"What kind of a fellow is he, anyway?" he went on. "Does he go it alone up at his ranch?"

At the last question Bill Marcom, discreetly silent, shifted his eyes in the direction of the foreman, and, following them, Bud surprised a covert glance between Graham and his wife. It was the latter who finally answered.

"Not exactly."

Buck was not without intuition, and he shifted to safer ground.

"Got much of a herd, has he?"

Marcom rolled a fresh cigarette skilfully, and drew the string of the tobacco pouch taut with his teeth.

"He did have, one time, but I don't believe he's got many left now. There's been a bunch lost there every storm I can remember. He don't keep any punchers to look after 'em, and he's never on hand himself. The woman and the kid," with a peculiar glance at the stout housekeeper, "saved 'em part of the time, but mostly they just drifted." The speaker blew a great cloud of smoke, and the veins at his temples swelled. "It's a shame, the way he neglects his stock and lets 'em starve and freeze!"

The blood coursed hot in the veins of Bud Buck.

"Why don't somebody step in?"

There was a meaning silence, broken at last by Graham.