“Craig, then, your nephew—­” It was not natural for Chantry to be perfunctory, and he halted.

For a moment the big rancher was silent.  In his lap his fingers met unconsciously, tip to tip, in the instinctive habit of age.

“I anticipated that,” he said wearily.  “I realise it’s the obvious thing to do.  I never adopted How as I did the girl—­I was willing to, but he didn’t see the use—­and so Craig’s the only man kin I have.”  The life and magnetism, usually so noticeable in Landor’s great figure, had vanished.  It was merely an old man facing the end who settled listlessly into his seat.  “I had big hopes of the boy.  I hadn’t seen him since he was a youngster, and Frances, while she lived, was always bragging about his doings.  That’s why I sent for him.”  Pat, pat went the big fingers in his lap against each other.  “I’ve always felt that if worst came to worst the women folks would have someone practical to rely on; but somehow, when I saw him last night, from what he said and what he didn’t say, from the way he acted and the way he explained—­what happened here last evening—­” The speaker caught himself.  A trace of the old shrewdness crept into the grey eyes as he inspected his companion steadily.  “I know How pretty well, and when someone intimates to me that he is a grand-stand player, or goes out of his way to pick a quarrel, or meddles with someone else’s affairs—­” Again the big man caught himself.  The scrutiny became almost a petition.  “I cut you off short about what went on here yesterday,” he digressed.  “I didn’t want to hear.  I guess I was afraid to hear.  It’s been foolish, I know, but I’ve depended a good deal upon the boy, and I’m afraid he’s going to be a—­disappointment.”

With the old machine-like precision Chantry rolled another cigarette, lit it, sent a great cloud of smoke tumbling up toward the ceiling.  That was all.

“You see for yourself how it is,” said the rancher.  “I wouldn’t ask you again if there was anyone else I could go to; but there isn’t.  Maybe I’m only borrowing trouble, maybe there won’t be anything for you or anyone to do; but it would be a big load off my mind to know that if anything should happen.—­” He halted abruptly.  It was not easy for this man to discuss his trouble, even to a friend.  “It isn’t such a big thing I’m asking,” he hurried.  “I’m sure if positions were reversed and you were to request me—­”

“I know you would.  I realise I seem ungrateful.  I—­” Of a sudden, interrupting, Chantry arose precipitately:  a thin, ungainly figure in shiny, thread-bare broadcloth, exotic to the point of caricature.  Unconsciously he started pacing back and forth across the room, restlessly, almost fiercely.  Never in the years he had previously known the man had Landor seen him so, seen him other than the impassive, almost forbidding practitioner of a minute ago.  For the time being his own trouble was forgotten in surprise, and he stared at the transformation