Mose, recognizing Ford at once, had asked him, with a comical attempt at secrecy, if he had anything to drink.  When Ford shook his head, Mose stifled a sigh and went back to his dishwashing, not more than half convinced and inclined toward resentfulness.  That a “booze-fighter” like Ford Campbell should come only a day’s ride from town and not be fairly well supplied with whisky was too remarkable to be altogether plausible.  He eyed the two sourly while they talked, and he did not bring forth one of the fresh pies he had baked, as he had meant to do.

It was not until Ford was ready to light his after-dinner cigarette that Mason led the way into the next room, which held the bunks and general belongings of the men, and closed the door so that they might talk in confidence without fear of Mose’s loose tongue.  Ford immediately pulled off his boots, laid himself down upon one of the bunks, doubled a pillow under his head, and began to eye Mason quizzically.  Then he said: 

“Say, you kinda played your hand face down, didn’t you, Ches, when you wrote and asked me to come out here and take charge?  Eight years is a long time to expect a man to stay right where he was when you saw him last.  You’ve lost a whole lot of horse sense since I knew you.”

“Well, what about it?  You came, I notice.”  Mason grinned and would not help Ford otherwise to an understanding.

“I didn’t come to hog-tie that foreman job, you chump.  I just merely want to tell you that you’ll get into all kinds of trouble, some day, if you go laying yourself wide open like that.  Why, it’s plumb crazy to offer a job like that to a fellow you haven’t seen for as long as you have me.  And if you heard anything about me, it’s a cinch it wasn’t what would recommend me to any Sunday-school as a teacher of their Bible class!  How did you know I wouldn’t take it?  And let you in for—­”

“Well, you’re here, and I’ve seen you.  The job’s still waiting for you.  You can start right in, to-morrow morning.”  Ches got out his pipe and began to fill it as calmly and with as much attention to the small details as if he were not mentally tensed for the struggle he knew was coming; a struggle which struck much deeper than the position he was offering Ford.

Ford almost dropped his cigarette in his astonishment.  “Well, you damn’ fool!” he ejaculated pityingly.

“Why?  I thought you knew enough—­you punched cows for the Circle for four or five years, didn’t you?  Nelson told me you were his top hand while you stayed with him, and that you ran the outfit one whole summer, when—­”

“That ain’t the point.”  A hot look had crept into Ford’s face—­a tinge which was not a flush—­and a glow into his eyes.  “I know the cow-business, far as that goes.  It’s me; you can’t—­why, Lordy me!  You ought to be sent to Sulphur Springs and get your think-tank hoed out.  Any man that will offer a foreman’s job to a—­a—­”