“I think, old boy, you’ll remember me when we meet again,” Scotty heard him say.  “Good luck to you meantime,” and with a last pat he picked up his riding paraphernalia and started for the sheds.

Scotty stood up.  “Hello,” he called.

Ben halted and turned about, looking his surprise.

“Well, in the name of all that’s proper!” he ejaculated slowly; “where’d you drop down from?”

Scotty smiled broadly; frank admiration for the dusty cowboy was in his gaze.

“I didn’t drop down at all; I walked around here about half an hour ago.  You were rather preoccupied at the time and didn’t notice me.”

Blair came back to the fence and swung over the saddle and bridle.  “You took in the whole show then?” he asked.  A trace of color came into his face, as he vaulted over the rails.  “I hope you enjoyed it.”

Scotty observed the latest feat, unconscious as its predecessor, with augmented admiration.  “I certainly did,” he said, and the subject was dropped.

The two men walked together toward the ranch-house.

“I came over to see Rankin,” remarked the Englishman, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to wait a bit.”

“I guess you will,” replied Ben.  “He went up to the north well this morning.  They’re building some sheds up there, and he’s superintending the job.  He’s as liable to forget about dinner as not.  Nothing I can do for you, is there?”

Scotty thrust his hands into his pockets.

“No, I guess not.  I came over to see about selling him my place.  We’re going to leave in a few days.”

Ben Blair made no comment, and for a moment they walked on in silence; then an idea suddenly occurred to the Englishman.

“Come to think of it,” he said, “there is something you can do for me.  Bill and I have got to drive all the stock over to the station.  I’d be a thousand times obliged if you would help us.”

For a half-dozen steps Blair did not answer; then he turned fairly to his companion.

“You won’t be offended if I refuse?” he asked.

“No, certainly not.”

“Well, then, I don’t want to help you myself, but I’ll get Grannis to go with you.  He’ll be just as useful.”

Ordinarily, despite his assertion to the contrary, Scotty would have been offended; but he knew this long youth quite too well to misunderstand.

“Would you mind telling me why you refuse?” he said at last.

Ben shifted the heavy saddle to his other shoulder.

“No, I don’t mind,” he said bluntly.  “I won’t help you because I don’t want you to go.”

Scotty pondered, and a light dawned on his slow-moving brain.  He looked at Ben sympathetically.  “My boy,” he said, “I’m sorry for you; by Jove!  I am.”

They were even with the horse-barn now, and without a word Ben went in and hung up the saddle, each stirrup upon a nail.  Relieved of his load he came back, slapping the dust from his clothes with his big gauntlets.