ed, too, but
despite the old time-honored saw about misery loving company, he took
small comfort in the thought, being rather disposed to harsher judgment
of her for so unscrupulously playing upon that ignorant cowpuncher's
fatuous credulity. Red knew nothing of fine ladies and their heartless
machinations and it was a shame to encourage him in his hopeless folly.
No lady would take such cruel advantage of puerile innocence! It is
possibly apparent to the reader by this time that Mr. Douglass was
somewhat of an egotist, whose personal estimation of himself bulked
large in his stock in trade. If it be true that a man's vanity is the
real unit of the measure of his possibilities, then Ken Douglass, scaled
by the miles of his self-containment, might logically have aspired
beyond the stars. Not that he underestimated other men in the slightest;
he was quick to recognize and commend courage, fortitude, honesty and
skill in his compeers; indeed, he heartily despised anyone in whom these
primal qualities were not ingrained; but the ego was first in his cosmos
and when a man humbly urges that he is the equal of all other men it may
be set down as an axiom that he really thinks himself immeasurably their
superior. Now the world always accepts a man at his own valuation in
absence of evidence to the contrary, and he had vindicated his position
so far as his range work went; he was concededly the best rider, roper,
pistol shot and poker player in his circumscribed little world, and had,
besides, the enviable reputation of never "falling down" in anything he
essayed. In the flush of his present successes he entirely overlooked
his previous grievous failures, as is man's wont the world over; the
world was his own succulent oyster, and he, himself, the proper blade
for its opening. Therefore he arrogantly pitied Red's unsophistication;
at which the gods laughed.

As they rode along he made a clean breast of his dilemma. "It will have
to be largely a case of bluff," he confided, "and we must make it stick.
We have no time for lawing, and if we did, the shysters would get it
all. Bart isn't easily buffaloed and will put up a stiff fight. Of
course we've got the age on him--those hides are a strong card--but
we're not going to have a walk-over. I can't see my way clear just yet,
but it will work out as we go along. It sure won't be a picnic, but one
thing is certain; we'll either get those cattle or Matlock will have to
rustle a new par