He spoke indifferently, but Winston was not a fool, and knew that he was lying.

“Turn your face to the light,” he said sharply.

A little ominous glint became visible in Courthorne’s eyes, and there was just a trace of darker color in his forehead, but Winston saw it and was not astonished.  Still, Courthorne did not move.

“What made you ask me that?” he said.

Winston watched him closely, but his voice betrayed no special interest as he said, “I fancied I saw a mark across your cheek.  It seemed to me that it had been made by a whip.”

The deeper tint was more visible on Courthorne’s forehead, where the swollen veins showed a trifle, and he appeared to swallow something before he spoke.  “Aren’t you asking too many questions?  What has a mark on my face to do with you?”

“Nothing,” said Winston quietly.  “Will you go through the conditions again?”

Courthorne nodded.  “I pay you one hundred dollars—­now,” he said.  “You ride south to-morrow along the Montana trail and take the risk of the troopers overtaking you.  You will remain away a fortnight at my expense, and pass in the meanwhile for me.  Then you will return at night as rancher Winston, and keep the whole thing a secret from everybody.”

Winston sat silent and very still again for more than a minute.  He surmised that the man who made the offer had not told him all and there was more behind, but that was, after all, of no great importance.  He was prepared to do a good deal for one hundred dollars, and his bare life of effort and self-denial had grown almost unendurable.  He had now nothing to lose, and while some impulse urged him to the venture, he felt that it was possible fate had in store for him something better than he had known in the past.  In the meanwhile the cigar he held went out, and the striking of a match as Courthorne lighted another roused him suddenly from the retrospect he was sinking into.  The bitter wind still moaned about the ranch, emphasizing its loneliness, and the cedar shingles rattled dolefully overhead, while it chanced that as Winston glanced towards the roof his eyes rested on the suspended piece of rancid pork which, with a little flour and a few potatoes, had during the last few months provided him with sustenance.  It was of course a trifle, but it tipped the beam, as trifles often do, and the man who was tired of all it symbolized straightened himself with a little mirthless laugh.

“On your word of honor there is nothing beyond the risk of a few days’ detention which can affect me?” he said.

“No,” said Courthorne solemnly, knowing that he lied.  “On my honor.  The troopers could only question you.  Is it a deal?”

“Yes,” said Winston simply, stretching out his hand for the roll of bills the other flung down on the table, and, while one of the contracting parties knew that the other would regret it bitterly, the bargain was made.  Then Courthorne laughed in his usual indolent fashion as he said, “Well, it’s all decided, and I don’t even ask your word.  To-morrow will see the husk sloughed off and for a fortnight you’ll be Lance Courthorne.  I hope you feel equal to playing the role with credit, because I wouldn’t entrust my good fame to everybody.”