And to let that sea subside he wandered back to the eating room and found the tenderfoot finishing his coffee.  The latter kept an eye of frank suspicion upon him.  So the silence held for a brooding moment, until Bard asked:  “D’you know the way to the ranch of William Drew?”

It was a puzzler to Nash.  Was not that his job, to go out and bring the man to Drew’s place?  Here he was already on the way.  He remembered just in time that the manner of bringing was decidedly qualified.

He said aloud:  “The way?  Sure; I work on Drew’s place.”

“Really!”

“Yep; foreman.”

“You don’t happen to be going back that way to-night?”

“Not all the way; part of it.”

“Mind if I went along?”

“Nobody to keep you from it,” said the cowpuncher without enthusiasm.

“By the way, what sort of a man is Drew?”

“Don’t you know him?”

“No.  The reason I want to see him is because I want to get the right to do some—­er—­fishing and hunting on a place of his on the other side of the range.”

“The place with the old house on it; the place Logan is?”

“Exactly.  Also I wish to see Logan again.  I’ve got several little things I’d like to have him explain.”

“H-m!” grunted Nash without apparent interest.

“And Drew?”

“He’s a big feller; big and grey.”

“Ah-h-h,” said the other, and drew in his breath, as though he were drinking.

It seemed to Nash that he had never seen such an unpleasant smile.

“You’ll get what you want out of Drew.  He’s generous.”

“I hope so,” nodded the other, with far-off eyes.  “I’ve got a lot to ask of him.”

CHAPTER XVII

BUTCH RETURNS

He reminded Nash of some big puma cub warming itself at a hearth like a common tabby cat, a tame puma thrusting out its claws and turning its yellow eyes up to its owner—­tame, but with infinite possibilities of danger.  For the information which Nash had given seemed to remove all his distrust of the moment before and he became instantly genial, pleasant.  In fact, he voiced this sentiment with a disarming frankness immediately.

“Perhaps I’ve seemed to be carrying a chip on my shoulder, Mr. Nash.  You see, I’m not long in the West, and the people I’ve met seem to be ready to fight first and ask questions afterward.  So I’ve caught the habit, I suppose.”

“Which a habit like that ain’t uncommon.  The graveyards are full of fellers that had that habit and they’re going to be fuller still of the same kind.”

Here Sally entered, carrying the meal of the cowpuncher, arranged it, and then sat on the edge of Bard’s table, turning from one to the other as a bird on a spray of leaves turns from sunlight to shadow and cannot make a choice.

“Bard,” stated Nash, “is going out to the ranch with me to-night.”