The promise of the night flat and stale in his mouth, Thornton turned his back upon the merriment in the little schoolhouse and strode away to his horse awaiting him under the oak.  He tightened the cinch with a savage jerk, coiled his tie rope and flung himself into the saddle.  Did he not already have enough on his hands without running after a girl with grey eyes and a blazing temper?  Had he not already enough to think about, what with guarding his range interests from a possible visit from the marauder who was driving wrath into the hearts of the cattle men and terror into the hearts of the isolated families, what with scraping every dollar here and there that he might be on time with his final payment to Henry Pollard?  Must he further puzzle over the insolent whims of a captious girl?

Which was all very well, and yet as he turned Comet’s head toward the Poison Hole ranch the blood was still hot on his brow, his thoughts were still busy with Winifred Waverly and the enigma she was to him, while his mind, still touched with the opiate of the loveliness of her, was filled with the picture she made in the moment of her flaming accusation.

“I have been calling her Miss Grey Eyes!” he mused angrily.  “That name doesn’t suit her.  Little Blue Blazes would be better!”

“Mr. Thornton!”

It was Henry Pollard’s voice, and for a moment Thornton had no thought of heeding it.  But the voice called again, and he drew an impatient rein, waiting.

“Well,” came his answer shortly.  “What do you want?”

“I want to talk business with you or I wouldn’t stop you,” Pollard returned coolly.  He came close to Comet’s head and in the same, cool, impersonal voice continued.

“When time comes for your last payment are you going to be able to make it?”

“Until time does come,” Thornton snapped at him, “it’s my business what I’m going to do.”

“Certainly it’s your business.  But since you’ve put fifteen thousand into it already I guess you won’t slip up on the last five thousand.  Now it’s nearly five months until that payment falls due, isn’t it?”

“Well?  Talk fast, Pollard.”

“I want to make you a proposition.  I need money, and I don’t mind saying that I need it bad!  I’ve got a chance for something good, something big, in a mining speculation, and I’m short of cash.  If I could raise the money within thirty days...”

Thornton laughed.

“Nothing doing, Pollard,” he cut in.  “When your money’s due you can come talk to me.  Not before.”

“I said I had a proposition, didn’t I?” went on Pollard evenly.  “I see where I can make by it, and I’m willing for you to profit at the same time.”

“Spit it out.  Where do I get off?”

“You owe me five thousand yet.”

“Five thousand with interest, six per cent....”

“Forget the interest; I don’t want it.  And I’ll carve five hundred dollars off the five thousand too, if you’ll raise it within thirty days.  That is my proposition.  What do you say to it?”

For a little Buck Thornton was silent, thinking swiftly.  For the life of him he could not but look for some trickery in any proposition which might come from “Rattlesnake” Pollard.  And when Pollard coolly offered to give away eight hundred dollars, five hundred of it principal, three hundred interest, Thornton had an uneasy sense that there was something crooked in the deal.  But at the same time he knew that a year ago Pollard had been short of funds and for this reason had been driven to sell the Poison Hole.  Hence it might be that now Pollard was telling the truth when he said that he needed money.

“You mean,” he said presently, speaking slowly, trying to see Pollard’s face in the shadows, “that if I come across with four thousand five hundred dollars in thirty days you will give me the deed to the Poison Hole?”

“That’s what I mean,” agreed Pollard bluntly.  “It’s a proposition you can take or leave alone.  Only you have got to take it right now if you want it.  What do you say?”

“I’ve got out the habit of carrying forty-five hundred around in my vest pocket....”

“You’ve got an equity of fifteen thousand in a range that is worth a whole lot more than you are paying for it, young man!  The bank in Dry Town would advance you the money and never bat an eye.”

Again Thornton asked himself swiftly if there were some trap here Pollard was setting for him to blunder into.  But he could see none, and he could understand that matters might stand so that the smaller sum now would be worth more to him than the larger amount in five months.

