DENNISON GRANT

A Novel of To-day

By Robert Stead

CHAPTER I

"Chuck at the Y. D. To-night, and a bed under the shingles, " shoutedTransley, waving to the procession to be off. 

Linder, foreman and head teamster, straightened up from the half loadof new hay in which he had been awaiting the final word, tightened thelines, made an unique sound in his throat, and the horses pressed theirshoulders into the collars. Linder glanced back to see each wagon orimplement take up the slack with a jerk like the cars of a freighttrain; the cushioned rumble of wagon wheels on the soft earth, and thenoisy chatter of the steel teeth of the hay-rakes came up from the rear. Transley's "outfit" was under way. 

Transley was a contractor; a master of men and of circumstances. Sixweeks before, the suspension of a grading order had left him high anddry, with a dozen men and as many teams on his hands and hired for theseason. Transley galloped all that night into the foothills; when hereturned next evening he had a contract with the Y. D. To cut all thehay from the ranch buildings to The Forks. By some deft touch of thosefinancial strings on which he was one day to become so skilled a playerTransley converted his dump scrapers into mowing machines, and threedays later his outfit was at work in the upper reaches of the Y. D. 

The contract had been decidedly profitable. Not an hour of brokenweather had interrupted the operations, and to-day, with two thousandtons of hay in stack, Transley was moving down to the headquarters ofthe Y. D. The trail lay along a broad valley, warded on either side byranges of foothills; hills which in any other country would have beendignified by the name of mountains. From their summits the grey-greenup-tilted limestone protruded, whipped clean of soil by the chinooks ofcenturies. Here and there on their northern slopes hung a beard ofscrub timber; sharp gulleys cut into their fastnesses to bring down theturbulent waters of their snows. 

Some miles to the left of the trail lay the bed of the Y. D. , fringedwith poplar and cottonwood and occasional dark green splashes of spruce. Beyond the bed of the Y. D. , beyond the foothills that looked down uponit, hung the mountains themselves, their giant crests pitched likemighty tents drowsing placidly between earth and heaven. Now their fouro'clock veil of blue-purple mist lay filmed about their shoulders, butlater they would stand out in bold silhouette cutting into the twilightsky. Everywhere was the soft smell of new-mown hay; everywhere thesilences of the eternal, broken only by the muffled noises of Transley'soutfit trailing down to the Y. D. 

Linder, foreman and head teamster, cushioned his shoulders against hishalf load of hay and contemplated the scene with amiable satisfaction. The hay fields of the foothills had been a pleasant change from therailway grades of the plains below. Men and horses had fattened andgrown content, and the foreman had reason to know that Transley's bankaccount had profited by the sudden shift in his operations. Linder feltin his pocket for pipe and matches; then, with a frown, withdrew hisfingers. He himself had laid down the law that there must be no smokingin the hay fields. A carelessly dropped match might in an hour nullifyall their labor. 

Linder's frown had scarce vanished when hoof-beats pounded by the sideof his wagon, and a rider, throwing himself lightly from his horse, dropped beside him in the hay. 

"Thought I'd ride with you a spell, Lin. That Pete-horse acts like hewas goin' sore on the off front foot. Chuck at the Y. D. To-night?"

"That's what Transley says, George, and he knows. "

"Ever et at the Y. D?"

"Nope. "

"Know old Y. D?"

"Only to know his name is good on a cheque, and they say he still throwsa good rope. "

George wriggled to a more comfortable position in the hay. He had afeeling that he was approaching a delicate subject with consummateskill. After a considerable silence he continued--

"They say that's quite a girl old Y. D. 's got. "

"Oh, " said Linder, slowly. The occasion of the soreness in thatPete-horse's off front foot was becoming apparent. 

"You better stick to Pete, " Linder continued. "Women is most uncertaincritters. "

"Don't I know it?" chuckled George, poking the foreman's ribscompanionably with his elbow. "Don't I know it?" he repeated, as hismind apparently ran back over some reminiscence that verified Linder'sremark. It was evident from the pleasant grimaces of George's face thatwhatever he had suffered from the uncertain sex was forgiven. 

"Say, Lin, " he resumed after another pause, and this time in a moreconfidential tone, "do you s'pose Transley's got a notion that way?"

"Shouldn't wonder. Transley always knows what he's doing, and why. Y. D. Must be worth a million or so, and the girl is all he's got to leaveit to. Besides all that, no doubt she's well worth having on her ownaccount. "

"Well, I'm sorry for the boss, " George replied, with great soberness. "Ialus hate to disappoint the boss. "

"Huh!" said Linder. He knew George Drazk too well for further comment. After his unlimited pride in and devotion to his horse, George gave hisheart unreservedly to womankind. He suffered from no cramping nicenessin his devotions; that would have limited the play of his passion; tohim all women were alike--or nearly so. And no number of rebuffs couldconvince George that he was unpopular with the objects of his democraticaffections. Such a conclusion was, to him, too absurd to be entertained, no matter how many experiences might support it. If opportunity offeredhe doubtless would propose to Y. D. 's daughter that very night--and get aboxed ear for his pains. 

The Y. D. Creek had crossed its valley, shouldering close against thebase of the foothills to the right. Here the current had created aprecipitous cutbank, and to avoid it and the stream the trail wound overthe side of the hill. As they crested a corner the silver ribbon of theY. D. Was unravelled before them, and half a dozen miles down itscourse the ranch buildings lay clustered in a grove of cottonwoods andevergreens. All the great valley lay warm and pulsating in a floodof yellow sunshine; the very earth seemed amorous and content in theembrace of sun and sky. The majesty of the view seized even the unpoeticsouls of Linder and Drazk, and because they had no other means ofexpression they swore vaguely and relapsed into silence. 

Hoof-beats again sounded by the wagon side. It was Transley. 

"Oh, here you are, Drazk. How long do you reckon it would take you toride down to the Y. D. On that Pete-horse?" Transley was a leader of men. 

Drazk's eyes sparkled at the subtle compliment to his horse. 

"I tell you, Boss, " he said, "if there's any jackrabbits in the roadthey'll get tramped on. "

"I bet they will, " said Transley, genially. "Well, you just slide downand tell Y. D. We're coming in. She's going to be later than I figured, but I can't hurry the work horses. You know that, Drazk. "

"Sure I do, Boss, " said Drazk, springing into his saddle. "Just watchme lose myself in the dust. " Then, to himself, "Here's where I beat theboss to it. "

The sun had fallen behind the mountains, the valley was filled withshadow, the afterglow, mauve and purple and copper, was playing far upthe sky when Transley's outfit reached the Y. D. Corrals. George Drazkhad opened the gate and waited beside it. 

"Y. D. Wants you an' Linder to eat with him at the house, " he said asTransley halted beside him. "The rest of us eat in the bunk-house. "There was something strangely modest in Drazk's manner. 

"Had yours handed to you already?" Linder managed to banter in a lowvoice as they swung through the gate. 

"Hell!" protested Mr. Drazk. "A fellow that ain't a boss or a foremandon't get a look-in. Never even seen her. . . . Come, you Pete-horse!" Itwas evident George had gone back to his first love. 

The wagons drew up in the yard, and there was a fine jingle of harnessas the teamsters quickly unhitched. Y. D. Himself approached through thedusk; his large frame and confident bearing were unmistakable even inthat group of confident, vigorous men. 

"Glad to see you, Transley, " he said cordially. "You done well outthere. 'So, Linder! You made a good job of it. Come up to the house--Ireckon the Missus has supper waitin'. We'll find a room for you upthere, too; it's different from bein' under canvas. "

So saying, and turning the welfare of the men and the horses over tohis foreman, the rancher led Transley and Linder along a path through agrove of cottonwoods, across a footbridge where from underneath came thebabble of water, to "the house, " marked by a yellow light which pouredthrough the windows and lost itself in the shadow of the trees. 

The nucleus of the house was the log cabin where Y. D. And his wife hadlived in their first married years. With the passage of time additionshad been built to every side which offered a point of contact, but thelog cabin still remained the family centre, and into it Transley andLinder were immediately admitted. The poplar floor had long since wornthin, save at the knots, and had been covered with edge-grained fir, butotherwise the cabin stood as it had for twenty years, the white-washedlogs glowing in the light of two bracket lamps and the reflections froma wood fire which burned merrily in the stove. The skins of a grizzlybear and a timber wolf lay on the floor, and two moose heads looked downfrom opposite ends of the room. On the walls hung other trophies won byY. D. 's rifle, along with hand-made bits of harness, lariats, and otherinsignia of the ranchman's trade. 

The rancher took his guests' hats, and motioned each to a seat. "Mother, " he said, directing his voice into an adjoining room, "here'sthe boys. "

In a moment "Mother" appeared drying her hands. In her appearance werecourage, resourcefulness, energy, --fit mate for the man who had made theY. D. Known in every big cattle market of the country. As Linder's eyecaught her and her husband in the same glance his mind involuntarilyleapt to the suggestion of what the offspring of such a pair must be. The men of the cattle country have a proper appreciation of heredity. . . . 

"My wife--Mr. Transley, Mr. Linder, " said the rancher, with acourtliness which sat strangely on his otherwise rough-and-ready speech. "I been tellin' her the fine job you boys has made in the hay fields, an' I reckon she's got a bite of supper waitin' you. "

"Y. D. Has been full of your praises, " said the woman. There was a touchof culture in her manner as she received them, which Y. D. 's hospitalitydid not disclose. 

She led them into another room, where a table was set for five. Linderexperienced a tang of happy excitement as he noted the number. Linderallowed himself no foolishness about women, but, as he sometimes sagelyremarked to George Drazk, you never can tell what might happen. He shota quick glance at Transley, but the contractor's face gave no sign. Evenas he looked Linder thought what an able face it was. Transley was notmore than twenty-six, but forcefulness, assertion, ability, stood inevery line of his clean-cut features. He was such a man as to capture ata blow the heart of old Y. D. , perhaps of Y. D. 's daughter. 

"Where's Zen?" demanded the rancher. 

"She'll be here presently, " his wife replied. "We don't have Mr. Transley and Mr. Linder every night, you know, " she added, with a smile. 

"Dolling up, " thought Linder. "Trust a woman never to miss a bet. "

But at that moment a door opened, and the girl appeared. She did notburst upon them, as Linder had half expected; she slipped quietly andgracefully into their presence. She was dressed in black, in a costumewhich did not too much conceal the charm of her figure, and thenut-brown lustre of her face and hair played against the soberbackground of her dress with an effect that was almost dazzling. 

"My daughter, Zen, " said Y. D. "Mr. Transley, Mr. Linder. "

She shook hands frankly, first with Transley, then with Linder, ashad been the order of the introduction. In her manner was neither theshyness which sometimes marks the women of remote settlements, nor theboldness so readily bred of outdoor life. She gave the impression of onewho has herself, and the situation, in hand. 

"We're always glad to have guests at the Y. D. " she was saying. "We liveso far from everywhere. "

Linder thought that a strange peg on which to hang their welcome. Butshe was continuing--

"And you have been so successful, haven't you? You have made quite a hitwith Dad. "

"How about Dad's daughter?" asked Transley. Transley had a manner ofdirect and forceful action. These were his first words to her. Linderwould not have dared be so precipitate. 

"Perhaps, " thought Linder to himself, as he turned the incident over inhis mind, "perhaps that is why Transley is boss, and I'm just foreman. "The young woman's behavior seemed to support that conclusion. She didnot answer Transley's question, but she gave no evidence of displeasure. 

"You boys must be hungry, " Y. D. Was saying. "Pile in. "

The rancher and his wife sat at the ends of the table; Transley on theside at Y. D. 's right; Linder at Transley's right. In the better lightLinder noted Y. D. 's face. It was the face of a man of fifty, possiblysixty. Life in the open plays strange tricks with the appearance. Somemen it ages before their time; others seem to tap a spring of perpetualyouth. Save for the grey moustache and the puckerings about the eyesY. D. 's was still a young man's face. Then, as the rancher turned hishead, Linder noted a long scar, as of a burn, almost grown over in theright cheek. . . . Across the table from them sat the girl, impartiallydividing her position between the two. 

A Chinese boy served soup, and the rancher set the example by "pilingin" without formality. Eight hours in the open air between meals is apowerful deterrent of table small-talk. Then followed a huge jointof beef, from which Y. D. Cut generous slices with swift and dexterousstrokes of a great knife, and the Chinese boy added the vegetables froma side table. As the meat disappeared the call of appetite became lessinsistent. 

"She's been a great summer, ain't she?" said the rancher, laying downhis knife and fork and lifting the carver. "Transley, some more meat?Pshaw, you ain't et enough for a chicken. Linder? That's right, passup your plate. Powerful dry, though. That's only a small bit; here'sa better slice here. Dry summers gen'rally mean open winters, but youcan't never tell. Zen, how 'bout you? Old Y. D. 's been too long on thejob to take chances. Mother? How much did you say, Transley? About twothousand tons? Not enough. Don't care if I do, "--helping himself toanother piece of beef. 

"I think you'll find two thousand tons, good hay and good measurement, "said Transley. 

"I'm sure of it, " rejoined his host, generously. "I'm carryin' moresteers than usual, and'll maybe run in a bunch of doggies from Manitobato boot. I got to have more hay. "

So the meal progressed, the rancher furnishing both the hospitality andthe conversation. Transley occasionally broke in to give assent tosome remark, but his interruption was quite unnecessary. It was Y. D. 'spractice to take assent for granted. Once or twice the women interjecteda lead to a different subject of conversation in which their words wouldhave carried greater authority, but Y. D. Instantly swung it back to theall-absorbing topic of hay. 

The Chinese boy served a pudding of some sort, and presently the mealwas ended. 

"She's been a dry summer--powerful dry, " said the rancher, with a winkat his guests. "Zen, I think there's a bit of gopher poison in thereyet, ain't there?"

The girl left the room without remark, returning shortly with a jug andglasses, which she placed before her father. 

"I suppose you wear a man's size, Transley, " he said, pouring out a bigdrink of brown liquor, despite Transley's deprecating hand. "Linder, howmany fingers? Two? Well, we'll throw in the thumb. Y. D? If you please, just a little snifter. All set?"

The rancher rose to his feet, and the company followed his example. 

"Here's ho!--and more hay, " he said, genially. 

"Ho!" said Linder. 

"The daughter of the Y. D!" said Transley, looking across the table atthe girl. She met his eyes full; then, with a gleam of white teeth, sheraised an empty glass and clinked it against his. 

The men drained their glasses and re-seated themselves, but the womenremained standing. 

"Perhaps you will excuse us now, " said the rancher's wife. "You willwish to talk over business. Y. D. Will show you upstairs, and we willexpect you to be with us for breakfast. "

With a bow she left the room, followed by her daughter. Linder had asense of being unsatisfied; it was as though a ravishing meal has beenplaced before a hungry man, and only its aroma had reached his senseswhen it had been taken away. Well, it provoked the appetite--

The rancher re-filled the glasses, but Transley left his untouched, andLinder did the same. There were business matters to discuss, and it wasno fair contest to discuss business in the course of a drinking boutwith an old stager like Y. D. 

"I got to have another thousand tons, " the rancher was saying. "Can'ttake chances on any less, and I want you boys to put it up for me. "

"Suits me, " said Transley, "if you'll show me where to get the hay. "

"You know the South Y. D?"

"Never been on it. "

"Well, it's a branch of the Y. D. Which runs south-east from The Forks. Guess it got its name from me, because I built my first cabin at TheForks. That was about the time you was on a milk diet, Transley, andus old-timers had all outdoors to play with. You see, the Y. D. Is acantank'rous stream, like its godfather. At The Forks you'd nat'rallysuppose is where two branches joined, an' jogged on henceforth in doubleharness. Well, that ain't it at all. This crick has modern ideas, an'at The Forks it divides itself into two, an' she hikes for the Gulf o'Mexico an' him for Hudson's Bay. As I was sayin', I built my first cabinat The Forks--a sort o' peek-a-boo cabin it was, where the wolves ustacome an' look in at nights. Well, I usta look out through the sameholes. I had the advantage o' usin' language, an' I reckon we was aboutequal scared. There was no wife or kid in those days. "

The rancher paused, took a long draw on his pipe, and his eyes glowedwith the light of old recollections. 

"Well, as I was sayin', " he continued presently, "folks got to callin'the stream the Y. D. , after me. That's what you get for bein' first onthe ground--a monument for ever an ever. This bein' the main stream gotthe name proper, an' the other branch bein' smallest an' running kindo' south nat'rally got called the South Y. D. I run stock in both valleyswhen I was at The Forks, but not much since I came down here. Well, there's maybe a thousand tons o' hay over in the South Y. D. , an' youboys better trail over there to-morrow an' pitch into it--that is, ifyou're satisfied with the price I'm payin' you. "

"The price is all right, " said Transley, "and we'll hit the trail atsun-up. There'll be no trouble--no confliction of interests, I mean?"

"Whose interests?" demanded the rancher, beligerently. "Ain't I thefather of the Y. D? Ain't the whole valley named for me? When it comes tointerests--"

"Of course, " Transley agreed, "but I just wanted to know how thingsstood in case we ran up against something. It's not like the old days, when a rancher would rather lose twenty-five per cent. Of his stockover winter than bother putting up hay. Hay land is getting to be worthmoney, and I just want to know where we stand. "

"Quite proper, " said Y. D. , "quite proper. An' now the matter's underdiscussion, I'll jus' show you my hand. There's a fellow named Landsondown the valley of the South Y. D. That's been flirtin' with that haymeadow for years, but he ain't got no claim to it. I was first on theground an' I cut it whenever I feel like it an' I'm goin' to go oncuttin' it. If anybody comes out raisin' trouble, you just shoo 'em off, an' go on cuttin' that hay, spite o' hell an' high water. Y. D. 'll standbehind you. "

"Thanks, " said Transley. "That's what I wanted to know. "

CHAPTER II

The rancher had ridden into the Canadian plains country from below "theline" long before barbed wire had become a menace in cattle-land. FromPincher Creek to Maple Creek, and far beyond, the plains lay unbrokensave by the deep canyons where, through the process of ages, mountainstreams had worn their beds down to gravel bottoms, and by theoccasional trail which wandered through the wilderness like somethousand-mile lariat carelessly dropped from the hand of the MasterPlainsman. Here and there, where the cutbanks of the river Canyonswidened out into sloping valleys, affording possible access to thedeep-lying streams, some ranchman had established his headquarters, andhis red-roofed, whitewashed buildings flashed back the hot rays whichfell from an opalescent heaven. At some of the more important fordstrading posts had come into being, whither the ranchmen journeyed twicea year for groceries, clothing, kerosene, and other liquids handled assurreptitiously as the vigilance of the Mounted Police might suggest. The virgin prairie, with her strange, subtle facility for entangling thehearts of men, lay undefiled by the mercenary plowshare; unprostitutedby the commercialism of the days that were to be. 

Into such a country Y. D. Had ridden from the South, trailing his littlebunch of scrub heifers, in search of grass and water and, it may be, ofa new environment. Up through the Milk River country; across the Bellyand the Old Man; up and down the valley of the Little Bow, and acrossthe plains as far as the Big Bow he rode in search of the essentials ofa ranch headquarters. The first of these is water, the second grass, the third fuel, the fourth shelter. Grass there was everywhere; a fine, short, hairy crop which has the peculiar quality of self-curing in theautumn sunshine and so furnishing a natural, uncut hay for the herdsin the winter months. Water there was only where the mountain streamsplowed their canyons through the deep subsoil, or at little lakes ofsurface drainage, or, at rare intervals, at points where pure springsbroke forth from the hillsides. Along the river banks dark, crumblingseams exposed coal resources which solved all questions of fuel, and fringes of cottonwood and poplar afforded rough but satisfactorybuilding material. As the rancher sat on his horse on a little knollwhich overlooked a landscape leading down on one side to a shelteringbluff by the river, and on the other losing itself on the rim of theheavens, no fairer prospect surely could have met his eye. 

