
him miles from his own property and into the enormous basin which one day
the engineers expected to convert into a mammoth lake from which the
thirst of many dry acres of land was to be slaked; and halting Nigger near
the mouth of the gorge, watched the many laborers, directed by various
grades of bosses, at work building the foundation of the dam. Later, he
crossed the basin, followed the well-beaten trail up the slope to the
level, and shortly he was in Hanrahan's saloon across the street from
Braman's bank, listening to the plaint of Jim Lefingwell, the Circle Cross
owner, whose ranch was east of town. Lefingwell was big, florid, and
afflicted with perturbation that was almost painful. So exercised was he
that he was at times almost incoherent.

"She's boomin', ain't she? Meanin' this man's town, of course. An' a man's
got a right to cash in on a boom whenever he gits the chance. Well, I'd
figgered to cash in. I ain't no hawg an' I got savvy enough to perceive
without the aid of any damn fortune-teller that cattle is done in this
country--considered as the main question. I've got a thousand acres of
land--which I paid for in spot cash to Dick Kessler about eight years ago.
If Dick was here he'd back me up in that. But he ain't here--the doggone
fool went an' died about four years ago, leavin' me unprotected. Well,
now, not digressin' any, I gits the idea that I'm goin' to u