“Wal, look at that ragged little outfit,” declared Nevada, with sympathy. “Moore’s woman is cryin’ for very joy. Ben, you done her a good turn.”

At the last, when the horses were out of the corral, headed north, Sims called Ben aside and leaned down from his saddle.

“Ide, soon as I sell my share an’ fix up papers for you I’m headin’ for the wheat country on the Big Bend, in Washington,” he said, low–voiced. “Will you keep it under your hat?”

“Why, sure!” replied Ben, feeling a surprise, more at Sims’s manner than at his disclosure.

“You’re goin’ strong for cattle hyar?” he went on.

“Yes, some day.”

“I want to be square with you. Moore’s wife is my sister. She was dyin’ hyar. An’ I reckon you’ve saved my bacon. Now if I put you wise to somethin’ will you give me your word never to tell?”

Ben extended his hand and Sims wrung it. He was pale, tense, and his eyes glinted.

“I had to throw in with this cattle–thievin’ outfit thet hides in the mountains back of Silver Meadow. It was thet or starve. Wal, this outfit has a big cattleman backin’ it. Some one you’d never suspect. I had no use for them fellars an’ I was suspicious. So I spied on them. Now my hunch to you is this. Don’t throw in with anybody. Don’t trust any of these big dealers or ranchers. Don’t put any cattle in hyar till the thieves quit. An’ do a little spyin’ round on your own hook.”

With that Sims spurred his horse and galloped away across the dusty flat, leaving Ben standing there dumfounded. Nevada strolled up from somewhere.

“What the devil was Sims tellin’ you?” he inquired, casually, yet his keen glance scrutinized Ben.

“Nevada, I’m not at liberty to say, but it was a hell of a lot,” replied Ben, drawing his breath hard.

“Ahuh! Wal, pard, Modoc an’ I could tell you somethin’ aboot why these homesteaders was so darned glad to sell out an’ shake the dust of Tule Lake.”

“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,” rejoined Ben.

“Shore. An’ their loss is our gain. We’ve fallen into four hundred eighty acres of the best land in this country. But, Ben, my boy rancher, we’ll let it lay fallow for a while. Savvy?”

“You’re a cute son–of–a–gun,” retorted Ben, regarding his friend with admiration, not guessing how much Nevada knew!

“Wal, if I do say it myself I reckon I’m a pretty good pard to tie to,” said Nevada, complacently.

“Best in the world,” returned Ben, eloquently. Then he added, quizzically: “That is, the best man pard.”

“You darned fickle wild–goose chasin’ Forlorn River hermit!” ejaculated Nevada, with infinite disgust. “No woman, not even Hettie, could ever make me say that.”

“Nevada, I’ll bet Hettie could make you do anything. But we’re getting mushy again. Couple of fine industrious cowmen we’ll be, unless——”

“Ben, the cattle business is a side bet with us. We’re goin’ to ketch, breed, raise an’ sell hosses. Let’s ride over this four eighty of ours an’ see what we’re up against. Then to–morrow we’ll ride over to the lava beds and ice caves.”