And yet he was not entirely satisfied. He was looking for no temporarylocation, but for a spot where he might drive his claim-stakes deep. That prairie, which stretched under the hot sunshine unbroken to the rimof heaven; that brown grass glowing with an almost phosphorescent lightas it curled close to the mother sod;--a careless match, a cigar stub, abit of gun-wadding, and in an afternoon a million acres of pasture landwould carry not enough foliage to feed a gopher. 

Y. D. Turned in his saddle. Along the far western sky hung the purpledraperies of the Rockies. For fifty miles eastward from the mighty rangelay the country of the foothills, its great valleys lost to the visionwhich leapt only from summit to summit. In the clear air the peaksthemselves seemed not a dozen miles away, but Y. D. Had not riddencactus, sagebrush and prairie from the Rio Grande to the St. Mary's fortwenty years to be deceived by a so transparent illusion. Far overthe plains his eye could trace the dark outline of a trail leadingmountainward. 

The heifers drowsed lazily in the brown grass. Y. D. , shading his eyesthe better with his hand, gazed long and thoughtfully at the purplerange. Then he spat decisively over his horse's shoulder and made astrange "cluck" in his throat. The knowing animal at once set out ona trot to stir the lazy heifers into movement, and presently they weretrailing slowly up into the foothill country. 

Far up, where the trail ahead apparently dropped over the end of theworld, a horse and rider hove in view. They came on leisurely, and halfan hour elapsed before they met the rancher trailing west. 

The stranger was a rancher of fifty, wind-whipped and weather-beaten ofcountenance. The iron grey of his hair and moustache suggested the ironof the man himself; iron of figure, of muscle, of will. 

"'Day, " he said, affably, coming to a halt a few feet from Y. D. "Trailing into the foothills?"

Y. D. Lolled in his saddle. His attitude did not invite conversation, and, on the other hand, intimated no desire to avoid it. 

"Maybe, " he said, noncommittally. Then, relaxing somewhat, --"Any waterfarther up?"

"About eight miles. Sundown should see you there, and there's a decentspot to camp. You're a stranger here?" The older man was evidentlypuzzling over the big "Y. D. " branded on the ribs of the little herd. 

"It's a big country, " Y. D. Answered. "It's a plumb big country, forsure, an' I guess a man can be a stranger in some corners of it, can'the?"

Y. D. Began to resent the other man's close scrutiny of his brand. 

"Well, what's wrong with it?" he demanded. 

"Oh, nothing. No offense. I just wondered what 'Y. D. ' might stand for. "

"Might stand for Yankee devil, " said Y. D. , with a none-of-your-businesscurl of his lip. But he had carried his curtness too far, and was notprepared for the quick retort. 

"Might also stand for yellow dog, and be damned to you!" The stranger'sstrong figure sat up stern and knit in his saddle. 

Y. D. 's hand went to his hip, but the other man was unarmed. You can'tdraw on a man who isn't armed. 

"Listen!" the older man continued, in sharp, clear-cut notes. "You area stranger not only to our trails, but our customs. You are a young man. Let me give you some advice. First--get rid of that artillery. It willdo you more harm than good. And second, when a stranger speaks to youcivilly, answer him the same. My name is Wilson--Frank Wilson, and ifyou settle in the foothills you'll find me a decent neighbor, as soon asyou are able to appreciate decency. "

To his own great surprise, Y. D. Took his dressing down in silence. Therewas a poise in Wilson's manner that enforced respect. He recognized inhim the English rancher of good family; usually a man of fine courtesywithin reasonable bounds; always a hard hitter when those bounds areexceeded. Y. D. Knew that he had made at least a tactical blunder;his sensitiveness about his brand would arouse, rather than allay, suspicion. His cheeks burned with a heat not of the afternoon sun ashe submitted to this unaccustomed discipline, but he could not bringhimself to express regret for his rudeness. 

"Well, now that the shower is over, we'll move on, " he said, turning hisback on Wilson and "clucking" to his horse. 

Y. D. Followed the stream which afterwards bore his name as far as theUpper Forks. As he entered the foothills he found all the advantagesof the plains below, with others peculiar to the foothill country. Thericher herbage, induced by a heavier precipitation; the occasional beltsof woodland; the rugged ravines and limestone ridges affordinggood natural protection against fire; abundant fuel and watereverywhere--these seemed to constitute the ideal ranch conditions. Atthe Upper Forks, through some freak of formation, the stream dividedinto two. From this point was easy access into the valleys of the Y. D. And the South Y. D. , as they were subsequently called. The stream rippledover beds of grey gravel, and mountain trout darted from the rancher'sshadow as it fell across the water. Up the valley, now ruddy gold withthe changing colors of autumn, white-capped mountains looked down fromamid the infinite silences; and below, broad vistas of brown prairieand silver ribbons of running water. Y. D. Turned his swarthy face tothe sunlight and took in the scene slowly, deliberately, but with acommercialized eye; blue and white and ruddy gold were nothing to him;his heart was set on grass and water and shelter. He had roved enough, and he had a reason for seeking some secluded spot like this, where hecould settle down while his herds grew up, and, perhaps, forget somethings that were better forgotten. 

With sudden decision the cattle man threw himself from his horse, unstrapped the little kit of supplies which he carried by the saddle;drew off saddle and bridle and turned the animal free. The die was cast;this was the spot. Within ten minutes his ax was ringing in the grove ofspruce trees close by, and the following night he fried mountain troutunder the shelter of his own temporary roof. 

It was the next summer when Y. D. Had another encounter with Wilson. TheUpper Forks turned out to be less secluded than he had supposed; it wason the trail of trappers and prospectors working into the mountains. Traders, too, in mysterious commodities, moved mysteriously back andforth, and the log cabin at The Forks became something of a centre ofinterest. Strange companies forgathered within its rude walls. 

It was at such a gathering, in which Y. D. And three companions sat aboutthe little square table, that one of the visitors facetiously inquiredof the rancher how his herd was progressing. 

"Not so bad, not so bad, " said Y. D. , casually. "Some winter losses, ofcourse; snow's too deep this far up. Why?"

"Oh, some of your neighbors down the valley say your cows are uncommonprolific. "

"They do?" said Y. D. , laying down his cards. "Who says that?"

"Well, Wilson, for instance--"

Y. D. Sprang to his feet. "I've had one run-in with that ----, " heshouted, "an' I let him talk to me like a Sunday School super'ntendent. Here's where I talk to him!"

"Well, finish the game first, " the others protested. "The night'syoung. "

Y. D. Was sufficiently drunk to be supersensitive about his honor, andthe inference from Wilson's remark was that he was too handy with hisbranding-iron. 

"No, boys, no!" he protested. "I'll make that Englishman eat his wordsor choke on them. "

"That's right, " the company agreed. "The only thing to do. We'll all godown with you. "

"An' you won't do that, neither, " Y. D. Answered. "Think I need abody-guard for a little chore like that? Huh!" There was immeasurablecontempt in that monosyllable. 

But a fresh bottle was produced, and Y. D. Was persuaded that his honorwould suffer no serious damage until the morning. Before that time hiscompany, with many demonstrations of affection and admonitions to "makea good job of it, " left for the mountains. 

Y. D. Saddled his horse early, buckled his gun on his hip, hung a lariatfrom his saddle, and took the trail for the Wilson ranch. During thedrinking and gambling of the night he had been able to keep the insultin the background, but, alone under the morning sun, it swept over himand stung him to fury. There was just enough truth in the report todemand its instant suppression. 

Wilson was branding calves in his corral as Y. D. Came up. He was alonesave for a girl of eighteen who tended the fire. 

Wilson looked up with a hot iron in his hand, nodded, then turned toapply the iron before it cooled. As he leaned over the calf Y. D. Swunghis lariat. It fell true over the Englishman, catching him about thearms and the middle of the body. Y. D. Took a half-hitch of the lariatabout his saddle horn, and the well-trained horse dragged his victim inthe most matter-of-fact manner out of the gate of the corral and intothe open. 

Y. D. Shortened the line. After the first moment of confused surpriseWilson tried to climb to his feet, but a quick jerk of the lariat senthim prostrate again. In a moment Y. D. Had taken up all the line, and satin his saddle looking down contemptuously upon him. 

"Well, " he said, "who's too handy with his branding-iron now?"

"You are!" cried Wilson. "Give me a man's chance and I'll thrash youhere and now to prove it. "

For answer Y. D. Clucked to his horse and dragged his enemy a few yardsfarther. "How's the goin', Frank?" he said, in mock cordiality. "Thinkyou can stand it as far as the crick?"

But at that instant an unexpected scene flashed before Y. D. He caughtjust a glimpse of it--just enough to indicate what might happen. Thegirl who had been tending the fire was rushing upon him with a red-hotiron extended before her. Quicker than he could throw himself from thesaddle she had struck him in the face with it. 

"You brand our calves!" she cried in a fury of recklessness. "I'll brandYOU--damn you!"

Y. D. Threw himself from the saddle, but in the suddenness of heronslaught he failed to clear it properly, and stumbled to the ground. Ina moment she was on him and had whipped his gun from his belt. 

"Get up!" she said. And he got up. 

"Walk to that post, put your arms around it with your back to me, andstand there. " He did so. 

The girl kept him covered with the revolver while she released thelariat that bound her father. 

"Are you hurt, Dad?" she inquired solicitously. 

"No, just shaken up, " he answered, scrambling to his feet. 

"All right. Now we'll fix him!"

The girl walked to the next post from Y. D. 's, climbed it leisurely andseated herself on the top. 

"Now, Mr. Y. D. , " she said, "you are going to fight like a white man, with your fists. I'll sit up here and see that there's no dirty work. First, advance and shake hands. "

"I'm damned if I will, " said Y. D. 

The revolver spoke, and the bullet cut dangerously close to him. 

"Don't talk back to me again, " she cried, "or you won't be able tofight. Now shake hands. "

He extended his hand and Wilson took it for a moment. 

"Now when I count three, " said the girl, "pile in. There's no timelimit. Fight 'til somebody's satisfied. One--two--three--"

At the sound of the last word Wilson caught his opponent a punch on thechin which stretched him. He got up slowly, gathering his wits abouthim. He was twenty years younger than Wilson, but a rancher of fiftyis occasionally a better man than he was at thirty. Any disadvantagesWilson suffered from being shaken up in the lariat were counterbalancedby Y. D. 's branding. His face was burning painfully, and his vision wasnot the best. But he had not followed the herds since childhood withoutlearning to use his fists. He steadied himself on his knee to bring hismind into tune with this unusual warfare. Then he rushed upon Wilson. 

He received another straight knock-out on the chin. It jarred the jointsof his neck and left him dazed. It was half a minute before he couldsteady himself. He realized now that he had a fight on his hands. He wastoo cool a head to get into a panic, but he found he must take his timeand do some brain work. Another chin smash would put him out for good. 

He advanced carefully. Wilson stood awaiting him, a picture of poise andself-confidence. Y. D. Led a quick left to Wilson's ribs, but failedto land. Wilson parried skilfully and immediately answered with a leftswing to the chin. But Y. D. Was learning, and this time he was on guard. He dodged the blow, broke in and seized Wilson about the body. The twomen stood for a moment like bulls with locked horns. Y. D. Brought hisweight to bear on his antagonist to force him to the ground, but in someway the Englishman got elbow room and began raining short jabs on hisface, already raw from the branding-iron. Y. D. Jerked back from thisassault. Then came the third smash on the chin. 

Y. D. Gathered himself up very slowly. The world was swimming around incircles. On a post sat a girl, covering him with a revolver and laughingat him. Somewhere on the horizon Wilson's figure whipped forward andback. Then his horse came into the circle. Y. D. Rose to his feet, strodewith quick, uncertain steps to his horse, threw himself into the saddleand without a word started up the trail to The Forks. 

"Seems to have gone with as little ceremony as he came, " Wilson remarkedto his daughter. "Now, let us get along with the calves. ". . . 

Y. D. Rode the trail to The Forks in bitterness of spirit. He had salliedforth that morning strong and daring to administer summary punishment;he was retracing his steps thrashed, humiliated, branded for life by ared iron thrust in his face by a slip of a girl. He exhausted his byno means limited vocabulary of epithets, but even his torrents of abusebrought no solace to him. The hot sun beat down on his wounded faceand hurt terribly, but he almost forgot that pain in the agony of hishumiliation. He had been thrashed by an old man, with a wisp of a girlsitting on a post and acting as referee. He turned in his saddle andthrough the empty valley shouted an insulting name at her. 

Then Y. D. Slowly began to feel his face burn with a fire not of thebranding-iron nor of the afternoon sun. He knew that his word was a lie. He knew that he would not have dared use it in her father's hearing. Heknew that he was a coward. No man had ever called Y. D. A coward; noman had ever known him for a coward; he had never known himself assuch--until to-day. With all his roughness Y. D. Had a sense of honoras keen as any razor blade. If he allowed himself wide latitude in somematters it was because he had lived his life in an atmosphere where thewide latitude was the thing. The prairie had been his bed, the sky hisroof, himself his own policeman, judge, and executioner since boyhood. When responsibility is so centralized wide latitudes must be allowed. But the uttermost borders of that latitude were fixed with ironrigidity, and when he had thrown a vile epithet at a decent woman heknew he had broken the law of honor. He was a cur--a cur who should beshot in his tracks for the cur he was. 

Y. D. Did hard thinking all the way to The Forks. Again and again thefigure of the girl flashed before him; he would close his eyes and jerkhis head back to avoid the burning iron. Then he saw her on the post, sitting, with apparent impartiality, on guard over the fight. Yes, she had been impartial, in a way. Y. D. Was willing to admit that much, although he surmised that she knew more about her father's prowess withhis fists than he had known. She had had no doubt about the outcome. 

"Well, she's good backing for her old man, anyway, " he admitted, withreturning generosity. He had reached his cabin, and was dressing hisface with salve and soda. "She sure played the game into the old man'shand. "

Y. D. Could not sleep that night. He was busy sorting up his ideas oflife and revising them in the light of the day's experience. The more hethought of his behavior the less defensible it appeared. By midnight hewas admitting that he had got just what was coming to him. 

Presently he began to feel lonely. It was a strange sensation to Y. D. , whose life had been loneliness from the first, so that he had neverknown it. Of course, there was the hunger for companionship; he hadoften known that. A drinking bout, a night at cards, a whirl intoexcess, and that would pass away. But this loneliness was different. Themoan of the wind in the spruce trees communicated itself to him with aneerie oppressiveness. He sat up and lit a lamp. The light fell on thebare logs of his hut; he had never known before how bare they were. Hegot up and shuffled about; took a lid off the stove and put it back onagain; moved aimlessly about the room, and at last sat down on the bed. 

"Y. D. , " he said with a laugh, "I believe you've got nerves. You'rebehavin' like a woman. "

But he could not laugh it off. The mention of a woman brought Wilson'sdaughter back vividly before him. "She's a man's girl, " he foundhimself, saying. 

He sat up with a shock at his own words. Then he rested his chin on hishands and gazed long at the blank wall before him. That was life--hislife. That blank wall was his life. . . . If only it had a window in it; abright space through which the vision could catch a glimpse of somethingbroader and better. . . . Well, he could put a window in it. He could put awindow in his life. 

The next noon Frank Wilson looked up with surprise to see Y. D. Ridinginto his yard. Wilson stiffened instantly, as though setting himselfagainst the shock of an attack, but there was nothing belligerent inY. D. 's greeting. 

"Wilson, " he said, "I pulled a dirty trick on you yesterday, an' I gotmore than I reckoned on. The old Y. D. Would have come back with a gunfor vengeance. Well, I ain't after vengeance. I reckon you an' me hasgot to live in this valley, an' we might as well live peaceful. Doesthat go with you?"

"Full weight and no shrinkage, " said Wilson, heartily, extending hishand. "Come up to the house for dinner. "

Y. D. Was nothing loth to accept the invitation, even though he had hismisgivings as to how he should meet the women folks. It turned out thatMrs. Wilson had been at a neighboring ranch for some days, and the girlwas in charge of the home. The flash in her eyes did not conceal a glintof triumph--or was it humor?

"Jessie, " her father said, with conspicuous matter-of-factness, "Y. D. Has just dropped in for dinner. "

Y. D. Stood with his hat in his hand. This was harder than meetingWilson. He felt that he could manage better if Wilson would get out. 

"Miss Wilson, " he managed to say at length, "I just thought I'd run inan' thank you for what you did yesterday. "

"You're very welcome, " she answered, and he could not tell whetherthe note in her voice was of fun or sarcasm. "Any time I can be ofservice--"

"That's what I wanted to talk about, " he broke in. There was somethingbewitching about the girl. She more than realized his fantastic visionsof the night. She had mastered him. Perhaps it was a subtle masculinedesire to turn her mastery into ultimate surrender that led him on. 

"That's just what I want to talk about. You started breakin' in anoutlaw yesterday, so to speak. How'd you like to finish the job?"

Y. D. Was very red when this speech was finished. He had not known that awisp of a girl could so discomfit a man. 

"Is that a proposal?" she asked, and this time he was sure the note inher voice was one of banter. "I never had one, so I don't know. "

"Well, yes, we'll call it that, " he said, with returning courage. 

"Well we won't, either, " she flared back. "Just because I sat on a postand superintended the--the ceremonies, is no reason that you should wantto marry me, --or I, you. You'll find water and a basin on the bench atthe end of the house, and dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. "

Y. D. Had a feeling of a little boy being sent to wash himself. 

But the next spring he built a larger cabin down the valley from TheForks, and to that cabin one day in June came Jessie Wilson to "finishthe job. "

CHAPTER III

Transley and Linder were so early about on the morning after theirconversation with Y. D. That there was no opportunity of another meetingwith the rancher's wife or daughter. They were slipping quietly out ofthe house to take breakfast with the men when Y. D. Intercepted them. 

"Breakfast is waitin', boys, " he said, and led them back into the roomwhere they had had supper the previous evening. Y. D. Ate with them, butthe meal was served by the Chinese boy. 

In the yard all was jingling excitement. The men of the Y. D. Werefraternally assisting Transley's gang in hitching up and getting away, and there was much bustling activity to an accompaniment of friendlyprofanity. It was not yet six o'clock, but the sun was well up over theeastern ridges that fringed the valley, and to the west the snow-cappedsummits of the mountains shone like polished ivory. The exhilaration inthe air was almost intoxicating. 

Linder quickly converted the apparent chaos of horses, wagons andimplements into order; Transley had a last word with Y. D. , and therancher, shouting "Good luck, boys! Make it a thousand tons or more, "waved them away. 

Linder glanced back at the house. The bright sunshine had not awakenedit; it lay dreaming in its grove of cool, green trees. 

The trail lay, not up the valley, but across the wedge of foothillswhich divided the South Y. D. From the parent stream. The assent wastherefore much more rapid than the trails which followed the generalcourse of the stream. Huge hills, shouldering together, left at timesonly wagon-track room between; at other places they skirted dangerouscutbanks worn by spring freshets, and again trekked for long distancesover gently curving uplands. In an hour the horses were showing thestrain of it, and Linder halted them for a momentary rest. 

It was at that moment that Drazk rode up, his face a study in obviousannoyance. 

