An anguish came across Cartwright’s face.  It taught Sinclair at least one thing—­that the man loved her.

“You’re the reason—­maybe.”

“Me?  I never seen her till two days ago.  That’s a tolerable ugly thing to say, Cartwright!”

“Well, I got tolerable ugly reasons for saying it,” answered the other.

The cowpuncher sighed.  “I follow the way you drift.  But you’re wrong, partner.  Fact is, I didn’t know Cold Feet was a girl till this evening.”

Cartwright sneered, and Sinclair stiffened in his chair.

“Son,” he said gravely, “the worst enemies I got will all tell you that Riley Sinclair don’t handle his own word careless.  And I give you my solemn word of honor that I didn’t know she was a girl till this evening, and that, right away after I found it out, I come down here to straighten things out with you if I could.  Will you believe it?”

It was a strange study to watch the working in the face of Cartwright—­of hope, passion, doubt, hatred.  He leaned closer to Sinclair, his big hands clutched together.

“Sinclair, I wish I could believe it!”

“Look me in the eye, man!  I can stand it.”

“By the Lord, it’s true!  But, Sinclair, have you come down to find out if I’d take her back?”

“Would you?”

The other grew instantly crafty.  “She’s done me a pile of wrong, Sinclair.”

“She has,” said the cowpuncher.  He went on gently:  “She must of cut into your pride a lot.”

“Oh, if it was known,” said Cartwright, turning pale at the thought, “she’d make me a laughing stock!  Me, old Cartwright’s son!”

“Yep, that’d be bad.”  He wondered at the frank egoism of the youth.

“I leave it to you,” said Cartwright, settling back in his chair.  “Something had ought to be done to punish her.  Besides, she’s a weight on your hands, and I can see you’d be anxious to get rid of her quick.”

“How d’you aim to punish her?” asked Sinclair.

“Me?”

“Sure!  Kind of a hard thing to do, wouldn’t it be?”

Cartwright’s eyes grew small.  “Ways could be found.”  He swallowed hard.  “I’d find a heap of ways to make her wish she’d died sooner’n shame me!”

“I s’pose you could,” said Sinclair slowly.  He lowered his glance for a moment to keep his scorn from standing up in his eyes.  “But I’ve heard of men, Cartwright, that’d love a woman so hard that they’d forgive anything.”

“The world’s full of fools,” said the rich rancher.  He stabbed a stern forefinger into the palm of his other hand.  “She’s got to do a lot of explaining before I’ll look at her.  She’s got to make me an accounting of every day she’s spent since I last seen her at—­”

“At the wedding?” asked Sinclair cruelly.

Cartwright writhed in the chair till it groaned beneath his uneasy weight.  “She told you that?”

“Look here,” went on Sinclair, assuming a new tone of frank inquiry.  “Let’s see if we can’t find out why she left you?”