AFTER the dinner at the sheriff’s house, life meant much to The Orphan, for the dinner had done its work and done it well. Whatever had been missing to complete the good fellowship between him and the others had been supplied and by the time the outfit was ready to leave for home, all corners had been rounded and all rough edges smoothed down. With his outfit he was in hearty, loyal accord, and the spirit of the ranch had become his own. With the sheriff his already strong liking had been stripped of any undesirable qualities, and he felt that Shields was not only the whitest man he had ever met, but also his best friend. He had become more intimate with the sheriff’s household, and for Mrs. Shields he had only love and respect.

With Helen his cup was full to overflowing, for he had managed to hold several long talks with her during the afternoon, and to his mind he had heard nothing detrimental to his hopes. His eyes had been opened as to what it was he had been hungering for, and the knowledge thrilled him to his finger-tips. He was a red-blooded, clean-limbed man, direct of words and purpose, reveling in a joyous, surging, vigorous health, in tune with his surroundings; he was dominant, fearless, and he had a saving grace in his humor. To him came visions of the future, golden as the sunrise, rich in promise and assurance as to a happiness such as he could only feebly feel. Himself he was sure of, for he feared no failure on his part; as far as he was concerned it was won. Helen, he believed from what the day had given him, would not refuse him when the time came for her to decide, and his effervescent spirits sent a song to his lips, which he hurled to the sky as a war-cry, a slogan of triumph and a defiance.

As yet he knew nothing of the sheriff’s plans, and his thoughts concerning his future position in the community did not dare to soar above that of foreman of some ranch. To this end he would bend his energies with all the power of his splendid trinity–heart, mind and body. He was far too happy to think of failure, because there would be none; had the word passed through his mind he would have laughed it into oblivion. His experience gave him confidence, for he was no weakling sheltered and protected by any guiding angel; to the contrary, he was the survivor of a bitter war against conditions which would have destroyed a less strong man; he was victor over himself and his enemies, a conqueror of adverse conditions, a hewer of his own path; his enemies had been his best friends, and his long fight, his salvation. For ten years he had constantly fought a bitter fight against nature and man; hunger and thirst, plots and ambushes had all played their parts, and he had won out over all of them. He was young, hopeful and unafraid, and now that he was on the right trail he would bend every energy to stay there, and he would stay there, be the opposition what it might; and if the opposition should be man, and of a strength dangerous to him, he would destroy it as he had destroyed others before it. While now scorning to use his gun on every provocation he would depend upon it as on a court of last resort–and its decision would be final.

He held ill wishes against no man save one, and that one was the man who had placed the rope about the neck of his father. He did not know that man’s name, and he did not know that he might not be among those who had already paid for that crime. But should he ever learn that he lived he would take payment in full be the cost what it might.

But he had no thoughts for strife, he only knew that the sun had never been so bright, the sky so blue and the plain so full of life and beauty as it was on this perfect day. Only one other day rivaled it–the day he had swayed weakly by the side of a dusty coach and had felt warm, soft fingers touching his forehead. But, he told himself with joy, there would be days to come which would eclipse even that.

He was aroused from his reverie by the approach of the foreman, who gave him a hearty hail and smiled at the happy expression on the puncher’s face.

“Well, you look like you had struck it rich!” cried Blake. “What is it, gold or silver?”

“Gold or silver!” cried The Orphan in contempt at such cheapness. “By God, Blake, I wouldn’t sell my claim for all the gold and silver in this fool earth! Gold or silver! Why, man, I know where there is plenty of both. Here,” he cried, plunging his hand into his chaps pocket, “look at this!”

The foreman looked and whistled and took the object into his hand, where he examined it critically. “By George, it’s the yellow metal, all right, and blamed near pure!” He returned it to its owner and added: “That’s the real stuff, Orphan.”

“Yes, it is,” replied the other as he pocketed the nugget. “And I know where it came from. There’s plenty left that’s just like it, but I wouldn’t go after it if it was diamonds.”

“You wouldn’t!” exclaimed Blake in surprise. “By George, I’d go to-morrow, to-night, if I knew. Gold like that ain’t to be sneered at. It spells ranches, ease, plenty, anything you want. And you wouldn’t go for it?”

“No, I wouldn’t, and I won’t,” replied the puncher. “I’m going to stay right here on this range and make good with my hands and brains. I’m going to win the game with the cards I hold, and when I say win I mean it. There are times when gold is a dangerous thing to have, and this is one of them, as you’ll understand when I disclose my hand. When I win I won’t need gold bad enough to go through hell and hot water for it and risk not getting back to my claim, and it’s one hundred to one that I wouldn’t get back, too. And if I lose, mind you, if, I won’t have any use for it. I picked that nugget up in the middle of the damnedest desert God ever made, and when I got off it I was loco for a week. I won’t tell any friend of mine where it is because I want my friends to go on drawing their breath. I need my friends a whole lot, and that’s why I don’t tell you where it is. I was saving that for my enemies. Two have gone after it already, and haven’t been heard of since.”

