ideals.  Ford grinned to himself, wondering if Ches didn’t have to do his smoking altogether in the bunk-house; he judged her to be just the woman to wage a war on tobacco, and swearing, and muddy boots, and drinking out of one’s saucer, and all other weaknesses peculiar to the male of our species.  He was inclined to pity Ches, in spite of his mental acknowledgment that she was a very nice woman indeed; and he was half inclined to tell Mason when he saw him that he’d have to look further for a foreman.

He found the girl lying upon a bunk just inside the door, still with closed eyes and that corpse-like look in her face.  He was guilty of hoping that she would remain in that oblivious state for at least five minutes longer, but the hope was short-lived; for when he lifted her carefully in his arms, her eyes flew open and stared up at him intently.

Ford shut his lips grimly and tried not to mind that unwinking gaze while he carried her out and up the path, across the little bridge and on to the house, and deposited her gently upon her own bed.  He had not spoken a word, nor had she.  So he left her thankfully to Kate’s tearful ministrations and hurried from the room.

“Lordy me!” he sighed, as he closed the door upon them and went back to the bunk-house, which he entered with a sigh of relief.  One tribute he paid her, and one only:  the tribute of feeling perturbed over her presence, and of going hot all over at the memory of her steady stare into his face.  She was a queer girl, he told himself; but then, so far as he had discovered, all women were queer; the only difference being that some women were more so than others.

He sat down on the bunk where she had lain, and speedily forgot the girl and the incident in facing the problem of that foremanship.  He could not get away from the conviction that he was not to be trusted.  He did not trust himself, and there was no reason why any man who knew him at all should trust him.  Ches Mason was a good fellow; he meant well, Ford decided, but he simply did not realize what he was up against.  He meant, therefore, to enlighten him further, and go his way.  He was almost sorry that he had come.

Mason, when Ford confronted him later at the corral and bluntly stated his view of the matter, heard him through without a word, and did not laugh the issue out of the way, as he had been inclined to do before.

“I’ll be all right for a month, maybe,” Ford finished, “and that’s as long as I can bank on myself.  I tell you straight, Ches, it won’t work.  You may think you’re hiring the same fellow that came out of the North with you—­but you aren’t.  Why, damn it, there ain’t a man I know that wouldn’t give you the laugh if they knew the offer you’ve made me!  They would, that’s a fact.  They’d laugh at you.  You’re all right, Ches, but I won’t stand for a deal like that.  I can’t make good.”

Mason waited until he was through.  Then he came closer and put both hands on Ford’s shoulders, so that they stood face to face, and he looked straight into Ford’s discolored eyes with his own shining a little behind their encircling wrinkles.