"Danged if I ain't left that Pete-horse's blanket down at the Y. D. , " heexclaimed. 

"Oh, well, you can easily ride back for it and catch up on us thisafternoon, " said Linder, who was not in the least deceived. 

"Thanks, Lin, " said Drazk. "I'll beat it down an' catch up on youthis afternoon, sure, " and he was off down the trail as fast as "thatPete-horse" could carry him. 

At the Y. D. George conducted the search for his horse blanket in thestrangest places. It took him mainly about the yard of the house, andeven to the kitchen door, where he interviewed the Chinese boy. 

"You catchee horse blanket around here?" he inquired, with appropriategesticulations. 

"You losee hoss blanket?"

"Yep. "

"What kind hoss blanket?"

"Jus' a brown blanket for that Pete-horse. "

"Whose hoss?"

"Mine, " proudly. 

"Where you catchee?"

"Raised him. "

"Good hoss?"

"You betcha. "

"Huh!"

Pause. 

"You no catchee horse blanket, hey?"

"No!" said the Chinaman, whose manner instantly changed. In this briefconversation he had classified Drazk, and classified him correctly. "Youcatchee him, though--some hell, too--you stickee lound here. Beat it, "and Drazk found the kitchen door closed in his face. 

Drazk wandered slowly around the side of the house, and was not abovea surreptitious glance through the windows. They revealed nothing. Hefollowed a path out by a little gate. His ruse had proven a blind trail, and there was nothing to do but go down to the stables, take the horseblanket from the peg where he had hung it, and set out again for theSouth Y. D. 

As he turned a corner of the fence the sight of a young woman burst uponhim. She was hatless and facing the sun. Drazk, for all his admirationof the sex, had little eye for detail. "A sort of chestnut, aboutsixteen hands high, and with the look of a thoroughbred, " he afterwardsdescribed her to Linder. 

She turned at the sound of his footsteps, and Drazk instantly summoned asmirk which set his homely face beaming with good humor. 

"Pardon me, ma'am, " he said, with an elaborate bow. "I am Mr. Drazk--Mr. George Drazk--Mr. Transley's assistant. No doubt he spoke of me. "

She was inside the enclosure formed by the fence, and he outside. Sheturned on him eyes which set Drazk's pulses strangely a-tingle, andsubjected him to a deliberate but not unfriendly inspection. 

"No, I don't believe he did, " she said at length. Drazk cautiouslyapproached, as though wondering how near he could come withoutfrightening her away. He reached the fence and leaned his elbows on it. She showed no disposition to move. He cautiously raised one foot andrested it on the lower rail. 

"It's a fine morning, ma'am, " he ventured. 

"Rather, " she replied. "Why aren't you with Mr. Transley's gang?"

The question gave George an opening. "Well, you see, " he said, "it's allon account of that Pete-horse. That's him down there. I rode away thismorning and plumb forgot his blanket. So when Mr. Transley seen it hesays, 'Drazk, take the day off an' go back for your blanket, ' he says. 'There's no hurry, ' he says. 'Linder an' me'll manage, ' he says. "

"Oh!"

"So here I am. " He glanced at her again. She was showing no dispositionto run away. She was about two yards from him, along the fence. Drazkwondered how long it would take him to bridge that distance. Even as helooked she leaned her elbows on the fence and rested one of her feet onthe lower rail. Drazk fancied he saw the muscles about her mouth pullingher face into little, laughing curves, but she was gazing soberly intothe distance. 

"He's some horse, that Pete-horse, " he said, taking up the subject whichlay most ready to his tongue. "He's sure some horse. "

"I have no doubt. "

"Yep, " Drazk continued. "Him an' me has seen some times. Whew! Things Icouldn't tell you about, at all. "

"Well, aren't you going to?"

Drazk glanced at her curiously. This girl showed signs of leading himout of his depth. But it was a very delightful sensation to feel one'sself being led out of his depth by such a girl. Her face was motionless;her eyes fixed dreamily upon the brown prairies that swept up the flanksof the foothills to the south. Far and away on their curving crests thedark snake-line of Transley's outfit could be seen apparently motionlesson the rim of the horizon. 

Drazk changed his foot on the rail and the motion brought him six inchesnearer her. 

"Well, f'r instance, " he said, spurring his imagination into action, "there was the fellow I run down an' shot in the Cypress Hills. "

"Shot!" she exclaimed, and the note of admiration in her voice stirredhim to further flights. 

"Yep, " he continued, proudly. "Shot an' buried him there, right by theroad where he fell. Only me an' that Pete-horse knows the spot. "

George sighed sentimentally. "It's awful sad, havin' to kill a man, "he went on, "an' it makes you feel strange an' creepy, 'specially atnights. That is, the first one affects you that way, but you soon getused to it. You see, he insulted--"

"The first one? Have you killed more than one?"

"Oh yes, lots of them. A man like me, what knocks around all over withall sorts of people, has to do it. 

"Then there's the police. After you kill a few men nat'rally the policebegins to worry you. I always hate to kill a policeman. "

"It must be an interesting life. "

"It is, but it's a hard one, " he said, after a pause during which he hadchanged feet again and taken up another six inches of the distance whichseparated them. He was almost afraid to continue the conversation. Hewas finding progress so much easier than he had expected. It was evidentthat he had made a tremendous hit with Y. D. 's daughter. What a story totell Linder! What would Transley say? He was shaking with excitement. 

"It's an awful hard life, " he went on, "an' there comes a time, Miss, when a man wants to quit it. There comes a time when every decent manwants to settle down. I been thinkin' about that a lot lately. . . . Whatdo YOU think about it?" Drazk had gone white. He felt that he actuallyhad proposed to her. 

"Might be a good idea, " she replied, demurely. He changed feet again. He had gone too far to stop. He must strike the iron when it was hot. Ofcourse he had no desire to stop, but it was all so wonderful. He couldspeak to her now in a whisper. 

"How about you, Miss? How about you an' me jus' settlin' down?"

She did not answer for a moment. Then, in a low voice, "It wouldn't be fair to accept you like this, Mr. Drazk. You don't knowanything about me. "

"An' I don't want to--I mean, I don't care what about you. "

"But it wouldn't be fair until you know, " she continued. "There arethings I'd have to tell you, and I don't like to. "

She was looking downwards now, and he fancied he could see the colorrising about her cheeks and her frame trembling. He turned toward herand extended his arms. "Tell me--tell your own George, " he cooed. 

"No, " she said, with sudden rigidity. "I can't confess. "

"Come on, " he pleaded. "Tell me. I've been a bad man, too. "

She seemed to be weighing the matter. "If I tell you, you will never, never mention it to anyone?"

"Never. I swear it to you, " dramatically raising his hand. 

"Well, " she said, looking down bashfully and making little marks withher finger-nail in the pole on which they were leaning, "I never toldanyone before, and nobody in the world knows it except he and I, and hedoesn't know it now either, because I killed him. . . . I had to do it. "

"Of course you did, dear, " he murmured. It was wonderful to receive awoman's confidence like this. 

"Yes, I had to kill him, " she repeated. "You see, he--he proposed to mewithout being introduced!"

It was some seconds before Drazk felt the blow. It came to himgradually, like returning consciousness to a man who has been stunned. Then anger swept him. 

"You're playin' with me, " he cried. "You're makin' a fool of me!"

"Oh, George dear, how could I?" she protested. "Now perhaps you betterrun along to that Pete-horse. He looks lonely. "

"All right, " he said, striding away angrily. As he walked his ragedeepened, and he turned and shook his fist at her, shouting, "All right, but I'll get you yet, see? You think you're smart, and Transley thinkshe's smart, but George Drazk is smarter than both of you, and he'll getyou yet. "

She waved her hand complacently, but her composure had already maddenedhim. He jerked his horse up roughly, threw himself into the saddle, andset out at a hard gallop along the trail to the South Y. D. 

It was mid-afternoon when he overtook Transley's outfit, now windingdown the southern slope of the tongue of foothills which divided thetwo valleys of the Y. D. Pete, wet over the flanks, pulled up of his ownaccord beside Linder's wagon. 

"'Lo, George, " said Linder. "What's your hurry?" Then, glancing at hissaddle, "Where's your blanket?"

Drazk's jaw dropped, but he had a quick wit, although an unbalanced one. 

"Well, Lin, I clean forgot all about it, " he admitted, with a laugh, "but when a fellow spends the morning chatting with old Y. D. 's daughterI guess he's allowed to forget a few things. "

"Oh!"

"Reckon you don't believe it, eh, Lin? Reckon you don't believe I stoodan' talked with her over the fence for so long I just had to pull myselfaway?"

"You reckon right. "

George was thinking fast. Here was an opportunity to present theincident in a light which had not before occurred to him. 

"Guess you wouldn't believe she told me her secret--told me somethin'she had never told anybody else, an' made me swear not to mention. Guessyou don't believe that, neither?"

"You guess right again. " Linder was quite unperturbed. He knew somethingof Drazk's gift for romancing. 

Drazk leaned over in the saddle until he could reach Linder's ear with aloud whisper. "And she called me 'dear'; 'George dear, ' she said, when Icame away. "

"The hell she did!" said Linder, at last prodded into interest. Heconsidered the "George dear" idea a daring flight, even for Drazk. "Better not let old Y. D. Hear you spinning anything like that, George, or he'll be likely to spoil your youthful beauty. "

"Oh, Y. D. 's all right, " said George, knowingly. "Y. D. 's all right. Well, I guess I'll let Pete feed a bit here, and then we'll go back for hisblanket. You'll have to excuse me a bit these days, Lin; you know how itis when a fellow's in love. "

"Huh!" said Linder. 

George dropped behind, and an amused smile played on the foreman's face. He had known Drazk too long to be much surprised at anything he mightdo. It was Drazk's idea of gallantry to make love to every girl onsight. Possibly Drazk had managed to exchange a word with Zen, and hisimagination would readily expand that into a love scene. Zen! Even theplacid, balanced Linder felt a slight leap in the blood at the unusualname, which to him suggested the bright girl who had come into his lifethe night before. Not exactly into his life; it would be fairer to sayshe had touched the rim of his life. Perhaps she would never penetrateit further; Linder rather expected that would be the case. Asfor Drazk--she was in no danger from him. Drazk's methods were soprecipitous that they could be counted upon to defeat themselves. 

Below stretched the valley of the South Y. D. , almost a duplicate of itsnorthern neighbor. The stream hugged the feet of the hills on the northside of the valley; its ribbon of green and gold was like a fringegathered about the hem of their skirts. Beyond the stream lay the levelplains of the valley, and miles to the south rose the next ridge offoothills. It was from these interlying plains that Y. D. Expected histhousand tons of hay. There is no sleugh hay in the foothill country;the hay is cut on the uplands, a short, fine grass of great nutritivevalue. This grass, if uncut, cures in its natural state, and affordssustenance to the herds which graze over it all winter long. But itoccasionally happens that after a snow-fall the Chinook wind willpartially melt the snow, and then a sudden drop in the temperatureleaves the prairies and foothills covered with a thin coating of ice. It is this ice covering, rather than heavy snow-fall or severe weather, which is the principal menace to winter grazing, and the foresightedrancher aims to protect himself and his stock from such a contingency byhaving a good reserve of hay in stack. 

Here, then, was the valley in which Y. D. Hoped to supplement the crop ofhis own hay lands. Linder's appreciative eye took in the scene: a sceneof stupendous sizes and magnificent distances. As he slowly turned hisvision down the valley a speck in the distance caught his sight andbrought him to his feet. Shading his eyes from the bright afternoon sunhe surveyed it long and carefully. There was no doubt about it: a hayingoutfit was already at work down the valley. 

Leaving his team to manage themselves Linder dropped from his wagon andjoined Transley. "Some one has beat us to it, " he remarked. 

"So I observed, " said Transley. "Well, it's a big valley, and if they'resatisfied to stay where they are there should be enough for both. Ifthey're not--"

"If they're not, what?" demanded Linder. 

"You heard what Y. D. Said. He said, 'Cut it, spite o' hell an' highwater, ' and I always obey orders. "

They wound down the hillside until they came to the stream, the horsesquickening their pace with the smell of water in their eager nostrils. It was a good ford, broad and shallow, with the typical boulder bottomof the mountain stream. The horses crowded into it, drinking greedilywith a sort of droning noise caused by the bits in their mouths. Whenthey had satisfied their thirst they raised their heads, stretched theirnoses far out and champed wide-mouthed upon their bits. 

After a pause in the stream they drew out on the farther bank, wherewere open spaces among cottonwood trees, and Transley indicated thatthis would be their camping ground. Already smoke was issuing from thechuck wagon, and in a few minutes the men's sleeping tent and the twostable tents were flashing back the afternoon sun. They carried noeating tent; instead of that an eating wagon was backed up against thechuck wagon, and the men were served in it. They had not paused for amidday meal; the cook had provided sandwiches of bread and roast beefto dull the edge of their appetite, and now all were keen to fall to assoon as the welcome clanging of the plow-colter which hung from the endof the chuck wagon should give the signal. 

Presently this clanging filled the evening air with sweet music, and themen filed with long, slouchy tread into the eating wagon. The table randown the centre, with bench seats at either side. The cook, properlygauging the men's appetites, had not taken time to prepare meat andpotatoes, but on the table were ample basins of graniteware filled withbeans and bread and stewed prunes and canned tomatoes, pitchers of syrupand condensed milk, tins with marmalade and jam, and plates with buttersadly suffering from the summer heat. The cook filled their granite cupswith hot tea from a granite pitcher, and when the cups were empty filledthem again and again. And when the tables were partly cleared he broughtout deep pies filled with raisins and with evaporated apples and athick cake from which the men cut hunks as generous as their appetitesuggested. Transley had learned, what women are said to have learnedlong ago, that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and thecook had carte blanche. Not a man who ate at Transley's table but wouldhave spilt his blood for the boss or for the honor of the gang. 

The meal was nearing its end when through a window Linder's eye caughtsight of a man on horseback rapidly approaching. "Visitors, Transley, "he was able to say before the rider pulled up at the open door of thecovered wagon. 

He was such a rider as may still be seen in those last depths of theranching country where wheels have not entirely crowded Romance offof horseback. Spare and well-knit, his figure had a suggestion ofslightness which the scales would have belied. His face, keen andclean-shaven, was brown as the August hills, and above it his broad hatsat in the careless dignity affected by the gentlemen of the plains. Hisleather coat afforded protection from the heat of day and from the coldof night. 

"Good evening, men, " he said, courteously. "Don't let me disturb yourmeal. Afterwards perhaps I can have a word with the boss. "

"That's me, " said Transley, rising. 

"No, don't get up, " the stranger protested, but Transley insisted thathe had finished, and, getting down from the wagon, led the way a littledistance from the eager ears of its occupants. 

"My name is Grant, " said the stranger; "Dennison Grant. I am employed byMr. Landson, who has a ranch down the valley. If I am not mistaken youare Mr. Transley. "

"You are not mistaken, " Transley replied. 

"And I am perhaps further correct, " continued Grant, "in surmising thatyou are here on behalf of the Y. D. , and propose cutting hay in thisvalley?"

"Your grasp of the situation does you credit. " Transley's manner wasthat of a man prepared to meet trouble somewhat more than half way. 

"And I may further surmise, " continued Grant, quite unruffled, "thatY. D. Neglected to give you one or two points of information bearing uponthe ownership of this land, which would doubtless have been of interestto you?"

"Suppose you dismount, " said Transley. "I like to look a man in the facewhen I talk business to him. "

"That's fair, " returned Grant, swinging lightly from his horse. "I havea preference that way myself. " He advanced to within arm's length ofTransley and for a few moments the two men stood measuring each other. It was steel boring steel; there was not a flicker of an eyelid. 

"We may as well get to business, Grant, " said Transley at length. "Ialso can do some surmising. I surmise that you were sent here by Landsonto forbid me to cut hay in this valley. On what authority he acts Ineither know nor care. I take my orders from Y. D. Y. D. Said cut the hay. I am going to cut it. "

"YOU ARE NOT!"

Transley's muscles could be seen to go tense beneath his shirt. 

"Who will stop me?" he demanded. 

"You will be stopped. "

"The Mounted Police?" There was contempt in his voice, but the contemptwas not for the Force. It was for the rancher who would appeal to thepolice to settle a "friendly" dispute. 

"No, I don't think it will be necessary to call in the police, " returnedGrant, dropping back to his pleasant, casual manner. "You know Y. D. , and doubtless you feel quite safe under his wing. But you don't knowLandson. Neither do you know the facts of the case--the right and wrongof it. Under these handicaps you cannot reach a decision which is fairto yourself and to your men. "

"Further argument is simply waste of time, " Transley interrupted. "Ihave told you my instructions, and I have told you that I am going tocarry them out. Have you had your supper?"

"Yes, thanks. All right, we won't argue any more. I'm not arguingnow--I'm telling you, Y. D. Has cut hay in this valley so long he thinkshe owns it, and the other ranchers began to think he owned it. ButLandson has been making a few inquiries. He finds that these are notCrown lands, but are privately owned by speculators in New York. He hascontracted with the owners for the hay rights of these lands for fiveyears, beginning with the present season. He is already cutting fartherdown the valley, and will be cutting here within a day or two. "

"The trout ought to bite on a fine evening like this, " said Transley. "Ihave an extra rod and some flies. Will you try a throw or two with me?"

"I would be glad to, but I must get back to camp. I hope you land a goodstring, " and so saying Grant remounted, nodded to Transley and again tothe men now scattered about the camp, and started his horse on an easylope down the valley. 

"Well, what is it to be?" said Linder, coming up with the rest of theboys. "War?"

"War if they fight, " Transley replied, unconcernedly. "Y. D. Said cut thehay; 'spite o' hell an' high water, ' he said. That goes. "

Slowly the great orb of the sun sank until the crest of the mountainspierced its molten glory and sent it burnishing their rugged heights. Inthe east the plains were already wrapped in shadow. Up the valley creptthe veil of night, hushing even the limitless quiet of the day. Thestream babbled louder in the lowering gloom; the stamp and champing ofhorses grew less insistent; the cloudlets overhead faded from crimson tomauve to blue to grey. 

Transley tapped the ashes from his pipe and went to bed. 

CHAPTER IV

"How about a ride over to the South Fork this afternoon, Zen?" said Y. D. To his daughter the following morning. "I just want to make sure themboys is hittin' the high spots. The grass is gettin' powerful dry an'you can never tell what may happen. "

"You're on, " the girl replied across the breakfast table. Her motherlooked up sharply. She wondered if the prospect of another meeting withTransley had anything to do with Zen's alacrity. 

"I had hoped you would outgrow your slang, Zen, " she remonstratedgently. "Men like Mr. Transley are likely to judge your training by yourspeech. "

"I should worry. Slang is to language what feathers are to a hat--theygive it distinction, class. They lift it out of the drab commonplace. "

"Still, I would not care to be dressed entirely in feathers, " her motherthrust quietly. 

"Good for you, Mother!" the girl exclaimed, throwing an arm about herneck and planking a firm kiss on her forehead. "That was a solar plexus. Now I'll try to be good and wear a feather only here and there. But Mr. Transley has nothing to do with it. "

"Of course not, " said Y. D. "Still, Transley is a man with snap in him. That's why he's boss. So many of these ornery good-for-nothin's isalways wishin' they was boss, but they ain't willin' to pay the price. It costs somethin' to get to the head of the herd--an' stay there. "

"He seems firm on all fours, " the girl agreed. "How do we travel, andwhen?"

