Ford went about his business with grim industry and a sureness of judgment born of his thorough knowledge of range work.  There was the winnowing process which left the bigger, stronger calves in charge of two men, at a line camp known locally as Ten Mile, and took the younger ones on to the home ranch, where hay and shelter were more plentiful and the loss would be correspondingly less.

Not until the last cow of the herd was safe inside the big corral beyond the stables, did Ford relax his vigilance and ride over to where Ches Mason and Buddy were standing in the shelter of the stable, waiting to greet him.

“Good boy!” cried Mason, when Ford dismounted and flung the stirrup up over the saddle, that he might loosen the latigo and free his steaming horse of its burden.  “I didn’t look for you before to-morrow night, at the earliest.  But I’m mighty glad you’re here, let me tell you.  That leaves me free to hit the trail to-morrow.  I’ve got to make a trip home; the old man’s down with inflammatory rheumatism, and they want me to go—­haven’t been home for six years, so I guess they’ve got a license to put in a bid for a month or two of my time, huh?  I didn’t want to pull out, though, till you showed up.  I’m kinda leery about leaving the women alone, with just a couple of sow-egians on the ranch.  Bud, you go get a pan of oats for old Schley.  Supper’s about ready, Ford.  Have the boys shovel some hay into the corral, and we’ll leave the bunch there till morning.  Say, the wagons didn’t beat you much; they never pulled in till after three.  Mose says the going’s bad, on them dobe patches.”

Not much of an opening, that, for saying what Ford felt he was in duty bound to say.  He was constrained to wait until a better opportunity presented itself—­and, as is the way with opportunity, it did not seem as if it would ever come of its own accord.  There was Buddy, full of exciting anecdotes about Rambler, and how he had rubbed the liniment on, all alone, and Rambler never kicked or did a thing; and how he and Josephine rode clear over to Jenson’s and got caught in the storm and almost got lost—­only Buddy’s horse knew the way home.  And, later, there was Mrs. Kate’s excellent supper and gracious welcome, and an evening devoted to four-handed cribbage—­with Josephine and Mason as implacable adversaries—­and a steady undercurrent of latent hostility between him and the girl, which prevented his thinking much about himself and his duty to Mason.  There was everything, in fact, to thwart a man’s resolution to discharge honorably a disagreeable duty, and to distract his attention.

Ford went to bed with the baffled sense of being placed in a false position against his will; and, man-like, he speedily gave over thinking of that, and permitted his thoughts to dwell upon a certain face which owned a perfectly amazing pair of lashes, and upon a manner tantalizingly aloof, with glimpses now and then of fascinating possibilities in the way of comradeship, when the girl inadvertently lowered her guard in the excitement of close playing.