“There is an element of the unexplainable in woman,” said the doctor, and resumed his way to his room.  Once there, something prompted him to act with the greatest possible speed.  He tossed his toilet articles and a few changes of linen into a small, flexible valise and ran down the stairs.  He reached the veranda again, panting, and the girl was not in sight; a smile of triumph appeared on the grave, colourless lips of the doctor.  “Feminine instinct, however, is not infallible,” he observed to himself, and to one of the cowboys, lounging loosely in a chair nearby, he continued his train of thoughts aloud:  “Though the verity of the feminine intuition has already been thrown in a shade of doubt by many thinkers, as you will undoubtedly agree.”

The man thus addressed allowed his lower jaw to drop but after a moment he ejaculated:  “Now what in hell d’you mean by that?”

The doctor already turned away, intent upon his thoughts, but he now paused and again faced the cowboy.  He said, frowning:  “There is unnecessary violence in your remark, sir.”

“Duck your glasses,” said the worthy in question.  “You ain’t talkin’ to a book, you’re talking to a man.”

“And in your attitude,” went on the doctor, “there is an element of offense which if carried farther might be corrected by physical violence.”

“I don’t foller your words,” said the cattleman, “but from the drift of your tune I gather you’re a bit peeved; and if you are—­”

His voice had risen to a ringing note as he proceeded and he now slipped from his chair and faced Randall Byrne, a big man, brown, hard-handed.  The doctor crimsoned.

“Well?” he echoed, but in place of a deep ring his words were pitched in a high squeak of defiance.

He saw a large hand contract to a fist, but almost instantly the big man grinned, and his eyes went past Byrne.

“Oh, hell!” he grunted, and turned his back with a chuckle.

For an instant there was a mad impulse in the doctor to spring at this fellow but a wave of impotence overwhelmed him.  He knew that he was white around the mouth, and there was a dryness in his throat.

“The excitement of imminent physical contest and personal danger,” he diagnosed swiftly, “causing acceleration of the pulse and attendant weakness of the body—­a state unworthy of the balanced intellect.”

Having brought back his poise by this quick interposition of reason, he went his way down the long veranda.  Against a pillar leaned another tall cattleman, also brown and lean and hard.

“May I inquire,” he said, “if you have any information direct or casual concerning a family named Cumberland which possesses ranch property in this vicinity?”

“You may,” said the cowpuncher, and continued to roll his cigarette.

“Well,” said the doctor, “do you know anything about them?”

“Sure,” said the other, and having finished his cigarette he introduced it between his lips.  It seemed to occur to him instantly, however, that he was committing an inhospitable breach, for he produced his Durham and brown papers with a start and extended them towards the doctor.