You don't have to go, do you? You don't really want to?"

"No, Miss, I don't have to an' I don't want to-if you want me to stay."

"Then you will stay?"

He nodded. "But I reckon you'd better tell Colby," he said, "for I expect he's aimin' to give me my time."

"Oh, no, I'm sure he's not," she cried. "Hal likes you, Bull. He told me you were one of his best friends, and he was so sorry about your losing the job as foreman. He said he hated to take it."

Bull made no comment and whatever his thoughts his face did not betray them. Presently he jerked his head in the general direction of the corrals where the Wainrights, having hastily clambered into their buckboard, were preparing to depart.

"Say the word," he told her, "and I'll run them short sports so far outta the country they won't never find their way back."

"No," she replied, smiling; "let them go. They'll never come back here, I'm sure."

"I reckon the old gent figgers he ain't very popular round these diggins," said Bull, with the faintest trace of a smile; "but I don't know so much about how thet young dude stands." He looked questioningly at Diana.

"About deuce high, Bull," she replied. "I saw enough of him to last me a couple of lifetimes the day the renegades jumped us."

"I reckoned as much, Miss, knowin' you as I do. Scenery an' the gift o' gab ain't everything, but sometimes they fool wimmen folks-even the brightest of 'em."

"He was awfully good company," she admitted.

"When they warn't no Injuns around," Bull completed the sentence for her. "The old feller seemed all het up over somethin' about the time I happened along. I heered him say he was set on gettin' this property. Is that what they come over fer?"

"Yes. He offered me a quarter of what he'd offered Dad for it, and his offer to Dad was only about twenty per cent of what it's worth. You see, Bull, what they want is the mine. They are just using the range and the cattle as an excuse to get hold of the mine because they think we don't know the real value of the diggings; but Dad did know. There's another vein there that has never been tapped that is richer than the old one. Dad knew about it, and somehow Wainright learned of it too."

"The old skunk!" muttered Bull.

The Wainrights were driving out of the ranch yard and heading toward Hendersville. The older man was still breathing hard and swearing to himself. The younger was silent and glum. They were going to town for dinner before starting on the long drive back to their ranch. Approaching them along the trail at a little distance ahead was a horseman. Young Wainright recognized the rider first.

"That's Colby," he said. "He hasn't any use for that fellow Bull. They are both stuck on the girl. It might not be a bad plan to cultivate him-if you want to get even with Bull."

As they came nearer it appeared evident that Colby was going by them with nothing more than a nod. He did not like either of them-especially the younger; but when they drew rein and the older man called to him he turned about and rode up to the side of the vehicle.

"You're still foreman here, ain't ye?" asked Wainright senior.

Colby nodded. "Why?" he inquired.

"Well, I jest wanted to tell ye that some of your men ain't got a very pleasant way of treatin' neighbors."

"How's that?"

"Well, I was jest a-leavin' after a social call when one of yer men starts shootin' at me. Thet ain't no way to treat friends an' neighbors. Suppose we was to shoot up your men when they came over our way?"

"Who was it?" demanded Colby.

"Bull," said the younger Wainright. "I suppose he was drunk again, though.