“This is the fifteenth,” replied the cowboy.  “On the twenty-fifth I’ll have the money ready at the Dry Town bank.”

“I don’t want it in the bank,” Pollard told him shortly.  “I want it in my fist!  It’s just about time for the stage to get held up again, and I’m taking no chances on this bet.  You bring the money to me or the bet’s off.”

“An’ I take the chances of gettin’ held up!” grunted Thornton.

“You take all the chances there are.  You stand to make eight hundred dollars, and you can take it or leave it!  If you take it you can have the papers made out in town, deed and receipt and all, and I’ll sign them.  You can bring them to me at the Corners, or,” with a little sneer creeping into his cool voice, “if you don’t like the Corners, anywhere you say.  And you can have half a dozen witnesses if you like.”

“Why don’t you ride with me into Dry Town?”

“Because I don’t want to!  Because, if you agree to put this thing over, I’m going to be mighty busy getting my deal in shape here and on the other side of the line.”

“All right.  I’ll take the chance,” Thornton said crisply, his voice as cool as Pollard’s had been.  “I’ll raise the money and I’ll get the papers made out.  I’ll bring them to you at Hill’s Corners on the morning of the twenty-fifth.”

He reined Comet about, turning again toward the range, and gave him his head.  Pollard watched him a moment, then swinging about upon his heel, went back toward the school house.  Chase Harper’s voice from within rose above the fiddle and guitar, calling for the quadrille.  Broderick came forward to meet Pollard.

“Well?” he asked quickly.  “You made him your proposition?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?” Broderick’s voice and eyes alike were eager.

“He swallowed it whole,” laughed Pollard.

Broderick laughed with him, and then suddenly, the laughter going out of his voice, his hand shutting down tight upon Pollard’s arm and drawing him away further from the door, deeper into the shadows, his words almost a whisper, he said: 

“He danced with Winifred.  You saw that?”

“Yes, damn him.  That’s what he came for.  But I don’t think that they said anything....”

“Shut up, man!  Don’t you suppose I know what you mean?  I don’t know what they said.  It’s up to you to find out.  He gave her something, a little parcel done up in paper.  I don’t know what.  That’s up to you, too.  And, what’s more,” and his voice grew harsh with the menace in it, “it’s up to you that they don’t see each other again!  I don’t think that any harm was done tonight.  He went away red-mad.  When I stopped him at the door for a minute he hardly knew I was there.  They didn’t say a word to each other the last half of their dance.  She said something to him, and her eyes were on fire when she said it, like his when he went out; that put an end to their talk.  They didn’t even say good night.”

“I’ve got a notion to send her away,” muttered Pollard sullenly.  “It was a fool idea to drag a woman into this.”

“Send her away ... now?” cried Broderick sharply.  “You’re the fool, Pollard.  She’s the best bit of evidence we’ve got.  Keep her here, but for God’s sake, man, keep her close!  And let’s jam this thing through to a quick finish.”

“You’re right, I suppose, Broderick.”  Pollard ran his hand across a wet forehead.  “We’ve got to put the whole thing across in a hurry.  Ten days, and we’ll wind it up....  What’s Cole Dalton doing?”

“He’s getting mighty hot under the collar,” said Broderick grimly.  “He’s got to get somebody in his little old jail damn’ soon, or he’ll have a bunch of wild men in his hair.  And he knows it.  Now we can get our crop planted and things will be ripe for him to gather in in eleven days.”

“Let’s go inside.”  Pollard turned toward the front door.  “I want to see Winifred.  I want to see how she looks before she gets through thinking about Thornton.”

And Winifred Waverly, who, after her stunned hesitation when she had seen Thornton and Broderick standing side by side in the doorway, and who had hurried out through the back door, hoping to find Thornton before he had gone, got to her feet in the black shadow where she had crouched by the school house wall, her face dead white, her eyes wide and staring, her heart pounding wildly.