"Better take a democrat, I guess, " her father said. "We can throw ina tent and some bedding for you, as we'll maybe stay over a couple ofnights. "

"The blue sky is tent enough for me, " Zen protested, "and I can surelyrustle a blanket or two around the camp. Besides, I'll want a ridinghorse to get around with there. "

"You can run him beside the democrat, " said her father. "You're gettin'too big to go campin' promisc'us like when you was a kid. "

"That's the penalty for growing up, " Zen sighed. "All right, Dad. Saytwo o'clock?"

The girl spent the morning helping her mother about the house, andcasting over in her mind the probable developments of the near future. She would not have confessed outwardly to even a casual interest inTransley, but inwardly she admitted that the promise of another meetingwith him gave zest to the prospect. Transley was interesting. At leasthe was out of the commonplace. His bold directness had rather fascinatedher. He had a will. Her father had always admired men with a will, andZen shared his admiration. Then there was Linder. The fierce light ofTransley's charms did not blind her to the glow of quiet capabilitywhich she saw in Linder. If one were looking for a husband, Linder hadmuch to recommend him. He was probably less capable than Transley, buthe would be easier to manage. . . . But who was looking for a husband? NotZen. No, no, certainly not Zen. 

Then there was George Drazk, whose devotions fluctuated between "thatPete-horse" and the latest female to cross his orbit. At the thought ofGeorge Drazk Zen laughed outright. She had played with him. She had madea monkey of him, and he deserved all he had got. It was not the firstoccasion upon which Zen had let herself drift with the tide, alwayssure of justifying herself and discomfiting someone by the swift, strongstrokes with which, at the right moment, she reached the shore. Zenliked to think of herself as careering through life in the same way asshe rode the half-broken horses of her father's range. How many such ahorse had thought that the lithe body on his back was something to racewith, toy with, and, when tired of that, fling precipitately to earth!And not one of those horses but had found that while he might race andtoy with his rider within limitations, at the last that light body wasmaster, and not he. . . . Yet Zen loved best the horse that raced wildestand was hardest to bring into subjection. 

That was her philosophy of life so far as a girl of twenty may have aphilosophy of life. It was to go on and see what would happen, supportedalways by a quiet confidence that in any pinch she could take care ofherself. She had learned to ride and shoot, to sleep out and cook in theopen, to ride the ranges after dark by instinct and the stars--she hadlearned these things while other girls of her age learned the rudimentsof fancy-work and the scales of the piano. 

Her father and mother knew her disposition, loved it, and feared for it. They knew that there was never a rider so brave, so skilful, so strong, but some outlaw would throw him at last. So at fourteen they sent hereast to a boarding-school. In two months she was back with a letter ofexpulsion, and the boast of having blacked the eyes of the principal'sdaughter. 

"They couldn't teach me any more, Mother, " she said. "They admitted it. So here I am. "

Y. D. Was plainly perplexed. "It's about time you was halter-broke, " hecommented, "but who's goin' to do it?"

"If a girl has learned to read and think, what more can the schools dofor her?" she demanded. 

And Y. D. , never having been to school, could not answer. 

The sun was capping the Rockies with molten gold when the rancher andhis daughter swung down the foothill slopes to the camp on the SouthY. D. Strings of men and horses returning from the upland meadows couldbe seen from the hillside as they descended. 

Y. D. 's sharp eyes measured the scale of operations. 

"They're hittin' the high spots, " he said, approvingly. "That boyTransley is a hum-dinger. "

Zen made no reply. 

"I say he's a hum-dinger, " her father repeated. 

The girl looked up with a quick flush of surprise. Y. D. Was no puzzle toher, and if he went out of his way to commend Transley he had a purpose. 

"Mr. Transley seems to have made a hit with you, Dad, " she remarked, evasively. 

"Well, I do like to see a man who's got the goods in him. I like a manthat can get there, just as I like a horse that can get there. I'veoften wondered, Zen, what kind you'd take up with, when it came to that, an' hoped he'd be a live crittur. After I'm dead an' buried I don't wantno other dead one spendin' my simoleons. "

"How about Mr. Linder?" said Zen, naively. 

Her father looked up sharply. "Zen, " he said, "you're not serious?"

Zen laughed. "I don't figure you're exactly serious, Dad, in yourtalk about Transley. You're just feeling out. Well--let me do a littlefeeling out. How about Linder?"

"Linder's all right, " Y. D. Replied. "Better than the average, I admit. But he's not the man Transley is. If he was, he wouldn't be workin' forTransley. You can't keep a man down, Zen, if he's got the goods in him. Linder comes up over the average, so's you can notice it, but not likeTransley does. "

Zen did not pursue the subject. She understood her father's philosophyvery well indeed, and, to a large degree, she accepted it as her own. Itwas natural that a man of Y. D. 's experience, who had begun life withno favors and had asked none since, and had made of himself a bigsuccess--it was natural that such a man should judge all others by theirmaterial achievements. The only quality Y. D. Took off his hat to was theability to do things. And Y. D. 's idea of things was very concrete; ithad to do with steers and land, with hay and money and men. It was bysuch things he measured success. And Zen was disposed to agree with him. Why not? It was the only success she knew. 

Transley was greeting them as they drew into camp. 

"Glad to see you, Y. D. ; honored to have a visit from you, Ma'am, " hesaid, as he helped them from the democrat, and gave instructions for thecare of their horses. "Supper is waiting, and the men won't be ready forsome time. "

Y. D. Shook hands with Transley cordially. "Zen an' me just thought we'drun over and see how the wind blew, " he said. "You got a good spot herefor a camp, Transley. But we won't go in to supper just now. Let themen eat first; I always say the work horses should be first at the barn. Well, how's she goin'?"

"Fine, " said Transley, "fine, " but it was evident his mind was divided. He was glancing at Zen, who stood by during the conversation. 

"I must try and make your daughter at home, " he continued. "I allowmyself the luxury of a private tent, and as you will be staying overnight I will ask you to accept it for her. "

"But I have my own tent with me, in the democrat, " said Zen. "If youwill let the men pitch it under the trees where I can hear the watermurmuring in the night--"

"Who'd have thought it, from the daughter of the practical Y. D!"Transley bantered. "All right, Ma'am, but in the meantime take my tent. I'll get water, and there's a basin. " He already was leading the way. "Make yourself at home--Zen. May I call you Zen?" he added, in a lowervoice, as they left Y. D. At a distance. 

"Everybody calls me Zen. "

They were standing at the door of the tent, he holding back the flapthat she might enter. The valley was already in shadow, and there was nosunlight to play on her hair, but her face and figure in the mellowdusk seemed entirely winsome and adorable. There was no taint of Y. D. 'smillions in the admiration that Transley bent upon her. . . . Of course, asan adjunct, the millions were not to be despised. 

When the men had finished supper Transley summoned her. On the way tothe chuck-wagon she passed close to George Drazk. It was evident thathe had chosen a station with that result in view. She had passed by whenshe turned, whimsically. 

"Well, George, how's that Pete-horse?" she said. 

"Up an comin' all the time, Zen, " he answered. 

She bit her lip over his familiarity, but she had no come-back. She hadgiven him the opening, by calling him "George. "

"You see, I got quite well acquainted with Mr. Drazk when he came backto hunt for a horse blanket which had mysteriously disappeared, " sheexplained to Transley. 

They ascended the steps which led from the ground into the wagon. Thetable had been reset for four, and as the shadows were now heavy in thevalley, candles had been lighted. Y. D. And his daughter sat on one side, Transley on the other. In a moment Linder entered. He had already had atalk with Y. D. , but had not met Zen since their supper together in therancher's house. 

"Glad to see you again, Mr. Linder, " said the girl, rising and extendingher hand across the table. "You see we lost no time in returning yourcall. "

Linder took her hand in a frank grasp, but could think of nothing inparticular to say. "We're glad to have you, " was all he could manage. 

Zen was rather sorry that Linder had not made more of the situation. She wondered what quick repartee, shot, no doubt, with double meaning, Transley would have returned. It was evident that, as her father hadsaid, Linder was second best. And yet there was something about hisshyness that appealed to her even more than did Transley's superbself-confidence. 

The meal was spent in small talk about horses and steers and the meritsof the different makes of mowing machines. When it was finished Transleyapologized for not offering his guests any liquor. "I never keep itabout the camp, " he said. 

"Quite right, " Y. D. Agreed, "quite right. Booze is like fire; a valuablething in careful hands, but mighty dangerous when everybody gets playin'with it. I reckon the grass is gettin' pretty dry, Transley?"

"Mighty dry, all right, but we're taking every precaution. "

"I'm sure you are, but you can't take precautions for other people. Hasanybody been puttin' you up to any trouble here?"

"Well, no, I can't exactly say trouble, " said Transley, "but we've gotnotice it's coming. A chap named Grant, foreman, I think, for Landson, down the valley, rode over last night, and invited us not to cut any hayhereabouts. He was very courteous, and all that, but he had the mannerof a man who'd go quite a distance in a pinch. "

"What did you tell him?"

"Told him I was working for Y. D. , and then asked him to stay forsupper. "

"Did he stay?" Zen asked. 

"He did not. He cantered off back, courteous as he came. And thismorning we went out on the job, and have cut all day, and nothing hashappened. "

"I guess he found you were not to be bluffed, " said Zen, and Transleycould not prevent a flush of pleasure at her compliment. "Of courseLandson has no real claim to the hay, has he, Dad?"

"Of course not. I reckon them'll be his stacks we saw down the valley. Well, I'm not wantin' to rob him of the fruit of his labor, an' ifhe keeps calm perhaps we'll let him have what he has cut, but if hedon't--" Y. D. 's face hardened with the set of a man accustomed to fight, and win, his own battles. "I think we'll just stick around a day or twoin case he tries to start anythin', " he continued. 

"Well, five o'clock comes early, " said Transley, "and you folks mustbe tired with your long drive. We've had your tent pitched down by thewater, Zen, so that its murmurs may sing you to sleep. You see, I havesome of the poetic in me, too. Mr. Linder will show you down, and I willsee that your father is made comfortable. And remember--five o'clockdoes not apply to visitors. "

The camp now lay in complete darkness, save where a lantern threw itslight from a tent by the river. Zen walked by Linder's side. Presentlyshe reached out and took his arm. 

"I beg your pardon, " said Linder. "I should have offered--"

"Of course you should. Mr. Transley would not have waited to be told. Dad thinks that anything that's worth having in this world is worthgoing after, and going after hard. I guess I'm Dad's daughter in moreways than one. "

"I suppose he's right, " Linder confessed, "but I've always been shy. Iget along all right with men. "

"The truth is, Mr Linder, you're not shy--you're frightened. Now I canwell believe that no man could frighten you. Consequently you get alongall right with men. Do I need to tell you the rest?"

"I never thought of myself as being afraid of women, " he replied. "Ithas always seemed that they were, well, just out of my line. "

They had reached the tent but the girl made no sign of going in. In thesilence the sibilant lisp of the stream rose loud about them. 

"Mr. Linder, " she said at length, "do you know why Mr. Transley sent youdown here with me?"

"I'm sure I don't, except to show you to your tent. "

"That was the least of his purposes. He wanted to show you that hewasn't afraid of you; and he wanted to show me that he wasn't afraid ofyou. Mr. Transley is a very self-confident individual. There is such athing as being too self-confident, Mr. Linder, just as there is such athing as being too shy. Do you get me? Good night!" And with a littlerush she was in her tent. 

Linder walked slowly down to the water's edge, and stood there, thinking, until her light went out. His brain was in a whirl with asensation entirely strange to it. A light wind, laden with snow-smellfrom the mountains, pressed gently against his features, and presentlyLinder took deeper breaths than he had ever known before. 

"By Jove!" he said. "Who'd have thought it possible?"

CHAPTER V

When Zen awoke next morning the mowing machines of Transley's outfitwere already singing their symphony in the meadows; she could hear themetallic rhythm as it came borne on the early breeze. She lay awake onher camp cot for a few minutes, stretching her fingers to the canvasceiling and feeling that it was good to be alive. And it was. The rippleof water came from almost underneath the walls of her tent; the smellof spruce trees and balm-o'-Gilead and new-mown hay was in the air. Shecould feel the warmth of the sunshine already pouring upon her whiteroof; she could trace the gentle sway of the trees by the leafy patternsgliding forward and back. A cheeky gopher, exploring about the doorof her tent, ventured in, and, sitting bolt upright, sent his shrillwhistle boldly forth. She watched his fine bravery for a minute, thenclapped her hands together, and laughed as he fled. 

"Therein we have the figures of both Transley and Linder, " she musedto herself. "Upright, Transley; horizontal, Linder. I doubt if the poorfellow slept last night after the fright I gave him. " Slowly and calmlyshe turned the incident over in her mind. She wondered a little if shehad been quite fair with Linder. Her words and conduct were capable ofvery broad interpretations. She was not at all in love with Linder; ofthat Zen was very sure. She was equally sure that she was not at all inlove with Transley. She admitted that she admired Transley for his calmassumptions, but they nettled her a little nevertheless. If this shoulddevelop into a love affair--IF it should--she had no intention that itwas to be a pleasant afternoon's canter. It was to be a race--a race, mind you--and may the best man win! She had a feeling, amounting almostto a conviction, that Transley underrated his foreman's possibilitiesin such a contest. She had seen many a dark horse, less promising thanLinder, gallop home with the stakes. 

Then Zen smiled her own quiet, self-confident smile, the smile which hadcome down to her from Y. D. And from the Wilsons--the only family thathad ever mastered him. The idea of either Transley or Linder thinking hecould gallop home with HER! For the moment she forgot to do Linder thejustice of remembering that nothing was further from his thoughts. Shewould show them. She would make a race of it--ALMOST to the wire. In thehome stretch she would make the leap, out and over the fence. She was init for the race, not for the finish. 

Zen contemplated for some minutes the possibilities of that race; then, as the imagination threatened to become involved, she sprang from hercot and thrust a cautious head through the door of her tent. The ganghad long since gone to the fields, and friendly bushes sheltered herfrom view from the cook-car. She drew on her boots, shook out her hair, threw a towel across her shoulders, and, soap in hand, walked boldly thefew steps to the stream rippling over its shiny gravel bed. She stoppedand tested the water with her fingers; then brought it in fresh, coolhandfuls about her face and neck. 

"Mornin', Zen!" said a familiar voice. "'Scuse me for happenin' to behere. I was jus' waterin' that Pete-horse after a hard ride. "

"Now look here, Mr. Drazk!" said the girl, whipping her scanty clothingabout her, "if I had a gun that Pete-horse would be scheduled for hisfastest travel in the next twenty seconds, and he'd end it without arider, too. I won't have you spying about!"

"Aw, don' be cross, " Drazk protested. He was sitting on his horse inthe ford a dozen yards away. "I jus' happened along. I guess the outsidebelongs to all of us. Say, Zen, if I was to get properly interduced, what's the chances?"

"Not one in a million, and if that isn't odds enough I'll double it. "

"You're not goin' to hitch up with Linder, are you?"

"Linder? Who said anything about Linder?"

"Gee, but ain't she innercent?" Drazk stepped his horse up a few feet tofacilitate conversation. "I alus take an interest in innercent gals awayfrom home, so I kinda kep' my angel eye on you las' night. An' I seeLinder stalkin' aroun' here an' sighin' out over the water when heshould 'ave been in bed. But, of course, he's been interduced. "

"George Drazk, if you speak to me again I'll horse-whip you out of thecamp at noon before all the men. Now, beat it!"

"Jus' as you say, Ma'am, " he returned, with mock courtesy. "But I couldtell a strange story if I would. But you don't need to be scared. That'sone thing I never do--I never squeal on a friend. "

She was burning with his insults, and if she had had a gun at hand sheundoubtedly would have made good her threat. But she had none. Drazkvery deliberately turned his horse and rode away toward the meadows. 

"Oh, won't I fix him!" she said, as she continued her toilet in a fury. She had not the faintest idea what revenge she would take, but shepromised herself that it would leave nothing to be desired. Then, because she was young and healthy and an optimist, and did not knowwhat it meant to be afraid, she dismissed the incident from her mind toconsider the more urgent matter of breakfast. 

Tompkins, the cook, had not needed Transley's suggestion to put hisbest foot forward when catering to Y. D. And his daughter. Tompkins' soulyearned for a cooking berth that could be occupied the year round. Work in the railway camps had always left him high and dry at thefreeze-up--dry, particularly, and a few nights in Calgary or Edmontonsaw the end of his season's earnings. Then came a precarious existencefor Tompkins until the scrapers were back on the dump the followingspring. A steady job, cooking on a ranch like the Y. D. ; if Tompkins hadwritten the Apocalypse that would have been his picture of heaven. So hehad left nothing undone, even to despatching a courier over night to arailway station thirty miles away for fresh fruit and other delicacies. Another of the gang had been impressed into a trip up the river to asquatter who was suspected of keeping one or two milch cows and sundryhens. 

"This way, Ma'am, " Tompkins was waving as Zen emerged from the grove. "Another of our usual mornings. Hope you slep' well, Ma'am. " He stooddeferentially aside while she ascended the three steps that led into thecovered wagon. 

Zen gave a little shriek of delight, and Tompkins felt that all hisefforts had been well repaid. One end of the table--it was with asore heart Tompkins had realized that he could not cut down the bigtable--one end of the table was set with a clean linen cloth and granitedishware scoured until it shone. Beside Zen's plate were grape fruit andsliced oranges and real cream. 

"However did you manage it?" she gasped. 

"Nothing's too good for Y. D. 's daughter, " was the only explanationTompkins would offer, but, as Zen afterwards said, the smile on his facewas as good as another breakfast. After the fruit came porridge, and more cream; then fresh boiled eggs with toast; then fresh ripestrawberries with more cream. 

"Mr. --Mr. --"

"Tompkins, Ma'am; Cyrus Tompkins, " he supplied. 

"Well, Mr. Tompkins, you're a wonder, and when there's a new cook to beengaged for the Y. D. I shall think of you. "

"Indeed I wish you would, Ma'am, " he said, earnestly. "This roadwork's all right, and nobody ever cooked for a better boss than Mr. Transley--savin' it would be your father, Ma'am--but I'm a man offamily, an' it's pretty hard--"

"Family, did you say, Mr. Tompkins? How many of a family have you?"

"Well, it's seven years since I heard from them--I haven't correspondedvery reg'lar of late, but they WAS six--"

The story of Tompkins' family was cut short by the arrival of a team andmowing machine. 

"What's up, Fred?" called Tompkins through a window of his dining car tothe driver. "Breakfust is just over, an' dinner ain't begun. "

For answer the man addressed as Fred slowly produced an iron stake abouteighteen inches long and somewhat less than an inch in diameter. 

"What kind of shrubbery do you call that, Tompkins?" he demanded. 

"Well, it ain't buffalo grass, an' it ain't brome grass, an' I don'tfigger it's alfalfa, " said Tompkins, meditatively. 

"No, and it ain't a grub-stake, " Fred replied, with some sarcasm. "It'sa iron stake, growin' right in a nice little clump of grass, and I runon to it and bust my cuttin'-bar all to--that is, all to pieces, " hecompleted rather lamely, taking Zen into his glance. 

"I think I follow you, " she said, with a smile. "Can you fix it here?"

"Nope. Have to go to town for a new one. Two days' lost time, when everyhour counts. Hello! Here comes someone else. "

Another of the teamsters was drawing into camp. "Hello, Fred!" he said, upon coming up with his fellow workman, "you in too? I had a bit ofbad luck. I run smash on to an iron stake right there in the ground andcrumpled my knife like so much soap. "

"I did worse, " said Fred, with a grin. "I bust my cuttin'-bar. "

The two men exchanged a steady glance for half a minute. Then thenew-comer gave vent to a long, low whistle. 

