"Again?"
"That very same question was on my lips—or just behind them. Isn't there any other section of land in all Canada that would suit you as well? If it is humanly possible I must take title to this one back to my father."
There was a troubled, considering quality in her tone; a naive suggestiveness in the lift of her long bronze lashes.
The difficulty of Sergeant Jack was approaching the acute stage. There was no other section of land in all Canada that suited his purpose; yet he could not tell this strangely appealing young creature why this was the key acreage. It was vital that none should know him for what he really was. So clever, so daring had been the operation of the rustlers of this prize Canadian horse stock that no one could be trusted. He felt the need of verbal fencing now, especially as a possibility that their former meeting might be disclosed to further handicap him.
"How long has your father lived in Fire Weed?" he asked suddenly.
"Ten years. But what has that to do with it?"
"And all these ten years this particular section has been open to purchase. How comes it that you only want it now that someone else does?"
Bernice drew up with scorn, her nose taking an increasingly impertinent tilt. "I can see that it's hopeless to treat with you, but I don't mind answering your question. It was plumb carelessness on our part, once we had enough money to buy it. We thought the Rafter A owned it. Reckon they thought we did. It takes a greener to come along and get at the truth of no-man's land. Now, then, Mr. Childress, will you tell me why you covet this particular gap in our glorious hills?"
Evidently a straight-shooter, this Flame of Fire Weed! She was out with the one question he wished she had not thought to ask. He could not answer in full truth and he doubted that any half measure would satisfy one whose eyes were so discriminating.
"I shall graze some stock," he began lamely.