But Ford was well pleased at the sight of the brown, beaten grasses.

Impulse was hardening to decision while he stared across the empty land toward the violet rim of hills; a decision to ride over to the Double Cross, and tell Ches Mason to his face that he was a chump, and have a smoke with the old Turk, anyway.

Ches had married, since that vividly remembered time when adventure changed to hardship and hazard and walked hand in hand with them through the wild places.

Ford wondered fleetingly if matrimony had changed old Ches; probably not--at least, not in those essential man-traits which appeal to men.

Ford suddenly hungered for the man's hearty voice, where kindly humor lurked always, and for a grip of his hand.
It was like him to forget all about the herder and the promise of pinochle that night.