"So that's the way of it, " he said. "That's the kind of war Mr. Landsonmakes. Well, we can fight back with the same weapons, but that won't cutthe hay, will it?"

By this time Y. D. And Transley, with four other teamsters, were observedcoming in. Each driver had had the same experience. An iron stake, carefully hidden in a clump of grass, had been driven down into theground until it was just high enough to intercept the cutting-bar. Thefine, sharp knives were crumpled against it; in some cases the heavycutting-bar, in which the knives operate, was damaged. 

Y. D. 's face was black with fury. 

"That's the lowest, mangyest, cowardliest trick I ever had pulled onme, " he was saying. "I'm plumb equal to ridin' down to Landson's an'drivin' one of them stakes through under his short ribs. "

"But can you prove that Landson did it?" said Zen, who had an elementof caution in her when her father was concerned. She had a vision ofa fight, with Landson pleading entire ignorance of the whole cause ofoffence, and her father probably summoned by the police for unprovokedassault. 

"No, I can't prove that Landson did it, an' I can't prove that the grassmy steers eat turns to hair on their backs, " he retorted, "but I reachmy own conclusions. Is there any shootin' irons in the place?"

"Now, Dad, that's enough, " said the girl, firmly. "There'll be noshooting between you and Landson. If there is to be anything of thatkind I'll ride down ahead and warn him of what's coming. "

"Darter, " said Y. D. --it was only on momentous occasions that headdressed her as daughter--"I brought you over here as a guest, notas manager o' my affairs. I've taken care of those affairs for someconsiderable years, an' I reckon I still have the qualifications. Ifyou're a-goin' to act up obstrep'rous I'll get Mr. Transley to lend me aman to escort you home. "

"At your service, Y. D. , " said George Drazk, who was in the crowd whichhad gathered about the rancher, his daughter, and Transley. "ThatPete-horse an' me would jus' see her over the hills a-whoopin'. "

"I don't think it would be wise to take any extreme measures, at least, not just yet, " said Transley. "It's out of the question to suppose thatLandson has picketed the whole valley with those stakes. It is now quiteclear why we were left in peace yesterday. He wanted us to get started, and get a few swaths cut, so that he would know where to drive thestakes to catch us the next morning. Some of these machines can berepaired at once, and the others within a day or two. We will just moveover a little and start on new fields. There's pretty good moonlightthese nights and we'll leave a few men out on guard, and perhaps we cancatch the enemy at his little game. Let us get one of Landson's men withthe goods on him. "

Y. D. Was somewhat pacified by this suggestion. "You're a practicaldevil, Transley, " he said, with considerable admiration. "Now, in a caseof this kind I jus' get plumb fightin' mad. I want to bore somebody. I guess it's the only kind o' procedure that comes easy to my hand. Iguess you're right, but I hate to let anybody have the laugh on me. "Y. D. Looked down the valley, shading his eyes with his hand. "Thatson-of-a-gun has got a dozen or more stacks down there. I don't wishnobody any hard luck, but if some tenderfoot was to drop a cigar--"

"In that case I suppose you'd pray for a west wind, Dad, " Zen suggested, "but the winds in these valleys, even with your prayers to direct them, are none too reliable. "

"Everybody to work on fixing up these machines, " Transley ordered. "Linder, make a list of what repairs are needed and Drazk will ride totown with it at once. Some of them may have to come out from the city byexpress. Drazk can get the orders in and a team will follow to bring outthe repairs. "

In a moment Transley's men were busy with wrenches and hammers, replacing knives and appraising damages. Even in his anger Y. D. Tookapproving note of the promptness of Transley's decisions and the zestwith which his men carried them into effect. 

"A he-man, that fellow, Zen, " he confided to his daughter, "If he'dblowed into this country thirty years ago, like I did, he'd own it bythis time plumb to the sky-line. "

When the list of repairs was completed Linder handed it to Drazk. 

"Beat it to town on that Pete-horse of yours, George, " he said. "Burnthe grass on the road. "

"I bet I'll be ten miles on the road back when I meet my shadow goin', "said Drazk, making a spectacular leap into his saddle. "Bye, Y. D!; bye, Zen!" he shouted while he whirled his horse's head eastward and wavedhis hand to where they stood. In spite of her annoyance at him she hadto smile and return his salute. 

"Mr. Drazk is irrepressible, " she remarked to Transley. 

"And irresponsible, " the contractor returned. "I sometimes wonder why Ikeep him. In fact, I don't really keep him; he just stays. Every springhe hunts me up and fastens on. Still, I get a lot of good service outof him. Praise 'that Pete-horse, ' and George would ride his head off foryou. He has a weakness for wanting to marry every woman he sees, but hisinfatuations seem harmless enough. "

"I know something of his weakness, " Zen replied. "I have already beenhonored with a proposal. "

Transley looked in her face. It was slightly flushed, whether with thesummer sun or with her confession, but it was a wonderfully good face tolook in. 

"Zen, " he said, in a low voice that Y. D. And the others might not hear, "how would you take a serious proposal, made seriously by one who lovesyou, and who knows that you are, and always will be, a queen amongwomen?"

"If you had been a cow puncher instead of a contractor, " she told him, "I'm sure you would long ago have ended your life in some dash over acutbank. "

Meanwhile Drazk pursued his way to town. The trail, after crossing theford, turned abruptly to the right from that which led across country tothe North Y. D. For a mile or more it skirted the stream in a park-likedrive through groves of spruce and cottonwood. Sunshine and the babbleof water everywhere filled the air. Sunshine, too, filled George Drazk'sheart. The importance of his mission was pleasantly heavy upon him. Hepictured the impression he would make in town, galloping in with hishorse wet over the back, and rushing to the implement agency with allthe importance of a courier from Y. D. He would let two of the boys takePete to the stable, and then, seated on a mower seat in the shade, hewould tell the story. It would lose nothing in the telling. He wouldeven add how Zen had thrown a kiss at him in parting. Perhaps he wouldhave Zen kiss him on the cheek before the whole camp. He turned thatpossibility over in his mind, weighing nicely the credulity of hisimaginary audience. . . . At any rate, whether he decided to put that inthe story or not, it was very pleasant to think about. 

Presently the trail turned abruptly up a gully leading into the hills. A huge cutbank, jutting into the river, barred the way in front, andits precipitous side, a hundred feet or more in height, kept continuallycrumbling and falling into the stream. These cutbanks are a terror toinexperienced riders. The valleys are swallowed up in the tawny samenessof the ranges; the vision catches only the higher levels, and onemay gallop to the verge of a precipice before becoming aware ofits existence. It was to this that Zen had referred in speaking ofTransley's precipitateness. 

Drazk followed the gully up into the hills, letting his horse drop backto a walk in the hard going along the dry bed of a stream which flowedonly in the spring freshets. Pete had to pick his way over boulders andacross stretches of sand and boggy patches of black mud formed by littlesprings leaking out under clumps of willows. Here and there the whiteribs of a steer's skeleton peered through the brush; once or twice anoverpowering stench gave notice of a carcass not wholly decomposed. 

It was not a pleasant environment, but in an hour Drazk was out againon the brow of the brown hills, where the sunshine flooded about and afresh breeze beat up against his face. After all his winding about inthe gully he was not more than a mile from the cutbank. 

"I reckon I could get a great view from that cutbank of what Landsonis doin', " he suddenly remarked to himself. He took off his hat andscratched his tousled head in reflection. "Linder said to beat it, " heruminated, "but I can't get back to-night anyway, an' it might be worthwhile to do a little scoutin'. Here goes!"

He struck a smart gallop to the southward, and brought his horse up, spectacularly, a yard from the edge of the precipice. The view whichhis position commanded was superb. Up the valley lay the white tents ofTransley's outfit, almost hidden in green foliage; the ford across theriver was distinctly visible, and stretching south from it lay, like agreat curving snake, the trail which wound across the valley and lostitself in the foothills far to the south; across the western horizonhung the purple curtain of the mountains, soft and vague in theirnoonday mists, but touched with settings of ivory where the snow fieldsbeat back the blazing sunshine; far down the valley was the gleam ofLandson's whitewashed buildings, and nearer at hand the greenish-brownof the upland meadows which his haymakers had already cleared of theircrop of prairie wool. This was now arising in enormous stacks; it musthave been three miles to where they lay, but Drazk's keen eyes coulddistinguish ten completed stacks and two others in course of building. He could even see the sweeps hauling the new hay, after only a few hoursof sun-drying, and sliding it up the inclined platforms which dumped itinto the form of stacks. The foothill rancher makes hay by horse power, and almost without the aid of a pitch-fork. Even as Drazk watched hesaw a load skidded up; saw its apparent momentary poise in air; sawthe well-trained horses stop and turn and start back to the meadow withtheir sweep. And up the valley Transley's outfit was at a standstill. 

Drazk employed his limited but expressive vocabulary. It was againstall human nature to look on such a scene unmoved. He recalled Y. D. 'shalf-spoken wish about a random cigar. Then suddenly George Drazk'smouth dropped open and his eyes rounded with a great idea. 

Of course, it was against all the rules of the range--it was outlawbusiness--but what about driving iron stakes in a hay meadow? Drazk'sphilosophy was that the end justifies the means. And if the end wouldwin the approval of Y. D. --and of Y. D. 's daughter--then any means wasjustified. Had not Linder said, "Burn the grass on the road?" Drazkknew well enough that Linder's remark was a figure of speech, buthis eccentric mind found no trouble in converting it into literalinstructions. 

Drazk sniffed the air and looked at the sun. A soft breeze was movingslowly up the valley; the sun was just past noon. There was every reasonto expect that as the lowland prairies grew hot with the afternoonsunshine a breeze would come down out of the mountains to occupy thearea of great atmospheric expansion. Drazk knew nothing about the theoryof the thing; all that concerned him was the fact that by mid-afternoonthe wind would probably change to the west. 

Two miles down the valley he found a gully which gave access to thewater's edge. He descended, located a ford, and crossed. There werecattle-trails through the cottonwoods; he might have followed them, buthe feared the telltale shoe-prints. He elected the more difficult routedown the stream itself. The South Y. D. Ran mostly on a wide gravelbottom; it was possible to pick out a course which kept Pete in waterseldom higher than his knees. An hour of this, and Drazk, peeringthrough the trees, could see the nearest of Landson's stacks not halfa mile away. The Landson gang were working farther down the valley, andthe stack itself covered approach from the river. 

Drazk slipped from the saddle, and stole quietly into the open. Thebreeze was now coming down the valley. 

CHAPTER VI

Transley's men had repaired such machines as they could and returned towork. The clatter of mowing machines filled the valley; the horses werespeeded up to recover lost time. Transley and Y. D. Rode about, carefullyscrutinizing the short grass for iron stakes, and keeping a general eyeon operations. 

Suddenly Transley sat bolt-still on his horse. Then, in a low voice, "Y. D!" he said. 

The rancher turned and followed the line of Transley's vision. Thenearest of Landson's stacks was ablaze, and a great pillar of smoke wasrolling skyward. Even as they watched, the base of the fire seemed tospread; then, in a moment, tongues of flame were seen leaping from astack farther on. 

"Looks like your prayers were answered, Y. D. , " said Transley. "I betthey haven't a plow nearer than the ranch. "

Y. D. Seemed fascinated by the sight. He could not take his eyes offit. He drew a cigar from his pocket and thrust it far into his mouth, chewing it savagely and rolling it in his lips, but, according to thelaw of the hayfield, refraining from lighting it. At first there was agleam of vengeance in his eyes, but presently that gave way to a sort ofhorror. Every honorable tradition of the range demanded that he enlisthis force against the common enemy. 

"Hell, Transley!" he ejaculated, "we can't sit and look at that! Orderthe men out! What have we got to fight with?"

For answer Transley swung round in his saddle and struck his palm intoY. D. 's. 

"Good boy, Y. D!" he said. "I did you an injustice--I mean, about yourprayers being answered. We haven't as much as a plow, either, but we cangallop down with some barrels in a wagon and put a sack brigade towork. I'm afraid it won't save Landson's hay, but it will show where ourhearts are. "

Transley and Y. D. Galloped off to round up the men, some of whom hadalready noticed the fire. Transley despatched four men and two teamsto take barrels, sacks, and horse blankets to the Landson meadows. Theothers he sent off at once on horseback to give what help they could. 

Zen rode up just as they left, and already her fine horse seemed torealize the tension in the air. His keen, hard-strung muscles quiveredas she brought his gallop to a stop. 

"How did it start, Dad?" she demanded. 

"How do I know?" he returned, shortly. "D'ye think I fired it?"

"No, but I just asked the question that Landson will ask, so you betterhave your answer handy. I'm going to gallop down to their ranch; perhapsI can help Mrs. Landson. "

"The ranch buildings are safe enough, I think, " said Transley. "Thegrass there is close cropped, and there is some plowing. "

For a moment the three sat, watching the spread of the flames. By thistime the whole lower valley was blanketed in smoke. Clouds of blue andmauve and creamy yellow rolled from the meadows and stacks. The fire waswhipping the light breeze of the afternoon to a gale, and was alreadyrunning wildly over the flanks of the foothills. 

"Well, I'm off, " said Zen. "Good-bye!"

"Be careful, Zen!" her father shouted. "Fire is fire. " But already herhorse was stretching low and straight in a hard gallop down the valley. 

"I'll ride in to camp and tell Tompkins to make up a double supply ofsandwiches and coffee, " said Transley. "I guess there'll be no cookingin Landson's outfit this afternoon. After that we can both run down andlend a hand, if that suits you. "

As they rode to camp together Y. D. Drew up close to the contractor. "Transley, " he said, "how do you reckon that fire started?"

"I don't know, " said Transley, "any more than you do. "

"I didn't ask you what you KNEW. I asked you what you reckoned. "

Transley rode for some minutes in silence. Then at last he spoke:

"A man isn't supposed to reckon in things of this kind. He should know, or keep his mouth shut. But I allow myself just one guess. Drazk. "

"Why Drazk?" Y. D. Demanded. "He has nothin' to gain, and this prank mayput him in the cooler. "

"Drazk would do anything to be spectacular, " Transley explained. "Heprobably will boast openly about it. You know, he's trying to make animpression on Zen. "

"Nonsense!"

"Of course it's nonsense, but Drazk doesn't see it that way. "

"I'd string him to the nearest cottonwood if I thought he--"

"Now don't do him an injustice, Y. D. Drazk doesn't realize that he isno mate for Zen. He doesn't know of any reason why Zen shouldn't look onhim with favor; indeed, with pride. It's ridiculous, I know, but Drazkis built that way. "

"Then I'll change his style of architecture the first time I run intohim, " said Y. D. Savagely. "Zen is too young to think of such a thing, anyway. "

"She will always be too young to think of such a thing, so far as Drazkor his type is concerned, " Transley returned. "But suppose--Y. D. , to bequite frank, suppose _I_ suggested--"

"Transley, you work quick, " said Y. D. "I admit I like a quick worker. But just now we have a fire on our hands. "

By this time they had reached the camp. Transley gave his instructionsin a few words, and then turned to ride down to Landson's. They had goneonly a few hundred yards when Y. D. Pulled his horse to a stop. 

"Transley!" he exclaimed, and his voice was shaking. "What do yousmell?"

The contractor drew up and sniffed the air. When he turned to Y. D. Hisface was white. 

"Smoke, Y. D!" he gasped. "The wind has changed!"

It was true. Already low clouds of smoke were drifting overhead like abroken veil. The erratic foothill wind, which a few minutes before hadbeen coming down the valley, was now blowing back up again. Even whilethey took in the situation they could feel the hot breath of the distantfire borne against their faces. 

"Well, it's up to us, " said Transley tersely. "We'll make a fight of it. Got any speed in that nag of yours?" Without waiting for an answer heput spurs to his horse and set forward on a wild gallop into the smoke. 

A mile down the line he found that Linder had already gathered hisforces and laid out a plan of defence. The valley, from the South Y. D. To the hills, was about four miles wide, and up the full breadth ofit was now coming the fire from Landson's fields. There was no naturalfighting line; Linder had not so much as a buffalo path to work against. But he was already starting back-fires at intervals of fifty yards, allotting three men to each fire. A back-fire is a fire started for thepurpose of stopping another. Usually a road, or a plowed strip, or evena cattle path, is used for a base. On the windward side of this base theback-fire is started and allowed to eat its way back against the winduntil it meets the main fire which is rushing forward with the wind, andchokes it out for lack of fuel. A few men, stationed along a furrow or atrail, can keep the small back-fire from jumping it, although they wouldbe powerless to check the momentum of the main fire. 

This was Linder's position, except that he had no furrow to workagainst. All he could do was tell off men with sacks and horse blanketssoaked in the barrels of water to hold the back-fire in check as bestthey could. So far they were succeeding. As soon as the fire had burneda few feet the forward side of it was pounded out with wet sacks. Itdidn't matter about the other side. It could be allowed to eat back asfar as it liked; the farther the better. 

"Good boy, Lin!" Transley shouted, as he drew up and surveyedoperations. "She played us a dirty trick, didn't she?"

Linder looked up, red-eyed and coughing. "We can hold it here, " he said, "but we can never cross the valley. The fire will be on us before wehave burned a mile. It will beat around our south flank and lick upeverything!"

Transley jumped from his horse. He seized Linder in his arms andliterally threw him into the saddle. "You're played, boy!" he shouted inhis foreman's ear. "Ride down to the river and get into the water, andstay there until you know we can win!"

Then Transley threw himself into the fight. As the men said afterwards, Linder fought like a wildcat, but Transley fought like a den of lions. When the wagon galloped up from the river with barrels of water Transleyseized a barrel at the end and set it bodily on the ground. He spranginto the wagon, shouting commands to horses and men. A hundred yardsthey galloped along the fighting front; then Transley sprang out and setanother barrel on the ground. In this way, instead of having the men allcoming to the wagon to wet their sacks, he distributed water along theline. Then they turned back, picked up the empty barrels, and gallopedto the river for a fresh supply. 

Soon they had the first mile secure. The backfires had all met; theforward line of flames had all been pounded out; the rear line hadburned back until there was no danger of it jumping the burned space. Then Transley picked up his kit and rushed it on to a new front farthersouth. At intervals of a hundred yards he started fires, holding them incheck and beating out the western edge as before. 

But his difficulties were increasing. He was farther from the river. It took longer to get water. One of the barrels fell off and collapsed. Some of the men were playing out. The horses were wild with excitementand terror. The smoke was growing denser and hotter. Men were coughingand gasping through dry, seared lips. 

"You can't hold it, Transley; you can't hold it!" said one of the men. 

Transley hit him from the shoulder. He crumpled up and collapsed. 

A mile and a half had been made safe, but the smoke was suffocatinglythick and the roar of the oncoming fire rose above the shouts of thefighters. Up galloped the water wagon; made a sharp lurch and turn, and a front wheel collapsed with the shock. The wagon went down at onecorner and the barrels were dumped on the ground. 

The men looked at Transley. For one moment he surveyed the situation. 

"Is there a chain?" he demanded. There was. 

"Hitch on to the tire of this broken wheel. Some of you men yank the hubout of it. Others pull grass. Pull, like hell was after you!"

They pulled. In a minute or two Transley had the rim of the wheel flaton the ground, with a team hitched to it and a little pile of dry grassinside. Then he set fire to the little pile of grass and started theteam slowly along the battle front. As they moved the burning grass inthe rim set fire to the grass on the prairie underneath; the rim partlyrubbed it out again as it came over, and the men were able to keep whatremained in check, but as he lengthened his line Transley had to leavemore and more men to beat out the fire, and had fewer to pull grass. The sacks were too wet to burn; he had to have grass to feed his movingfire-spreader. 

