“Well, you be a good girl and padlock your tongue.  If you do, I’ll fix it up with Tom,” he promised.

He sauntered forward toward the path.  Dixon, full of his news, was hurrying to the ranch.  He was eager to tell it to the Sandersons, because he wanted to reinstate himself in their good graces.  For, though neither of them knew he had fired the shot that wounded Weaver, he had observed a distinct coolness toward him for his desertion of Phyllis in her time of need.  It had been all very well for him to explain that he had thought it best to hurry home to get help.  The fact remained that he had run away and left her alone.

Now he was for pushing past Keller with a curt nod, but the latter stopped him with a lift of the hand.

“What’s your sweat?”

“Want to see me, do you?”

Keller nodded easily.

“All right.  Unload your mind.  I can’t give you but a minute.”

“Press of business on to-day?”

“It’s my business.”

“I’m going to make it mine.”

“What do you mean?” came the quick, suspicious retort.

“Let’s walk back up the trail and talk it over.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Their eyes clashed, and those of the stronger man won.

“We can talk it over here,” Dixon said sullenly.

“We can, but we won’t.”

“I don’t know as I want to go back up the trail.”

“Come.”  Larrabie let a hand fall on the shoulder of the other man—­a brown, strong hand that showed no more uncertainty than the steady eyes.

Dixon cursed peevishly, but after a moment he turned to go back.  He did not know why he went, except that there was something compelling about this man.  Besides, he told himself, his news would keep for half an hour without spoiling.  They walked nearly a quarter of a mile before he stopped.

“Now get busy, Mr. Keller.  I’ve got no time to monkey,” he stormed, attempting to regain what he had lost by his concession.

“Sho!  You’ve got all day.  This rush notion is the great failing of the American people.  We hadn’t ought to go through life on the lope—­no, sir!  We need to take the rest cure for that habit,” Larrabie mused aloud, seating himself on a flat boulder between Tom and the ranch.

Dixon let out an oath.  “Did you bring me here to tell me that durn foolishness?”

“Not only to tell you.  I figured we would try out the rest cure, you and me.  We’ll get close to nature out here in the sunshine, and not do a thing but rest till the cows come home,” Keller explained easily.  His voice was indolent, his manner amiable; but there was a wariness in his eyes that showed him prepared for any move.

So it happened that when Dixon made the expected dash into the chaparral Keller nailed him in a dozen strides.

“Let me alone!  Let me go!” cried Tom furiously.  “You’ve got no business to keep me here.”