foxy."

Beaver Boy grunted as Casey put his strength on the strap and the broad
cinch bit into his glossy skin.

"And that's loose a-plenty," said his mistress. "He blows himself up
like a turkey gobbler. I need a block and tackle to cinch him right."
She shaded her eyes with her hand. "Somebody coming. I'll wait and see
who it is."

Much to their surprise, it was none other than Farwell. He rode
briskly, head up, shoulders back, with the air of a man whose mind is
made up. But he refused to get off his horse, asking Sheila's
permission to ride with her.

"I wanted to tell you," he said, "that you'll have water for the summer
anyway. I've just had a wire from headquarters to shut down, and to
turn the normal flow of the river back into its old channel." He smiled
grimly. "They didn't know that the elements had attended to that.
Thought you'd like to know. Might save you worry. Don't know the
company's reason, and it's none of my business. I'm paying off the
whole outfit to-night, including the men we were speaking of. To-morrow
I'll pull out myself. Glad to do it."

"Sorry to have you go," said Casey.

"You say it all right, but I know better," said Farwell bluntly. "I
don't want to keep Miss McCrae waiting. Will you shake hands?"

Casey put out his hand. It was caught, thumb crotch to thumb crotch, in
a grip of steel. He laughed as he threw every ounce of strength into
his own fingers.

"Good man," said Farwell. "I like a man with a handgrip, and you've got
it. Any time you're ready, Miss McCrae?"

Sheila went up as lightly as a boy. Beaver Boy was off as she touched
the saddle. Farwell followed. They melted into the distance, galloping
side by side, the dust, in spite of the night's rain, puffing up from
the flying hoofs.

At the end of a mile Beaver Boy's exuberance had not subsided. He
thrashed out with his heels, and gave a tentative pitch. Farwell, who
had been riding slightly behind, ranged up alongside.

"I should think you'd get a quiet horse," he said.

"I'll make this one quiet!" snapped Sheila, for she was still sore, and
the hard pace had told on her temper through her bruises. "He's
actually beginning to think he can do as he likes with _me_." Beaver
Boy shied to show his independence, and she slashed him mercilessly
with the quirt, setting her teeth as he plunged. "You would, would you,
you brute? I'll show you!"

Farwell, riding in, grabbed for the headstall.

"Get away!" she flamed. "