Nevada’s face turned a dusky red and he halted at his task of packing to bend a piercing dark gaze on Ben. His lean hand shook as he held it out in a gesture of unconscious appeal.

“An’ suppose I am in love with Hettie?” he asked, with effort.

“Suppose you are! Why, it’s plain as your nose, which is pretty long. What do you mean?”

“Pard, I’m not fit to wipe the dust off Hettie’s little boots. I’m tellin’ you. But meetin’ her has changed me.”

“Nevada, I don’t believe you’ve been so darn bad,” said Ben, frankly. “Anyway, I’d trust Hettie with you. I told her so.”

“You did? My Gawd!” cried Nevada, huskily. “An’ what’d she do?”

“Hettie got as red as a rose,” laughed Ben. “And she said, ‘Why, Ben, I’m only sixteen!’ … If you want a hunch from me, Nevada, here it is. My sister likes you pretty well. That’s sure. We Ides are queer. But if we love anybody it’s forever. Of course my father would horsewhip you off the ranch if he caught you hanging round.”

“Reckon that’ll do. I’ll say you’re my kind of a man, Ben Ide. I owe you more’n I can ever pay.”

“We’re square, Nevada.”

“Wal, on that we’ll never agree. But lookin’ things plumb in the face heah we are two ragamuffin hoss–wranglers, outcasts if not outlaws, so all–fired crazy as to love the daughters of the richest an’ hard–headedest ranchers in northern California. Funny, ain’t it—aboot as funny as gettin’ kicked in the gizzard by a mean hoss?”

“Nevada, it’d look funny to other people, especially to guys like Mr. Sewell McAdam. But it’s not funny to us. It’s great and terrible. Maybe it’ll be the saving of us.”

“Ahuh! You’re comin’ around to sense. Cinch that tight, Ben…. An’ now enough of this mushy gab. Shake hands on this, Ben. We’ll make good, by Gawd, or die!”

Nevada’s ringing harsh words, his lean working white face, the passionate fire in his eyes, swayed Ben utterly. Their hands met in a grip of iron.

“Now, Ben, we’re shore goin’ to gamble,” said Nevada, his cool easy drawl returning.

“Are we?” queried Ben, ironically, yet with a thrill.

“How many hosses have you got in that river pasture?”

“Forty head. What of it?”

“How much are they worth?”

“I wouldn’t sell them.”

“You shore will. You’ll have to. What’ll they fetch, quick, at Klamath?”

“A hundred dollars a head, maybe more. Any horse dealer could see they’re worth two hundred.”

“Good! I reckoned so, but I wasn’t shore. Now, Ben, how many haid of that bunch can you let go?”

“Not a darn one!” yelled Ben.

“Boy, calm yourself. Listen. This heah card is the first you’re playin’ in the deal for Ina Blaine.”

Something shot like a bolt through Ben, a sensation that was both thrill and pang. Nevada was inexorable and irresistible. He held the mastery here and he knew it.

“All right, Nevada. How many horses do you want?” returned Ben, as if the words were wrung from him.