“Suit yourself, but I’m advisin’ ag’in’ it.”

“I know you are,” replied the other, patiently. “But why? You don’t give me any good reasons.”

“Wal, I reckon I haven’t any ’cept I know his father, Amos Ide.”

“Hart, I don’t care a damn for Amos Ide, or his son, either,” retorted Setter, coolly. “Ben Ide has the key to this valley. Why, his place will be priceless some day! With that an’ the three ranches round Mule Deer Lake we can control all the good range clear to your holdings at Silver Meadow. Thirty miles of Forlorn River! That’s the cream of this country. How did you cattlemen fail to see it?”

“Wal, we’ve all been workin’ too hard, till lately,” responded Blaine, dryly. “But I agree with you. There’s a fortune to be made on Forlorn River.”

“Fortune? Well, I should snigger,” said Setter, scornfully. “Ide’s got one spring over there that’s worth a million. Your cowboys said it had always been under water—under the river. If Ide knew it he sure kept his mouth shut.”

“Reckon he did know. He always was a smart boy. Perhaps he’s seen the future of this valley. Mebbe that’s why he bucked his father so hard. If so we’ll never buy him out.”

“See here, Hart, it’s only you talkin’ about buyin’ out this boy’s holdings,” returned Setter, testily. “We won’t buy him out. We’ll drive him out. Remember I told you Ben Ide is tied up with a Nevada outlaw. I know him. Their ranchin’ an’ wild–horse huntin’ are only bluffs. Blinds to hide their cattle rustlin’. It’s an old gag. I’ve seen it work in Montana, Arizona, Nevada. But it’s new here in California.”

“Strong talk again, Setter,” said Blaine, tersely.

“Yes, an’ it comes natural to me,” replied Setter, meaningly. “I’ll make these plans an’ carry them out. All you do is furnish what ready cash we need, an’ I’ll bet we can buy out Sims an’ his neighbor homesteaders for next to nothin’.”

“Poor devils! I shouldn’t wonder. I’m givin’ you a hunch that I ain’t as keen about this ranch buyin’ as I was. Some of my old friends have turned ag’in’ me for it. My wife, too, is worryin’ me.”

“I’ve seen all that, Blaine, an’ am allowin’ for it,” rejoined Setter, suavely. “But business is business. These poor devils would be all the worse off if we didn’t buy. Let’s put this big Forlorn River deal through an’ then we’ll have about all we can handle.”

“Huh! Reckon I’ve got that now,” said Blaine, gruffly. “There was hell to pay to–day.”

“What?” queried Setter, sharply.

Ina, watching keenly, saw in this man’s swift responsiveness, in the alert intent flash of his prominent eyes, a preparedness, a reserve force not to be accounted for by what lay behind her father’s statement. This man wore a mask. He was two men at the same time.

“Young McAdam showed up here to–day,” explained Blaine. “He got to monkeyin’ round Ina an’ she slapped his face. Then she turned him down cold. Wal, he came to me, ugly an’ mean. Reckon I didn’t savvy him. An’ I got ugly, too, an’ called him a few names on my own hook. He left swearin’ he’d have me in court. Now I’ll have to go to Klamath to–morrow an’ raise that thirty thousand old McAdam put in one of our deals. You see, I didn’t tell you he was set on his son Sewell marryin’ Ina. An’ I, like a damn fool, encouraged them. Without thinkin’ much about my girl, I’m bound to say. But I got the thirty thousand on the strength of a marriage between Sewell an’ Ina.”