At length he had only a teamster and himself, and his fire was goingout. Transley whipped off his shirt, rolled it into a little heap, set fire to it, and ran along beside the rim, firing the little movingcircle of grass inside. 

It was the teamster, looking back, who saw Transley fall. He had to dropthe lines to run to his assistance, and the horses, terrified by smokeand fire and the excitement of the fight, immediately bolted. Theteamster took Transley in his arms and half carried, half dragged himinto the safe area behind the backfires. And a few minutes later themain fire, checked on its front, swept by on the flank and raced on upthrough the valley. 

In riding down to the assistance of Mrs. Landson Zen found herselfsuddenly caught in an eddy of smoke. She did not realize at the momentthat the wind had turned; she thought she must have ridden into the firearea. To avoid the possibility of being cut off by the fire, and alsofor better air, she turned her horse to the river. All through thevalley were billows of smoke, with here and there a reddish-yellowglare marking the more vicious sections of flame. Vaguely, at times, shethought she caught the shouting of men, but all the heavens seemed fullof roaring. 

When Zen reached the water the smoke was hanging low on it, and shedrove her horse well in. Then she swung down the stream, believing thatby making a detour in this way she could pass the wedge of fire that hadinterrupted her and get back on to the trail leading to Landson's. She was coughing with the smoke, but rode on in the confidence thatpresently it would lift. 

It did. A whip of wind raised it like a strong arm throwing off ablanket. She sat up and breathed freely. The hot sun shone through riftsin the canopy of smoke; the blue sky looked down serene and unmoved bythis outburst of the elements. Then as Zen brought her eyes back tothe water she saw a man on horseback not forty yards ahead. Her firstthought was that it must be one of the fire fighters, driven likeherself to safety, but a second glance revealed George Drazk. Fora moment she had an impulse to wheel and ride out, but even as shesmothered that impulse a tinge of color rose in her cheeks that sheshould for a moment have entertained it. To let George Drazk think shewas afraid of him would be utmost humiliation. 

She continued straight down the stream, but he had already seen her andwas headed her way. In the excitement of what he had just done Drazk wasless responsible than usual. 

"Hello, Zen!" he said. "Mighty decent of you to ride down an' meet melike this. Mighty decent, Zen!"

"I didn't ride down to meet you, Drazk, and you know it. Keep out of theway or I'll use a whip on you!"

"Oh, how haughty! Y. D. All over! Never mind, dear, I like you all thebetter for that. Who wants a tame horse? An' as for comin' down to meetme, what's the odds, so long as we've met?"

He had turned his horse and blocked the way in front of her. When Zen'shorse came within reach Drazk caught him by the bridle. 

"Will you let go?" the girl said, speaking as calmly as she could, butin a white passion. "Will you let go of that bridle, or shall I makeyou?"

He looked her full in the face. "Gad, but you're a stunner!" heexclaimed. "I'm glad we met--here. "

She brought her whip with a biting cut around the wrist that held herbridle. Drazk winced, but did not let go. 

"Jus' for that, young Y. D. , " he hissed, "jus' for that we drop allformalities, so to speak. "

With a dexterous spurring he brought his horse alongside and threw anarm about Zen before she could beat him off. She used her whip at shortrange on his face, but had not arm-room in which to land a blow. Theywere stirrup-deep in water, and as they struggled the horses edged indeeper still. Finding that she could not beat Drazk off Zen clutchedher saddle and drove the spurs into her horse. At this unaccustomedtreatment he plunged wildly forward, but Drazk's grip on her was toostrong to be broken. The manoeuvre had, however, the effect of unhorsingDrazk. He fell in the water, but kept his grip on Zen. With his freehand he still had the reins of his own horse, and he managed also toget hold of hers. Although her horse was plunging and jumping, Drazk'sstrong grip on his rein kept him from breaking away. 

"You fight well, Zen, damn you--you fight well, " he cried. "So youmight. You played with me--you made a fool of me. We'll see who's thefool in the end. " With a mighty wrench he tore her from her saddle andshe found herself struggling with him in the water. 

"If I put you under for a minute I guess you'll be good, " he threatened. "I'll half drown you, Zen, if I have to. "

"Go ahead, " she challenged. "I'll drown myself, if I have to. "

"Not just yet, Zen; not just yet. Afterwards you can do as you like. "

In their struggles they had been getting gradually into deeper water. Atthis moment they found their feet carried free, and the horses beganto swim for the shore. Drazk held to both reins with one hand, stillclutching his victim with the other. More than once they went underwater together and came up half choking. 

Zen was not a good swimmer, but she would gladly have broken away andtaken chances with the current. Once on land she would be at his mercy. She was using her head frantically, but could think of no device to foilhim. It was not her practice to carry weapons; her whip had already gonedown the stream. Presently she saw a long leather thong floating outfrom the saddle of Drazk's horse. It was no larger than a whiplash;apparently it was a spare lace which Drazk carried, and which had workedloose in the struggle. It was floating close to Drazk. 

"Don't let me sink, George!" she cried frantically, in sudden fright. "Save me! I won't fight any more. "

"That's better, " he said, drawing her up to him. "I knew you'd come toyour senses. "

Her hand reached the lash. With a quick motion of the arm, such as isgiven in throwing a rope, she had looped it once around his neck. Then, pulling the lash violently, she fought herself out of his grip. Heclutched at her wildly, but could reach only some stray locks of herbrown hair which had broken loose and were floating on the water. 

She saw his eyes grow round and big and horrified; saw his mouth openand refuse to close; heard strange little gurgles and chokings. But shedid not let go. 

"When you insulted me this morning I promised to settle with you; I didnot expect to have the chance so soon. "

His head had gone under water. . . . Suddenly she realized that he wasdrowning. She let go of the thong, clutched her horse's tail, and waspulled quickly ashore. 

Sitting on the gravel, she tried to think. Drazk had disappeared; hishorse had landed somewhat farther down. . . . Doubtless Drazk had drowned. Yes, that would be the explanation. Why change it?

Zen turned it over in her mind. Why make any explanations? It would bea good thing to forget. She could not have done otherwise under thecircumstances; no jury would expect her to do otherwise. But why troublea jury about it?

"He got what was coming to him, " she said to herself presently. Sheadmitted no regret. On the contrary, her inborn self-confidence, herassurance that she could take care of herself under any circumstances, seemed to be strengthened by the experience. 

She got up, drew her hair into some kind of shape, and scrambled alittle way up the steep bank. Clouds of smoke were rolling up thevalley. She did not grasp the significance of the fact at the firstglance, but in a moment it impacted home to her. The wind had changed!Her help now would be needed, not by Mrs. Landson, but probably at theirown camp. She sprang on her horse, re-crossed the stream, and set out ona gallop for the camp. On the way she had to ride through one thin lineof fire, which she accomplished successfully. Through the smoke shecould dimly see Transley's gang fighting the back-fires. She knew thatwas in good hands, and hastened on to the camp. Zen had had prairieexperience enough to know that in hours like this there is almost sureto be something or somebody, in vital need, overlooked. 

She galloped into the camp and found only Tompkins there. He had alreadyrun a little back-fire to protect the tents and the chuck-wagon. 

"How goes it, Tompkins?" she cried, bursting upon him like a courierfrom battle. 

"All set here, Ma'am, " he answered. "All set an' safe. But they'll neverhold the main fire; it'll go up the valley hell-scootin', --beggin' yourpardon, Ma'am. "

"Anyone live up the valley?"

"There is. There's the Lints--squatters about six miles up--it wasfrom them I got the cream an' fresh eggs you was good enough to notice, Ma'am. An' there's no men folks about; jus' Mrs. Lint an' a young herdof little Lints; least, that's all was there las' night. "

"I must go up, " said Zen, with instant decision. "I can get there beforethe fire, and as the Lints are evidently farmers there will be someplowed land, or at least a plow with which to run a furrow so that wecan start a back-fire. Direct me. "

Tompkins directed her as to the way, and, leaving a word of explanationto be passed on to her father, she was off. A half hour's hard ridingbrought her to Lint's, but she found that this careful settler had madefull provision against such a contingency as was now come about. Thefarm buildings, implements, stables, everything was surrounded, not by afire-guard, but by a broad plowed field. Mrs. Lint, however, was littleless thankful for Zen's interest than she would have been had theirlittle steading been in danger. She pressed Zen to wait and have atleast a cup of tea, and the girl, knowing that she could be of littleor no service down the valley, allowed herself to be persuaded. In thislittle harbor of quiet her mind began to arrange the day's events. Thetragic happening at the river was as yet too recent to appear real; hadit not been for the touch of her wet clothing Zen could have thoughtthat all an unhappy dream of days ago. She reflected that neitherTompkins nor Mrs. Lint had commented upon her appearance. The hot sunhad soon dried her outer apparel, and her general dishevelled conditionwas not remarkable on such a day as this. 

The wind had gone down as the afternoon waned, and the fire was workingup the valley leisurely when Zen set out on her return trip. A couple ofmiles from the Lint homestead she met its advance guard. It was eveningnow; the sun shone dull red through the banked clouds of smoke restingagainst the mountains to the west; the flames danced and flickered, advanced and receded, sprang up and died down again, along mile aftermile of front. It was a beautiful thing to behold, and Zen drew herhorse to a stop on a hill-top to take in the grandeur of the scene. Nearat hand frolicking flames were working about the base of the hill, and far down the valley and over the foothills the flanks of the firestretched like lines of impish infantry in single file. 

Suddenly she heard the sound of hoofs, and a rider drew up at her side. She supposed him one of Transley's men, but could not recall having seenhim in the camp. He sat his horse with an ease and grace that her eyewas quick to appraise; he removed his broad felt hat before he spoke;and he did not call her "ma'am. "

"Pardon me--I believe I am speaking to Y. D. 's daughter?" he asked, andbefore waiting for a reply hastened to introduce himself. "My name isDennison Grant, foreman on the Landson ranch. "

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I thought--I thought you were one of Mr. Transley's men. " Then, with a quick sense of the barrier between them, she added, "I hope you don't think that I--that we--had anything to dowith this?" She indicated the ruined valley with her hand. 

"No more than I had to do with those coward's stakes, " he answered. "Neither of us understand just now, but can we take that much forgranted?"

There was something about him that rather appealed to her. "I think wecan, " she said, simply. 

For a moment they watched the kaleidoscopic scene below them. "It mayhelp you to understand, " she continued, "if I say that I was riding downto see if I could be of some use to Mrs. Landson when the wind changed, and I saw I would be more likely to be needed here. "

"And it may help you to understand, " he said, "if I say that as soon asimmediate danger to the Landson ranch was over I rode up to Transley'scamp. Only the cook was there, and he told me of your having set outto help Mrs. Lint, so I followed up. Fortunately the fire has lost itspunch; it will probably go out through the night. "

There was a short silence, in which she began to realize her peculiarposition. This man was the rival of Transley and Linder in the businessof hay-cutting in the valley. He was the foreman of the Landsoncrowd--Landson, against whom her father had been voicing something verynear to murder threats not many hours ago. Had she met him before thefire she would have spurned and despised him, but nothing unites thefactions of man like a fight against a common elemental enemy. Besides, there was the question, How DID the fire start? That was a questionwhich every Landson man would be asking. Grant had been generous aboutit; he had asked her to be equally generous about the episode of thestakes. . . . And there was something about the man that appealed to her. She had never felt that way about Transley or Linder. She had beeninterested in them; amused, perhaps; out for an adventure, perhaps; butthis man--Nonsense! It was the environment--the romantic setting. As forDrazk--A quick sense of horror caught her as the memory of his chokingface protruded into her consciousness. . . . 

"Well, suppose we ride home, " he suggested. "By Jove! The fire hasworked around us. "

It was true. The hill on which they stood was now entirely surroundedby a ring of fire, eating slowly up the side. The warmth of its breathalready pressed against their faces; the funnel effect created by thecircle of fire was whipping up a stronger draught. The smoke seemed tobe gathering to a centre above them. 

He swung up close to her. "Will your horse face it?" he asked. "If not, we'd better blindfold him. "

"I'll try him, " she said. "He was all right this afternoon, but he wasreckless then with a hard gallop. "

Zen's horse trotted forward at her urging to within a dozen yards of thecircle of fire. Then he stopped, snorting and shivering. She rode backup the hill. 

"Better blindfold him, " Grant advised, pulling off his leather coat. "Asleeve of my shirt should be about right. Will you cut it off?"

She protested. 

"There's no time to lose, " he reminded her, as he placed his knife inher hand. "My horse will go through it all right. "

So urged she deftly cut off his sleeve above the elbow and drew itthrough the bridle of her horse across his eyes. 

"Now keep your head down close to his neck. You'll go through all right. Give him the spurs, and good luck!" he shouted. 

She was already careering down the hillside. A few paces from the firethe horse plunged into a badger hole and fell headlong. She went overhis head, down, with a terrific shock, almost in the very teeth of thefire. 

CHAPTER VII

When Zen came to herself it was with a sense of a strange swimming inher head. Gradually it resolved itself into a sound of water about herhead; a splashing, fighting water; two heads in the water; two heads inthe water; a lash floating in the water--

"Oh!" She was sure she felt water on her face. . . . 

"Where am I?"

"You're all right--you'll be all right in a little while. "

"But where am I? What has happened?" She tried to sit up. All was dark. "Where am I?" she demanded. 

"Don't be alarmed, Zen--I think your name is Zen, " she heard a man'svoice saying. "You've been hurt, but you'll be all right presently. "

Then the curtain lifted. "You are Dennison Grant, " she said. "I rememberyou now. But what has happened? Why am I here--with you?"

"Well, so far, you've been enjoying about three hours' unconsciousness, "he told her. "At a distance which seems about a mile from here--althoughit may be less--is a little pond. I've carried water in the sleeve of mycoat--fortunately it is leather--and poured it somewhat generously uponyour brow. And at last I've been rewarded by a conscious word. "

She tried to sit up, but desisted when a sudden twitch of pain held herfast. 

"Let me help you, " he said, gently. "We have camped, as you may notice, on a big, flat rock. I found it not far from the scene of the accident, so I carried you over to it. It is drier than the earth, and, for theforepart of the night at least, will be warmer. " With a strong arm abouther shoulders he drew her into a sitting posture. 

Her eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. "What's wrong with myfoot?" she demanded. "My boot's off. "

"I'm afraid you turned your ankle getting free from your stirrup, " heexplained. "I had to do a little surgery. I could find nothing broken. It will be painful, but I fear there is nothing to do but bear it. "

She reached down and felt her foot. It was neatly bandaged with clothvery much like that which she had used to blindfold Quiver. It was easyto surmise where it came from. Evidently her protector had stopped atnothing. 

"Well, are we to stay here permanently?" she asked, presently. 

"Only for the night, " he told her. "If we're lucky, not that long. Search parties will be hunting for you, and they will doubtless ridethis way. Both of our horses bolted in the fire--"

"Oh yes, the fire! Tell me what happened. "

He hesitated. 

"I remember riding into the fire, " she continued, "and then next thing Iwas on this rock. How did it all happen?"

"Your horse fell, " he explained, "just as you reached the fire, andthrew you, pretty heavily, to the ground. I was behind, so I dismountedand dragged you through. "

"Oh!" She felt her face. "But I am not even singed!" she exclaimed. 

It was plain that he was holding something back. She turned and laid herfingers on his arm. "Tell me how you did it, " she pressed. 

The darkness hid his modest confusion. "It was really nothing, " hestammered. "You see, I had a leather coat, and I just threw it over yourhead--and mine--and dragged you out. "

She was silent for a moment while the meaning of his words came home toher. Then she placed her hand frankly in his. 

"Thank you, " she said, and even in the darkness she knew that their eyeshad met. 

"You are very resourceful, " she continued presently. "Must we sit hereall night?"

"I can think of no alternative, " he confessed. "If we had fire-armswe could shoot a signal, or if there were grass about we could start afire, although it probably would not be noticed with so many glows onthe horizon to-night. " He stopped to look about. Dull splashes of redin the sky pointed out remnants of the day's conflagration still eatingtheir way through the foothills. The air was full of the pungent but notunpleasant smell of burnt grass. 

"A pretty hard night to send a signal, " he said, "but they're almostsure to ride this way. "

She wondered why he did not offer to walk to the camp for help; itcould not be more than four or five miles. Suddenly she thought sheunderstood. 

"I am not afraid to stay here alone, " she said, with a little laugh. It was the first time Grant had heard her laugh, and he thought it verymusical indeed. "I've slept out many a night, and you would be backwithin a couple of hours. "

"I'm quite sure you're not afraid, " he agreed, "but, you see, I am. Yougot quite a tap on the head, and for some time before you came to youwere talking--rather foolishly. Now if I should leave you it is notonly possible, but quite probable, that you would lapse again intounconsciousness. . . . I really think you'll have to put up with me here. "

"Oh, I wasn't thinking of that!. . . Did I--did I talk--foolishly?"

"Rather. Seemed to think you were swimming--or fighting--I couldn't besure which. Sometimes you seemed to be doing both. "

"Oh!" With a cold chill the events of the day came back upon her. Thatstruggle in the water; it came to her now like a bad dream out of thelong, long past. How much had she said? How much would she have given toknow what she said? She felt herself recounting events. . . . 

Presently she pulled herself up with a start. She must not let him thinkher moody. 

"Well, if we MUST enjoy each other's company, we may as well do socompanionably, " she said, with an effort at gaiety. "Let us talk. Tellme about yourself. "

"First things first, " he parried. 

"Oh, I've nothing to tell. My life has been very unromantic. A few yearsat school, and the rest of it on the range. A very every-day kind ofexistence. "

"I think it's the 'every-day kind of existence' that IS romantic, " hereturned. "It is a great mistake to think of romance as belonging toother times and other places. Even the most commonplace person hasexperienced romance enough for a dozen books. Quite possibly he has notrecognized the romance, but it was there. The trouble is that with ourlimited sense of humor, what we think of as romance in other people'slives becomes tragedy in our own. "

How much DID he know?. . . "Yes, " she said, "I suppose that is so. "

"I know it is so, " he went on. "If we could read the thoughts--know theexperiences--of those nearest to us, we would never need to look out ofour own circles for either romance or tragedy. But it is as well thatwe can't. Take the experience of to-day, for example. I admit it hasnot been a commonplace day, and yet it has not been altogetherextraordinary. Think of the experiences we have been through just thisday, and how, if they were presented in fiction they would be romantic, almost unbelievable. And here we are at the close, sitting on a rock, matter-of-fact people in a matter-of-fact world, accepting everything ascommonplace and unexceptional. "

"Not quite that, " she said daringly. "I see that you are neithercommonplace nor unexceptional. " She spoke with sudden impulse out of thedepth of her sincerity. She had not met a man like this before. In hermind she fixed him in contrast with Transley, the self-confidentand aggressive, and Linder, the shy and unassertive. None of thoseadjectives seemed to fit this new acquaintance. Nevertheless, hesuffered nothing by the contrast. 

"If I had been bright enough I would have said that first, " heapologized, "but I got rather carried away in one of my pet theoriesabout romance. Now my life, I suppose, to many people would seem quitetame and unromantic, but to me it has been a delightful succession ofsomewhat placid adventures. It began in a very orthodox way, in a veryorthodox family. My father, under the guidance, no doubt, of whateverstar governs such lucky affairs, became possessed of a piece of land. Indoing so he contributed to society no service whatever, so far as Ihave been able to ascertain. But it so fell about that society, inconsiderable numbers, wanted his land to live on, so society made ofmy father a wealthy man, and gave him power over many people. Couldanything be more romantic than that? Could the fairy tales of yourchildhood surpass it for benevolent irresponsibility?"