“Well, you are the first man who ever told me that gold isn’t worth going after, and you have convinced me that in your case you are right,” laughed the foreman.

“You wouldn’t have to be told if you knew that desert as I do,” replied The Orphan.

“How was the sheriff last night?” asked Blake. “Or didn’t you notice, being too much occupied in your claim?”

The Orphan looked at him and then laughed softly: “He was the same as ever–the best man I ever knew. But how in thunder do you know about my claim? How did you know what I meant? I thought that I had covered that trail pretty well.”

Blake put his hand on his friend’s shoulders and gravely looked at him: “Son, having eyes, I see; having ears, I hear; having brains, I think. If you have been fooling yourself that you are on a quiet trail, just listen to this: There ain’t a man who knows you well that don’t know what you’re playing for, even Bill had it all mapped out the second time he saw you. And most of us wish you luck. You’re not a man who needs help, but if you do need it, you know where to come for it.”

“Thank you, Blake,” replied The Orphan, eagerly filling his lungs with the crisp air. “That’s why I ain’t hankering for that gold–I’m too blamed busy making my own.”

“Well, what I wanted to speak to you about is this,” said the foreman, thinking quickly as to how to say it. “Old man Crawford got me to promise that I’d pick up a herd of cows for him before fall. Now, I would just as soon do it myself as not, but if you want to try your hand at it, go ahead. He wants about five thousand, to be delivered in five herds, a thousand each, at his corrals. He won’t pay any more than the regular price for them, and the more you can drop the price the better he will like it, of course. They must be good, healthy cattle and be delivered to him before payment is made. What do you say?”

“I say that it’s a go!” cried The Orphan. “I’ve had some great luck lately!” he exulted. “I’m ready to go after them whenever you say the word, to-night if you say so. And I’ll get the right number and kind or know the reason why. And I’ll take a hand in driving the last herd to him myself. Good Lord, what luck!”

Blake talked a while longer about the trip, giving necessary instructions about prices and where he would be likely to find the herd, and then rode off in the direction of Ford’s Station for a consultation with his friend, the sheriff.

“Hullo, Tom!” came from the stage office as he rode past. He quickly turned his head and then stopped, smiling broadly.

“Why, hullo, Bill,” he replied. “Glad to see you. How are things? Had any trouble lately?”

“Nope, times are real dull since that day in the defile,” Bill answered with a grin. “I saw Tex once at Sagetown, but he ain’t talking none these days, he’s too busy thinking. You see, I’ve got a purty strong combination backing me and nobody feels like starting it a-going, because there ain’t no telling just where it’ll stop. The Orphant and the sheriff make a blamed good team, all right.”

“None better at any game, Bill,” replied Blake. “And you used the right word, too. They’re going to pull together from now on, in fact, the Star C will be in harness with them.”

“That’s the way to talk!” cried Bill enthusiastically. “I always said that Orphant was a white man, even before I ever saw him,” he said, forgetting much that he might be in hearty accord. “He can call on me any time he needs me, you bet. He cheated the devil twice with me, and I ain’t a-going to forget it. But say, what do you think of the sheriff’s sister, Helen? Ain’t she a winner, hey? Finest girl these parts have ever seen, all right, and her friend ain’t second by no length, neither.”

“Why, Bill,” exclaimed Blake, a twinkle coming to his eyes, “you are not allowing yourself to get captured, are you? That’s a risky game, like starting up The Orphan and the sheriff, for there’s no telling just where it will stop.”

“No, I ain’t letting myself get captured,” sighed Bill. “I ain’t no fool. Bill Howland knows a thing or two, which he learned not more than a thousand years ago. I’ve got it all sized up. And since then I’ve seen a certain bang-up puncher hitting the trail for the sheriff’s house some regular twice a week. Nope, I’m a batchler now and forever, long may I wave.”

“Say,” he continued, suddenly remembering something. “What’s the sheriff up to now? Is he going to have a picnic out on Crawford’s ranch? He asked me if he could have the lend of the stage on an off day some time soon. Wants me to drive it for him out to the A-Y and back. I don’t know what his game is, and I don’t care none. I’ll do it, all right. But what’s he going to do out there, anyhow?”

Blake laughed: “Oh, nothing bad, I reckon. You’ll probably learn all about it as soon as the rest of us. How do you expect me to know anything about it? Mebby he is going to have a picnic out there for all we know. The A-Y is a good place for one, ain’t it?”

