"You know what. Who bought the ranch? Was it Braden?"
"No," Faith replied, "it was a young man named Chetwood."
"Wha-a-t!" cried Jean in tones which left no doubt of her utter amazement. "Oh, stop joking! This is serious."
"He bought it," Angus assured her.
"But—but he couldn't!" Jean exclaimed incredulously. "Angus, you know he couldn't. Why he's broke! He's working for you for wages."
"Just what the old sheriff said," Angus laughed. "But it's straight, Jean. He bid the ranch in for twenty-four thousand."
"But where did he get the money?"
"I don't know. But he had it."
"Then," Jean flashed, "I'll never speak to him again—never! To buy the ranch, your ranch, our ranch—at a sale! Oh, the miserable, contemptible—"
"Hi, hold on!" Angus interrupted. "You don't understand. He didn't buy it for himself; he bought it in for us—to save it. He's a white man, all right, Jean."