"My father has also become wealthy, " she said, "although I never thoughtof it in that way. "

"Yes, but in exchange for his wealth your father has given service tosociety; supplied many thousands of steers for hungry people to eat. That's a different story, but not less romantic. 

"Well, to proceed. I was brought up to fit my station in life, whateverthat means. There were just two boys of us, and I was the elder. Myfather had become a broker. I believe he had become quite a successfulbroker, using the word in its ordinary sense, which denotes the makingof money. You see, he already had too much money, so it was very easyfor him to make more. He wanted me to go into the office with him, butsome way I didn't fit in. I've no doubt there was lots of romance there, too, but I was of the wrong nature; I simply couldn't get enthusiasticover it. As we already had more money than we could possibly spend onthings that were good for us, I failed to see the point in sitting upnights to increase it. Being of a frank disposition I confided in myfather that I felt I was wasting my time in a broker's office. He, beingof an equally frank disposition, confided in me that he entertained thesame opinion. 

"Then I delivered myself of some of my pet theories about wealth. I toldhim that I didn't believe that any man had a right to money unless heearned it in return for service given to society, and I said that associety had to supply the money, society should determine the amount. Iconfessed that I was a little hazy about how that was to be carried out, but I insisted that the principle was right, and, that being so, theworking of it out was only a matter of detail. I realize now that thiswas all fanatical heresy to my father; I remember the pained look thatcame into his eyes. I thought at the time that it was anger, but I knownow that it was grief--grief and humiliation that a son of his shouldentertain such wild and unbalanced ideas. 

"Well, there was more talk, and the upshot of it was that I got out, accompanied by an assurance from my father that I would neverbe burdened with any of the family ducats. Roy--my youngerbrother--succeeded to the worries of wealth, and I came to the rangeswhere, no doubt to the deep chagrin of my father, I have been able tomake a living, and have, incidentally, been profoundly happy. I'll takea wager that to-day I look ten years younger than Roy, that I can lickhim with one hand, that I have more real friends than he has, and thatI'm getting more out of life than he is. I'm a man of whims. When theybeckon I follow. "

Grant had been talking intensely. He paused now, feeling that hisenthusiasm had carried him into rather fuller confidences than he hadintended. 

"I'm sorry I bored you with that harangue, " he said contritely. "Youcouldn't possibly be interested in it. "

"On the contrary, I am very much interested in it, " she protested. "Itseems so much finer for a man to make his own way, rather than be liftedup by someone else. I am sure you are already doing well in the West. Some day you will go back to your father with more money than he has. "

Grant uttered an amused little laugh. 

"I was afraid you would say that, " he answered. "You see, you don'tunderstand me, either. I don't want to make money. Can you understandthat?"

"Don't want to make money? Why not?"

"Why should I?"

"Well, everybody does. Money is power--it is a mark of success. It wouldopen up a wider life for you. It would bring you into new circles. Someday you will want to marry and settle down, and money would enable youto meet the kind of women--"

She stopped, confused. She had plunged farther than she had intended. 

"You're all wrong, " he said amusedly. It did not even occur to Zenthat he was contradicting her. She had not been accustomed to beingcontradicted, but then, neither had she been accustomed to men likeDennison Grant, nor to conversations such as had developed. She was toointerested to be annoyed. 

"You're all wrong, Miss--?"

"I don't wonder that you can't fill in my name, " she said. "Nobody knowsDad except as Y. D. But I heard you call me Zen--"

"That was when you were coming out of your unconsciousness. I apologizefor the liberty taken. I thought it might recall you--"

"Well, I'm still coming out, " she interrupted. "I am beginning to feelthat I have been unconscious for a very long time indeed. Let me hearwhy you don't want money. "

Grant was aware of a pleasant glow excited by her frank interest. Shewas altogether a desirable girl. 

"I have observed, " he said, "that poor people worry over what theyhaven't got, and rich people worry over what they have. It is mydisposition not to worry over anything. You said that money is power. That is one of its deceits. It offers a man power, but in reality itmakes him its slave. It enchains him for life; I have seen it in toomany cases--I am not mistaken. As for opening up a wider life, whatwider life could there be than this which I--which you and I--areliving?"

She wondered why he had said "you and I. " Evidently he was wonderingtoo, for he fell into reflection. She changed her position to ease thedull pain in her ankle, which his talk had almost driven from hermind. The rock had a perpendicular edge, so she let her feet hang over, resting the injured one upon the other. He was sitting in a similarposition. The silence of the night had gathered about them, brokenoccasionally by the yapping of coyotes far down the valley. Segments ofdull light fringed the horizon; the breeze was again blowing from thewest, mild and balmy. Presently one of the segments of light grew andgrew. It was as though it were rushing up the valley. They watchedit, fascinated; then burst into laughter as the orb of the moon becamerecognizable. . . . There was something very companionable about watchingthe moon rise, as they did. 

"The greatest wealth in the world, " he said at length, as though histhoughts had been far afield, searching, perchance, the mazy corridorsof Truth for this atom of wisdom; "the greatest wealth in the world isto be able to do something useful. That is the only wealth which willnot be disturbed in the coming reorganization of society. "

Zen did not reply. For the first time in her life she stood convicted, before her own mind, of a very profound ignorance. Dennison Grant hadbeen drawing back the curtain of a world of the existence of which shehad never known. He had talked to her about "the coming reorganizationof society"? What did it mean? She was at home in discussions of herdsor horses; she was at home with the duties of kitchen or reception-room;she was at home with her father or Transley or Linder or Drazk orTompkins the cook, but Dennison Grant in an hour had carried her into afar country, where she would be hopelessly lost but for his guidance. . . . Yet it seemed a good and interesting country. She wanted to enter in--toknow it better. 

"Tell me about the coming reorganization of society, " she said. 

"That is an all-night order, " he returned. "Besides, I can't tell youall, because I don't know all. I know only very, very little. I see mylittle gleam of light and keep my eye close upon it. But you must knowthat society is always in a state of reorganization. Nothing continuesas it was. Those who dismiss a problem glibly by saying it has alwaysbeen so and always will be so don't read history and don't understandhuman nature. "

He turned toward her as interest in his theme developed. The moonlightwas now pouring upon them; her face was beautiful and fine as marblein its soft rays. For a moment he hesitated, overwhelmed by a suddenrealization of her attractiveness. He had just been saying that the lawof nature was the law of change, and nature itself stood up to refutehim. 

He brought himself back to earth. "I was saying that everythingchanges, " he continued. "Look at our economic system, for instance. Notso many centuries ago the man who got the most wealth was the man withthe biggest muscle and the toughest skin. He wielded a stout club, andwhat he wanted, he took. His system of operation was simple and direct. You have money, you have cattle, you have a wife--I'm speaking ofthe times that were. I am stronger than you. I take them. Simplicityitself!"

"But very unjust, " she protested. 

"Our sense of justice is due to our education, " he continued. "If we aretaught to believe that a certain thing is just, we believe it is just. I am convinced that there is no sense of justice inherent in humanity;whatever sense we have is the result of education, and the kind ofjustice we believe in is the kind of justice to which we are educated. For example, the justice of the plains is not the justice of the cities;the justice of the vigilance committee is not the justice of judge andjury. Now to get back to our subject. When Baron Battle Ax, back inthe fifth or sixth century, knocked all his rivals on the head andtook their wealth away from them, I suppose there was here and there anadvanced thinker who said the thing was unjust, but I am quite sure thegreat majority of people said things had always been that way and alwayswould be that way. But the little minority of thinkers gradually grewin strength. The Truth was with them. It is worthy of notice that theadvance guard of Truth always travels with minorities. And the day camethat society organized itself to say that the man who uses physicalforce to take wealth from another is an enemy of society and must not beallowed at large. 

"But we have passed largely out of the era of physical force. To-day, anengineer presses a button and releases more physical force than could becommanded by all the armies of Rome. Brain power is to-day the dominantpower. And just as physical force was once used to take wealth withoutearning it, so is brain force now used to take wealth without earningit. And just as the masses in the days of Battle Ax said things hadalways been that way and always would be that way, just so do the massesin these days of brain supremacy say things have always been that wayand always will be that way. But just as there was a minority with anadvanced vision of Truth in those days, so is there a minority with anadvanced vision of Truth in these days. You may be absolutely sure that, just as society found a way to deal with muscle brigands, so also itwill find a way to deal with brain brigands. I confess I don't see howthe details are to be worked out, but there must be a plan under whichthe value of the services rendered to society by every man and everywoman will be determined, and they will be rewarded according to theservices rendered. "

"Is that Socialism?" she ventured. 

"I don't know. I don't think so. Certainly it does not contemplatean equal distribution of the world's wealth. Some men are a menace tothemselves and society when they have a hundred dollars. Others can betrusted with a hundred million. All men have not been equally giftedby nature--we know that. We can't make them equal. But surely we canprevent the gifted ones from preying upon those who are not gifted. Thatis what the coming reorganization of society will aim to do. "

"It is very interesting, " she said. "And very deep. I have never heardit discussed before. Why don't people think about these things more?"

"I don't know, " he answered, "but I suppose it is because they are toobusy in the fight. When a self was dodging Battle Ax he hadn't much timeto think about evolving a Magna Charta. But most of all I suppose it isjust natural laziness. People refuse to think. It calls for effort. Mostpeople would find it easier to pitch a load of hay than to think of anew thought. "

The moon was now well up; the smoke clouds had been scattered by thebreeze; the sky was studded with diamonds. Zen had a feeling of beingvery happy. True, a certain haunting spectre at times would break intoher consciousness, but in the companionship of such a man as Grant shecould easily beat it off. She studied the face in the moon, and invitedher soul. She was living through a new experience--an experience shecould not understand. In spite of the discomfort of her injuries, inspite of the events of the day, she was very, very happy. . . . 

If only that horrid memory of Drazk would not keep tormenting her! Shebegan to have some glimpse of what remorse must mean. She did not blameherself; she could not have done otherwise; and yet--it was horrible tothink about, and it would not stay away. She felt a tremendous desire totell Grant all about it. . . . She wondered how much he knew. He must havediscovered that her clothing had been wet. 

She shivered slightly. 

"You're cold, " he said, as he placed his arm about her, and there wassomething very far removed from political economy in the timbre of hisvoice. 

"I'm a little chilly, " she admitted. "I had to swim my horse across theriver to-day--he got into a deep spot--and I got wet. " She congratulatedherself that she had made a very clever explanation. 

He put his coat about her shoulders and drew it tight. Then he satbeside her in silence. There were many things he could have said, but this seemed to be neither the time nor the place. Grant was notTransley. He had for this girl a delicate consideration which Transley'snature could never know. Grant was a thinker--Transley a doer. Grantknew that the charm which enveloped him in this girl's presence was theperfectly natural product of a set of conditions. He was worldly-wiseenough to suspect that Zen also felt that charm. It was as natural asthe bursting of a seed in moist soil; as natural as the unfolding of arose in warm air. . . . 

Presently he felt her head rest against his shoulder. He looked downupon her in awed delight. Her eyes had closed; her lips were smilingfaintly; her figure had relaxed. He could feel her warm breath upon hisface. He could have touched her lips with his. 

Slowly the moon traced its long arc in the heavens. 

CHAPTER VIII

Just as the first flush of dawn mellowed the East Grant heard thepounding of horses' feet and the sound of voices borne across thevalley. They rapidly approached; he could tell by the hard pounding ofthe hoofs that they were on a trail which he took to be the one he hadfollowed before he met Zen. It passed possibly a hundred yards to theleft. He must in some way make his presence known. 

The girl had slept soundly, almost without stirring. Now he must wakeher. He shook her gently, and called her name; her eyes opened; he couldsee them, strange and wondering, in the thin grey light. Then, with asudden start, she was quite awake. 

"I have been sleeping!" she exclaimed, reproachfully. "You let mesleep!"

"No use of two watching the moon, " he returned, lightly. 

"But you shouldn't have let me sleep, " she reprimanded. "Besides, youhad to stay awake. You have had no sleep at all!"

There was a sympathy in her voice very pleasant to the ear. But Grantcould not continue so delightful an indulgence. 

"I had to wake you, " he explained. "There are several people riding upthe valley; undoubtedly a search party. I must attract their attention. "

They listened, and could now hear the hoof-beats close at hand. Grantcalled; not a loud shout; it seemed little more than his speaking voice, but instantly there was silence, save for the echo of the sound rollingdown the valley. Then a voice answered, and Grant gave a word or two ofdirections. In a minute or two several horsemen loomed up through thevague light. 

"Here we are, " said Zen, as she distinguished her father. "Gone lame onthe off foot and held up for repairs. "

Y. D. Swung down from his saddle. "Are you all right, Zen?" he cried, ashe advanced with outstretched arms. There was an eagerness and a reliefin his voice which would have surprised many who knew Y. D. Only as ashrewd cattleman. 

Zen accepted and returned his embrace, with a word of assurance that shewas really nothing the worse. Then she introduced her companion. 

"This is Mr. Dennison Grant, foreman of the Landson ranch, Dad. "

Grant extended his hand, but Y. D. Hesitated. The truce occasioned by thefire did not by any means imply permanent peace. Far from it, with thevalley in ruins--

Y. D. Was stiffening, but his daughter averted what would in anothermoment have been an embarrassing situation with a quick remark. 

"This is no time, even for explanations, " she said, "except that Mr. Grant saved my life last evening at the risk of his own, and has lost anight's sleep for his pains. "

"That was a man's work, " said Y. D. It would not have been possiblefor his lips to have framed a greater compliment. "I'm obliged to you, Grant. You know how it is with us cattlemen; we run mostly to horns andhoofs, but I suppose we have some heart, too, if you can find it. "

They shook hands with as much cordiality as the situation permitted, andthen Zen introduced Transley and Linder, who were in the party. Therewere two or three others whom she did not know, but they all shookhands. 

"What happened, Zen?" said Transley, with his usual directness. "Give usthe whole story. "

Then she told them what she knew, from the point where she had met Granton the fire-encircled hill. 

"Two lucky people--two lucky people, " was all Transley's comment. Wordscould not have expressed the jealousy he felt. But Linder was not tooshy to place his hand with a friendly pressure upon Grant's shoulder. 

"Good work, " he said, and with two words sealed a friendship. 

Two of the unnamed members of the party volunteered their horses toZen and Grant, and all hands started back to camp. Y. D. Talked almostgarrulously; not even himself had known how heavily the hand of Fate hadlain on him through the night. 

"The haymakin' is all off, Darter, " he said. "We will trek back to theY. D. As soon as you feel fit. The steers will have to take chances nextwinter. "

The girl professed her fitness to make the trip at once, and indeed theydid make it that very day. Y. D. Pressed Grant to remain for breakfast, and Tompkins, notwithstanding the demoralization of equipment andsupplies effected by the fire, again excelled himself. After breakfastthe old rancher found occasion for a word with Grant. 

"You know how it is, Grant, " he said. "There's a couple of things thatain't explained, an' perhaps it's as well all round not to press foropinions. I don't know how the iron stakes got in my meadow, an' youdon't know how the fire got in yours. But I give you Y. D. 's word--whichgoes at par except in a cattle trade--" and Y. D. Laughed cordially athis own limitations--"I give you my word that I don't know any moreabout the fire than you do. "

"And I don't know anything more about the stakes than you do, " returnedGrant. 

"Well, then, let it stand at that. But mind, " he added, with returningheat, "I'm not committin' myself to anythin' in advance. This grass'llgrow again next year, an' by heavens if I want it I'll cut it! No son ofa sheep herder can bluff Y. D!"

Grant did not reply. He had heard enough of Y. D. 's boisterous nature tomake some allowances. 

"An' mind I mean it, " continued Y. D. , whose chagrin over being baffledout of a thousand tons of hay overrode, temporarily at least, hisappreciation of Grant's services. "Mind, I mean it. No monkey-doodlesnext season, young man. "

Obviously Y. D. Was becoming worked up, and it seemed to Grant that thetime had come to speak. 

"There will be none, " he said, quietly. "If you come over the hills tocut the South Y. D. Next summer I will personally escort you home again. "

Y. D. Stood open-mouthed. It was preposterous that this young upstartforeman on a second-rate ranch like Landson's should deliberately defyhim. 

"You see, Y. D. , " continued Grant, with provoking calmness, "I've seenthe papers. You've run a big bluff in this country. You've occupiedrather more territory than was coming to you. In a word, you've been agood bit of a bully. Now--let me break it to you gently--those good olddays are over. In future you're going to stay on your own side of theline. If you crowd over you'll be pushed back. You have no more rightto the hay in this valley than you have to the hide on Landson's steers, and you're not going to cut it any more, at all. "

Y. D. Exploded in somewhat ineffective profanity. He had a widevocabulary of invective, but most of it was of the stand-and-fightvariety. There is some language which is not to be used, unless you arewilling to have it out on the ground, there and then. Y. D. Had no suchdesire. Possibly a curious sense of honor entered into the case. It wasnot fair to call a young man names, and although there was considerabletruth in Grant's remark that Y. D. Was a bully, his bullying did not takethat form. Possibly, also, he recalled at that moment the obligationunder which Zen's accident had placed him. At any rate he wound uprather lamely. 

"Grant, " he said, "if I want that hay next year I'll cut it, spite o'hell an' high water. "

"All right, Y. D. , " said Grant, cheerfully. "We'll see. Now, if you canspare me a horse to ride home, I'll have him sent back immediately. "

Y. D. Went to find Transley and arrange for a horse, and in a moment Zenappeared from somewhere. 

"You've been quarreling with Dad, " she said, half reproachfully, and yetin a tone which suggested that she could understand. 

"Not exactly that, " he parried. "We were just having a frank talk witheach other. "

"I know something of Dad's frank talks. . . I'm sorry. . . I would haveliked to ask you to come and see me--to see us--my mother would be gladto see you. I can hardly ask you to come if you are going to be badfriends with Dad. "

"No, I suppose not, " he admitted. 

"You were very good to me; very--decent, " she continued. 

At that moment Transley, Linder, and Y. D. Appeared, with two horses. 

"Linder will ride over with you and bring back the spare beast, " saidY. D. 

Grant shook hands, rather formally, with Y. D. And Transley, and thenwith Zen. She murmured some words of thanks, and just as he would havewithdrawn his hand he felt her fingers tighten very firmly about his. Heanswered the pressure, and turned quickly away. 

Transley immediately struck camp, and Y. D. And his daughter drovehomeward, somewhat painfully, over the blackened hills. 

Transley lost no time in finding other employment. It was late in theseason to look for railway contracts, and continued dry weather had madegrading, at best, a somewhat difficult business. Influx of ready moneyand of those who follow it had created considerable activity in aneighboring centre which for twenty years had been the principalcow-town of the foothill country. In defiance of all tradition, and, most of all, in defiance of the predictions of the ranchers who hadknown it so long for a cow-town and nothing more, the place began togrow. No one troubled to inquire exactly why it should grow, or how. Asfor Transley, it was enough for him that team labor was in demand. Hetook a contract, and three days after the fire in the foothills he wasexcavating for business blocks about to be built in the new metropolis. 