“You just bet it is,” cried Bill. “Your ranch is all right, Blake, but I like the A-Y better. It’s got windmills and everything. Finest grove near the ranch-house that I ever saw, and I’ve seen some fine groves in my time. Old man Crawford knew a good thing when he saw it, all right. Here comes Charley Winter like he had all day to go nowhere–he’s got a good job with the Cross Bar-8, but I wouldn’t have it for a gift–no, sir, money wouldn’t tempt me to be one of that outfit. But I reckon it’s some better out there than it once was since the sheriff and The Orphant amputated its inflamed fingers. Hullo, Charley,” he cried as the newcomer drew rein. “I was just telling Blake what a good job you have got with Sneed.”

“Hullo, you old one-hoss driver,” grinned Charley. “Hullo, Tom,” he cried. “Looking for the sheriff?”

“Hullo, Charley,” said the foreman, shaking hands with Sneed’s substitute puncher. “Yes, I am. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s out at the Cross Bar-8, giving Sneed a talking to,” Charley answered. “Bucknell went and got loaded again last night, raised h–l in town and out of it all the way home. He thought he wanted to shoot up The Orphan, so he was some primed. Jim is telling Sneed to hold him down to water and peace unless he wants to lose him. He’ll be in soon, though. How’s The Orphan getting on out at your place?”

“Fine!” answered Blake, his face wearing a frown. “But I’m some sorry about that fool Bucknell, though. He may get on a spree some day and find The Orphan. I don’t want any more gunplay, and if that idiot does find him and gets ambitious to notch up his gun another hole, there’ll shore be some loose lead. If he ever gets on Star C ground, and I catch him there, I’ll shore enough wipe up the earth with him, and when you see him, just tell him what I said, will you? It ain’t no joke, for I will.”

“Shore I’ll tell him,” replied Charley. “When will that bunch of cattle be on hand–I’m anxious to swap jobs.”

Blake flashed him a warning glance and tried to ignore the question by changing the subject, but it was too late, for Bill was curious.

“What cattle is that, Charley?” asked the driver in sudden interest.

“Oh, some cattle that I’m going to get of Blake for Sneed,” lied Charley easily.

“What in all get out does Sneed want with any Star C cows?” Bill asked in surprise. “He’s got plenty of cows of his own, unless The Orphant shot a whole lot more than I thought he did.”

“I don’t know, Bill,” replied Charley. “I didn’t ask him, it being plainly none of my business.”

Bill scratched his head: “No, I reckon not,” he replied doubtfully.

“Here comes Shields now,” said Blake suddenly. “I reckon I’ll ride off and meet him. So long, Bill.”

“So long,” replied Bill. “Be sure to tell The Orphan I was asking about him. So long, Charley.” He turned abruptly and entered the stage office: “I don’t understand it,” he muttered. “There’s something in the wind that I can’t get onto nohow. He has shore got me guessing some, all right.”

The clerk tossed aside the paper and stared: “Well, that’s too d––d bad, now ain’t it?” he asked sarcastically. “You ought to object, that’s what you ought to do! What right has anybody to keep quiet about their own business when you want to know, hey? If I wanted to know everybody’s business as bad as you do, I’d shore raise h–l, I would. Why don’t you choke it out of him, wipe up the earth with him? Go out right now and give him a piece of your mind.”

“Oh, you would, would you! You’re blamed smart, now ain’t you? You work too hard–your nerves are giving away,” drawled Bill as he picked up the paper. “Sitting around all day with your feet on the table and a pipe in your mouth that you’re too lazy to light, working like the very devil trying to find time to do the company’s business, which there ain’t none to do. Ain’t you ashamed to go to bed?–it must take a lot of gall to hunt your rest at night after finding it and hugging it all day. What would you do for a living if I forgot to bring the paper with me some day, hey? You ain’t got enough animation to want to know what is going on in this little world of ours, you––”

“You get out of here, right now, too!” yelled the clerk. “I don’t want you hanging around bothering me, you pest! Get out of here right now, before I get up and throw you out! Do you hear me!”

Bill crossed his legs, pushed back his sombrero, turned the page carefully and then remarked, “I licked four husky cow-punchers, real bad men, last month. One right after the other, and I was purty near all in, too.” He glanced at the next page disinterestedly, spat at a fly on the edge of the box cuspidor and then added wearily and with great deprecation, “I’m feeling fine to-day, never felt so good in my life, but I need more exercise–I’m two pounds over weight right now.”

The clerk showed interest and awe: “Weight?” he asked. “What is your fighting weight?”

Bill looked up aggressively: “Fighting weight?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “My fighting weight is something over nine hundred pounds, when I’m real mad. Ordinarily, one hundred and eighty. Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” replied the clerk, staring out of the window.