you will realise that a
bucketful of sunlight doesn't run the devil out of business. Damme,
sirrah! Please to clear out with your accursed whistling."

I left him to cool his head in the morning breezes.

Nicholas Marsh was waiting for me at the scales when I arrived. He
wished me to see that they were balanced properly. He adjusted the beam,
adding a handful of shot or a nail or an iron washer to the weights.
Then we put on the fifty-pound test, and then a horse. When we were
satisfied that the scales were in working order, we weighed the cattle
four at a time. I took down the weights as Marsh called them, and when
we had finished, the drove was turned into the road toward the river.

Marsh grasped my hand when I turned to leave him. "Quiller," he said,
"it's hard to guard against a liar, but I do not believe there was ever
a time when I would have refused you these cattle. Your brother has done
me more than one conspicuous kindness. I would trust him for the cattle
if he did not own an acre."

"Mr. Marsh," I said, "what lie did Woodford tell you?"

"I was told," he replied, "that Mr. Ward had transferred all of his
land, and as these cattle would lose a great deal of money, he did not
intend to pay this loss. I was shown a copy of the court record, or what
purported to be one, to prove that statement. I do not think that I ever
quite believed, but the proof seemed good, and I saw no reason for the
lie."

He stopped a moment and swept the iron-grey locks back from his face.
"Now," he continued, "I know the reason for that lie. And I know the
paper shown me was spurious. It was high-handed rascality, but I cannot
connect it with Woodford. It may have emanated from him, but I do not
know that. The man who told me disclaimed any relation with him."

"Twiggs!" I said.

"No," he answered, "it was not Twiggs. The man was a heifer buyer from
the north country. I would scarcely know him again."

"Not Twiggs!" I cried, "he was here last night."

"I know it," Marsh answered calmly. "He brought me this letter from Miss
Cynthia. Will you carry it back to her, and say that your brother's word
is good enough for Nicholas Marsh?"

He put his hand into his coat and handed me Cynthia's letter; and I
stuffed it into my pockets without stopping to think. I tried to thank
him for this splendid fidelity to Ward, but somehow I choked with the
words pushing each other in my throat. He saw it, wished me a safe
drive, and rode aw