round the corner of one of the barns. But though his smile was lacking when the man came up and drew rein at his door, there was no mistaking the kindly cordiality of his greeting as he held out his hand.
“Why, Will,” he cried, “I’m real glad you’ve come along.”
CHAPTER II
A SHOOTING MATCH
In silence the two men sat smoking. Will Henderson, half sitting, half lying on the stretcher-bed, gazed out through the doorway at the distant mountain peaks. His hands were clasped behind his head, and a sullen, preoccupied look was in his eyes. Jim Thorpe was sitting, frog-fashion, on an upturned soap-box, watching him. His eyes were a shade anxious, but full of good feeling.
Jim was nine years his cousin’s senior, and Will was twenty-four. They were really almost foster-brothers, for from the younger man’s earliest days he had lived with Jim, in the care of the latter’s widowed mother. He was an orphan, both his parents having died before he was two years old, and so it was that he had been adopted by Jim’s mother, the child’s only living relative. For years Jim had lavished on him an elder brother’s affection and care. And when his own mother died, and he was left to his own resources, it still made no difference. Will must share in everything. Will’s education must be completed adequately, for that was Jim’s nature. His duty and inclination lay straight ahead of him, and he carried both out to the end. Perhaps he did more. Perhaps he overindulged and spoiled the youngster of whom he was so fond. Anyway, as in many similar cases, Will accepted all as his right, and gave very little in return. He was selfish, passionate, and his temper was not always a nice one.
In appearance there was a striking resemblance between these two. Not in face, but in figure, in coloring, in general style. A back view of them was identical. In face they differed enormously. They were both extremely handsome, but of utterly different types. Jim was classically regular of feature, while Will possessed all the irregularity and brightness of his Hibernian ancestry. Both were dark; dark hair, dark eyes, dark eyebrows. In fact, so alike were they in general appearance that, in their New York days, they had been known by their intimates as the “twins.”
Just now there was something troubling. And that something seemed to be worrying Will Henderson even more than his cousin. At least, to judge by outward appearances. He showed it in his expression, which was somewhat savage. He showed it in his nervous, impatient movements, in the manner in which he smoked. Jim had seen it at once, and understood. And he, too, was troubled.
They had been silent some time, and eventually it was Jim who spoke.
“Come on, lad. Let’s have it out,” he said, decidedly.
His voice was full and strong, and kindly.
The other stirred, but did not reply.
“This is your busy time, Will,” Jim went on. “You didn’t come away from those hills yonder to pass the time of day with me. You came because something wouldn’t let you rest. I know you, boy; I know you. Something’s troubling that mind of yours in a way that makes it hard for you to speak, even now you’re here. Shall I try and begin it for you?”
There was infinite kindness in the man’s tone. There was a smile in his eyes that might well have drawn a responsive smile from even an angry child.
Will removed his pipe, but the responsive smile was not forthcoming.
“I’ll open out, Jim,” he said coldly.
The other waited. The smoke of their pipes rolled up on the still, warm air of the room, upsetting the calculations of a few mischievously busy mosquitoes. The sun shone in through the doorway. The ranch was quiet now. All the “hands” had departed to their work, and only the occasional lowing of a solitary milch cow in one of the corrals, and the trampling feet of the horses waiting to be “broken,” and the “yeps” of a few mouching dogs, afforded any sign of life outside in the ranch yards.
Jim began to grow restive.
“Well, boy: I’ve some ‘breaking’ to do. Maybe you’ll come along. You can talk as we go.”
He half rose, but Will sat up in a moment.
“Not yet, Jim,” he said, almost roughly. Then his tone changed in a way through which his mercurial disposition spoke. “Look here,” he went on, “whatever happens in the future, I’d like you to understand that all you’ve done for me in the past counts for something.”
“Then it’s real serious, lad?” Jim smiled back at him. But he failed to catch his eye. Then he, too, changed his manner, and there was a sudden coolness in it. “You needn’t recite,” he said. “Anything I’ve done has been a–a pleasure to me. Our ways have lain a bit apart for some months, but it makes no difference to my feelings, except to make me regret it. The fortunes of war, eh? And a fair bit of grist is rolling into our separate mills. Honest grist. We’re good friends, lad–so let’s have it. It’s–it’s a woman?”
At the mention of the word, “woman,” Will seemed to utterly freeze up.
“Yes, it’s–a woman,” he said frigidly.
“Eve Marsham?”
“Yes.”
Jim sighed. He knew there were breakers ahead. Breakers which must be faced, and faced sternly.
“You love her?” There was a dryness in his throat.
“Yes. I–I can’t live without her. She is my whole world. She is more than that. God! How I love her!”
“I love her, too.”
Jim’s darkly brilliant eyes were on the younger man’s face. They compelled his gaze, and the two men looked long at each other, vainly trying to penetrate to that which lay behind. It was Will who turned away at last.
“I knew it,” he said, and there was no longer any pretense of cordiality in his tone.
“Well?”
“Well?”
It was a tense moment for both men; and tremendous in its possibilities. There was no shrinking in either now; no yielding. But, as it ever was, Jim took the lead after a few moments’ silence.
“And–does she love you?” he asked slowly.
His words were little above a whisper, but so tense was his feeling that his voice seemed to cut through the still air of the room. Will hesitated before replying. Perhaps he was reckoning up Jim’s chances as compared with his own. Finally, he was reluctantly compelled to make an admission.
“I don’t know–yet.”
The other sighed audibly. Then he mechanically began to refill his pipe. He wanted to speak, but there seemed to be nothing adequate to say. Two men, virile, thrilling with the ripe, red blood of perfect manhood, friends, and–a woman stood between them.
“It’s no good,” Jim said, preparing to light his pipe. “The position is–impossible.”
“Yes.”
Now both pipes were smoking as under a forced draught.
“I’d give my life for her,” the elder muttered, almost unconsciously.
Will caught at his