It was no part of Transley's plan, however, to quite lose touch withthe people on the Y. D. They were, in fact, the centre about which he hadbeen doing some very serious thinking. His outspokenness with Zen andher father had had in it a good deal of bravado--the bravado of a manwho could afford to lose the stake, and smile over it. In short, hehad not cared whether he offended them or not. Transley was a veryself-reliant contractor; he gave, even to the millionaire rancher, no more homage than he demanded in return. . . . Still, Zen was a verydesirable girl. As he turned the matter over in his mind Transley becameconvinced that he wanted Zen. With Transley, to want a thing meant toget it. He always found a way. And he was now quite sure that he wantedZen. He had not known that positively until the morning when hefound her in the grey light of dawn with Dennison Grant. There was asuggestion of companionship there between the two which had cut him tothe quick. Like most ambitious men, Transley was intensely jealous. 

Up to this time Transley had not thought seriously of matrimony. Awife and children he regarded as desirable appendages for decliningyears--for the quiet and shade of that evening toward which every activeman looks with such irrational confidence. But for the heat of theday--for the climb up the hill--they would be unnecessary encumbrances. Transley always took a practical view of these matters. It need hardlybe stated that he had never been in love; in fact Transley would havescouted the idea of any passion which would throw the practical to thewinds. That was a thing for weaklings, and, possibly, for women. 

But his attachment for Zen was a very practical matter. Zen was theonly heir to the Y. D. Wealth. She would bring to her husband capital andcredit which Transley could use to good advantage in his business. Shewould also bring personality--a delightful individuality--of which anyman might be proud. She had that fine combination of attractions whichis expressed in the word charm. She had health, constitution, beauty. She had courage and sympathy. She had qualities of leadership. Shewould bring to him not only the material means to build a house, but thespiritual qualities which make a home. She would make him the envy ofall his acquaintances. And a jealous man loves to be envied. 

So after the work on the excavations had been properly started Transleyturned over the detail to the always dependable Linder, and, remarkingthat he had not had a final settlement with Y. D. , set out for the ranchin the foothills. While spending the long autumn day alone in the buggyhe was able to turn over and develop plans on an even more ambitiousscale than had occurred to him amid the hustle of his men and horses. 

The valley was lying very warm and beautiful in yellow light, and thesetting sun was just capping the mountains with gold and painting greatsplashes of copper and bronze on the few clouds becalmed in the heavens, when Transley's tired team jogged in among the cluster of buildingsknown as the Y. D. The rancher met him at the bunk-house. He greetedTransley with a firm grip of his great palm, and with jaws open insuggestion of a sort of carnivorous hospitality. 

"Come up to the house, Transley, " he said, turning the horses over tothe attention of a ranch hand. "Supper is just ready, an' the women willbe glad to see you. "

Zen, walking with a limp, met them at the gate. Transley's eyesreassured him that he had not been led astray by any process ofidealization; Zen was all his mind had been picturing her. She was worththe effort. Indeed, a strange sensation of tenderness suffused him as hewalked by her side to the door, supporting her a little with his hand. There they were ushered in by the rancher's wife, and Zen herself showedTransley to a cool room where were white towels and soft water from theriver and quiet and restful furnishings. Transley congratulated himselfthat he could hardly hope to be better received. 

After supper he had a social drink with Y. D. , and then the two sat onthe veranda and smoked and discussed business. Transley found Y. D. Moreliberal in the adjustment than he had expected. He had not yet realizedto what an extent he had won the old rancher's confidence, and Y. D. Wasa man who, when his confidence had been won, never haggled over details. He was willing to compromise the loss on the operations on the SouthY. D. On a scale that was not merely just, but generous. 

This settled, Transley proceeded to interest Y. D. In the work in whichhe was now engaged. He drew a picture of activities in the littlemetropolis such as stirred the rancher's incredulity. 

"Well, well, " Y. D. Would say. "Transley, I've known that little hole forabout thirty years, an' never seen it was any good excep' to get drunkin. . . . I've seen more things there than is down in the books. "

"You wouldn't know the change that has come about in a few months, " saidTransley, with enthusiasm. "Double shifts working by electric light, Y. D! What do you think of that? Men with rolls of money that would chokea cow sleeping out in tents because they can't get a roof over them. Why, man, I didn't have to hunt a job there; the job hunted me. I couldhave had a dozen jobs at my own price if I could have handled them. It'sjust as if prosperity was a river which had been trickling through thattown for thirty years, and all of a sudden the dam up in the foothillsgives away and down she comes with a rush. Lots which sold a year agofor a hundred dollars are selling now for five hundred--sometimes more. Old ranchers living on the bald-headed a few years ago find themselvestoday the owners of city property worth millions, and are dressinguncomfortably, in keeping with their wealth, or vainly trying to drinkup the surplus. So far sense and brains has had nothing to do with it, Y. D. , absolutely nothing. It has been fool luck. But the brains arecoming in now, and the brains will get the money, in the long run. "

Transley paused and lit another cigar. Y. D. Rolled his in his lips, reflectively. 

"I mind some doin's in that burg, " he said, as though the memory of themwas of greater importance than all that might be happening now. 

Transley switched back to business. "We ought to be in on it, Y. D. , "he said. "Not on the fly-by-night stuff; I don't mean that. But I couldtake twice the contracts if I had twice the outfit. "

Y. D. Brought his chair down on to all four legs and removed his cigar. 

"You mean we should hit her together?" he demanded. 

"It would be a great compliment to me, if you had that confidence in me, and I'm sure it would make some good money for you. "

"How'd you work it?"

"You have a bunch of horses running here on the ranch, eating theirheads off. Many of them are broke, and the others would soon tame downwith a scraper behind them. Give them to me and let me put them to work. I'd have to have equipment, too. Your name on the back of my note wouldget it, and you wouldn't actually have to put up a dollar. Then we'dmake an inventory of what you put into the firm and what I put into it, and we'd divide the earnings in proportion. "

"After payin' you a salary as manager, of course, " suggested Y. D. 

"That's immaterial. With a bigger outfit and more capital I can make somuch more money out of the earnings that I don't care whether I get asalary or not. But I wouldn't figure on going on contracting all thetime for other people. We might as well have the cream as the skimmedmilk. This is the way it's done. We go to the owner of a block of lotssomewhere where there's no building going on. He's anxious to startsomething, because as soon as building starts in that district the lotswill sell for two or three times what they do now. We say to him, 'Giveus every second lot in your block and we'll put a house on it. ' In thisway we get the lots for a trifle; perhaps for nothing. Then we build alot of houses, more or less to the same plan. We put 'em up quick andcheap. We build 'em to sell, not to live in. Then we mortgage 'em forthe last cent we can get. Then we put the price up to twice what themortgage is and sell them as fast as we can build them, getting ourequity out and leaving the purchasers to settle with the mortgagecompany. It's good for from thirty to forty per cent, profit, not perannum, but per transaction. "

"It sounds interesting, " said Y. D. , "an' I suppose I might as well putmy spare horses an' credit to work. I don't mind drivin' down with youto-morrow an' looking her over first hand. "

This was all Transley had hoped for, and the talk turned to lessmaterial matters. After a while Zen joined them, and a little later Y. D. Left to attend to some business at the bunk-house. 

"Your father and I may go into partnership, Zen, " Transley said to her, when they were alone together. He explained in a general way the venturethat was afoot. 

"That will be very interesting, " she agreed. 

"Will you be interested?"

"Of course. I am interested in everything that Dad undertakes. "

"And are you not--will you not be--just a little interested in thethings that I undertake?"

She paused a moment before replying. The dusk had settled about them, and he could not see the contour of her face, but he knew that she hadrealized the significance of his question. 

"Why yes, " she said at length, "I will be interested in what youundertake. You will be Dad's partner. "

Her evasion nettled him. 

"Zen, " he said, "why shouldn't we understand each other?"

"Don't we?" She had turned slightly toward him, and he could feel thelaughing mockery in her eyes. 

"I rather think we do, " he answered, "only we--at least, you--won'tadmit it. "

"Oh!"

"Seriously, Zen, do you imagine I came over here to-day simply to make adeal with your father?"

"Wasn't that worth while?"

"Of course it was. But it wasn't the whole purpose--it wasn't half thepurpose. I wanted to see Y. D. , it is true, but more, very much more, Iwanted to see you. "

She did not answer, and he could only guess what was the trend of herthoughts. After a silence he continued. 

"You may think I am precipitate. You intimated as much to me once. I am. I know of no reason why an honest man should go beating about the bush. When I want something I want it, and I make a bee-line for it. If it isa contract--if it is a business matter--I go right after it, with allthe energy that's in me. When I'm looking for a contract I don't startby talking about the weather. Well--this is my first experience in love, and perhaps my methods are all wrong, but it seems to me they shouldapply. At any rate a girl of your intelligence will understand. "

"Applying your business principles, " she interrupted, "I suppose if youwanted a wife and there was none in sight you would advertise for her?"

He defended his position. "I don't see why not, " he declared. "Ican't understand the general attitude of levity toward matrimonialadvertisements. Apparently they are too open and above-board. Matrimonyshould not be committed in a round-about, indirect, hit-or-miss manner. A young man sees a girl whom he thinks he would like to marry. Does hego to her house and say, 'Miss So-and-So, I think I would like tomarry you. Will you allow me to call on you so that we may get betteracquainted, with that object in view?' He does not. Such honesty wouldbe considered almost brutal. He calls on her and pretends he would liketo take her to the theatre, if it is in town, or for a ride, if it is inthe country. She pretends she would like to go. Both of them know whatthe real purpose is, and both of them pretend they don't. They start thefarce by pretending a deceit which deceives nobody. They wait for natureto set up an attraction which shall overrule their judgment, rather thanact by judgment first and leave it to nature to take care of herself. How much better it would be to be perfectly frank--to boldly announcethe purpose--to come as I now come to you and say, 'Zen, I want to marryyou. My reason, my judgment, tells me that you would be an ideal mate. I shall be proud of you, and I will try to make you proud of me. I willgratify your desires in every way that my means will permit. I pledgeyou my fidelity in return for yours. I--I--' Zen, will you say yes? Canyou believe that there is in my simple words more sincerity than therecould be in any mad ravings about love? You are young, Zen, younger thanI, but you must have observed some things. One of them is that marriage, founded on mutual respect, which increases with the years, is a muchsafer and wiser business than marriage founded on a passion whichquickly burns itself out and leaves the victims cold, unresponsive, withnothing in common. You may not feel that you know me well enough for adecision. I will give you every opportunity to know me better--I will donothing to deceive you--I will put on no veneer--I will let you know meas I really am. Will you say yes?"

He had left his seat and approached her; he was leaning close over herchair. While his words had suggested marriage on a purely intellectualbasis he did not hesitate to bring his physical presence into the scale. He was accustomed to having his way--he had always had it--never did hewant it more than he did now. . . . And although he had made his plea fromthe intellectual angle he was sure, he was very, very sure therewas more than that. This girl; whose very presence delightedhim--intoxicated him--would have made him mad--

"Will you say yes?" he repeated, and his hands found hers and drew herwith his great strength up from her chair. She did not resist, but whenshe was on her feet she avoided his embrace. 

"You must not hurry me, " she whispered. "I must have time to think. Idid not realize what you were saying until--"

"Say yes now, " he urged. Transley was a man very hard to resist. Shefelt as though she were in the grip of a powerful machine; it was asthough she were being swept along by a stream against which her feeblestrength was as nothing. Zen was as nearly frightened as she had everbeen in her vigorous young life. And yet there was something delightful. It would have been so easy to surrender--it was so hard to resist. 

"Say yes now, " he repeated, drawing her close at last and breathing thequestion into her ear. "You shall have time to think--you shall ask yourown heart, and if it does not confirm your words you will be releasedfrom your promise. "

They heard the footsteps of her father approaching, and Transley waitedno longer for an answer. He turned her face to his; he pressed his lipsagainst hers. 

CHAPTER IX

Zen thought over the events of that evening until they became a blur inher memory. Her principal recollection was that she had been quite sweptoff her feet. Transley had interpreted her submission as assent, andshe had not corrected him in the vital moment when they stood before herfather that night in the deep shadow of the veranda. 

"Y. D. , " Transley had said, "your consent and your blessing! Zen and Iare to be married as soon as she can be ready. "

That was the moment at which she should have spoken, but she did not. She, who had prided herself that she would make a race of it--she, who had always been able to slip out of a predicament in the nick oftime--stood mutely by and let Transley and her father interpret hersilence as consent. She was not sure that she was sorry; she was notsure but she would have consented anyway; but Transley had taken thematter quite out of her hands. And yet she could not bring herself tofeel resentment toward him; that was the strangest part of it. It seemedthat she had come under his domination; that she even had to think as hewould have her think. 

In the darkness she could not see her father's face, for which she wassorry; and he could not see hers, for which she was glad. There was along moment of tense silence before she heard him say, "Well, well! I had a hunch it might come to that, but I didn't reckonyou youngsters would work so fast. "

"This was a stake worth working fast for, " Transley was saying, as heshook Y. D. 's hand. "I wouldn't trade places with any man alive. " And Zenwas sure he meant exactly what he said. 

"She's a good girl, Transley, " her father commented; "a good girl, evenif a bit obstrep'rous at times. She's got spirit, Transley, an' you'llhave to handle her with sense. She's a--a thoroughbred!"

Y. D. Had reached his arms toward his daughter, and at these words heclosed them about her. Zen had never known her father to be emotional;she had known him to face matters of life and death without the quiverof an eyelid, but as he held her there in his arms that night she felthis big frame tremble. Suddenly she had a powerful desire to cry. Shebroke from his embrace and ran upstairs to her room. 

When she came down her father and mother and Transley were sitting aboutthe table in the living-room; the room hung with trophies of the chaseand of competition; the room which had been the nucleus of the Y. D. Estate. There was a colored cover on the table, and the shaded oil lampin the centre sent a comfortable glow of light downward and about. The mammoth shadows of the three people fell on the log walls, dartingsilently from position to position with their every movement. 

Her mother arose as Zen entered the room and took her hands in a warm, tender grip. 

"You're early leaving us, " she said. "I'm not saying I object. I thinkMr. Transley will make you a good husband. He is a man of energy, likeyour father. He will do well. You will not know the hardships thatwe knew in our early married life. " Their eyes met, and there was amoment's pause. 

"You will not understand for many years what this means to me, Zenith, "her mother said, and turned quickly to her place at the table. 

She could not remember what they had talked about after that. Shehad been conscious of Transley's eyes often on her, and of a certainspiritual exaltation within her. She could not remember what she hadsaid, but she knew she had talked with unusual vivacity and charm. Itwas as though certain storehouses of brilliance in her being, of whichshe had been unaware, had been suddenly opened to her. It was as thoughshe had been intoxicated by a very subtle wine which did not deaden, butrather quickened, all her faculties. 

Afterwards, she had spent long hours among the foothills, thinking andthinking. There were times when the flame of that strange exaltationburned low indeed; times when it seemed almost to expire. There weremoments--hours--of misgivings. She could not understand the strangedocility which had come over her; the unprecedented willingness to haveher course shaped by another. That strange willingness came as near tofrightening Zen as anything had ever done. She felt that she was beingcarried along in a stream; that she was making no resistance; that shehad no desire to resist. She had a strange fear that some day shewould need to resist; some day she would mightily need qualitiesof self-direction, and those qualities would refuse to arise at hercommand. 

She did not fear Transley. She believed in him. She believed in hisability to grapple with anything that stood in his way; to thrust itaside, and press on. She respected the judgment of her father and hermother, and both of them believed in Transley. He would succeed; hewould seize the opportunities this young country afforded and rise topower and influence upon them. He would be kind, he would be generous. He would make her proud of him. What more could she want?

That was just it. There were dark moments when she felt that surelythere must be something more than all this. She did not know what itwas--she could not analyze her thoughts or give them definite form--butin these dark moments she feared that she was being tricked, that thewhole thing was a sham which she would discover when it was too late. She did not suspect her mother, or her father, or Transley, one or all, of being parties to this trick; she believed that they did not know itexisted. She herself did not know it existed. But the fear was there. 

After a week she admitted, much against her will, that possibly DennisonGrant had something to do with it. She had not seen him since she hadpressed his fingers and he had ridden away through the smoke-haze of theSouth Y. D. She had dutifully tried to force him from her mind. But hewould not stay out of it. It was about that fact that her misgivingsseemed most to centre. When she would be thinking of Transley, andwondering about the future, suddenly she would discover that she was notthinking of Transley, but of Dennison Grant. These discoveries shockedand humiliated her. It was an impossible position. She would throw Grantforcibly out of her mind and turn to Transley. And then, in an unguardedmoment, Transley would fade from her consciousness, and she would knowagain that she was thinking of Grant. 

At length she allowed herself the luxury of thinking frankly aboutDennison Grant. It WAS a luxury. It brought her a secret happiness whichshe was wholly at a loss to understand, but which was very delightful, nevertheless. She amused herself with comparing Grant with Transley. They had two points in common: their physical perfection and theirfearless, self-confident manner. With these exceptions they seemed to becomplete contradictions. The ambitious Transley worshipped success; thephilosophical Grant despised it. That difference in attitude toward theworld and its affairs was a ridge which separated the whole current oftheir lives. It even, in a way, shut one from the view of the other;at least it shut Grant from the view of Transley. Transley wouldnever understand Grant, but Grant might, and probably did, understandTransley. That was why Grant was the greater of the two. . . . 

She reproached herself for such a thought; it was disloyal to admitthat this stranger on the Landson ranch was a greater man than herhusband-to-be. And yet honesty--or, perhaps, something deeper thanhonesty--compelled her to make that admission. . . . She ran back over theremembered incidents of the night they had spent together, marooned likeshipwrecked sailors on a rock in the foothills. His attentiveness, hiscourtesy, his freedom from any conventional restraint, his manly respectwhich was so much greater than conventional restraint--all these cameback to her with a poignant tenderness. She pictured Transley in hisplace. Transley would probably have proposed even before he bandaged herankle. Grant had not said a word of love, or even of affection. He hadtalked freely of himself--at her request--but there had been nothingthat might not have been said before the world. She had been safe withGrant. . . . 

After she had thought on this theme for a while Zen would acknowledge toherself that the situation was absurd and impossible. Grant had givenno evidence of thinking more of her than of any other girl whom he mighthave met. He had been chivalrous only. She had sat up with a start atthe thought that there might be another girl. . . . Or there might be nogirl. Grant was an unusual character. . . . 

At any rate, the thing for her to do was to forget about him. She shouldhave no place in her mind for any man but Transley. It was true he hadstampeded her, but she had accepted the situation in which she foundherself. Transley was worthy of her--she had nothing to take back--shewould go through with it. 

On the principle that the way to drive an unwelcome thought out of themind is to think vigorously about something else, Zen occupied herselfwith plans and day-dreams centering about the new home that was to bebuilt in town. Neither her father nor Transley had as yet returned fromthe trip on which they had gone with a view to forming a partnership, sothere had been no opportunity to discuss the plans for the future, butZen took it for granted that Transley would build in town. He was soenthusiastic over the possibilities of that young and bustling centreof population that there was no doubt he would want to throw in his lotwith it. This prospect was quite pleasing to the girl; it would leaveher within easy distance of her old home; it would introduce her to atype of society with which she was well acquainted, and where she coulddo herself justice, and it would not break up the associations of heryoung life. She would still be able, now and again, to take long ridesthrough the tawny foothills; to mingle with her old friends; possibly tomaintain a somewhat sisterly acquaintance with Dennison Grant. . . . 

After ten days Y. D. Returned--alone. He had scarcely been able tobelieve the developments which he had seen. It was as though the sleepy, lazy cow-town had become electrified. Y. D. Had looked on for three days, wondering if he were not in some kind of a dream from which he wouldawaken presently among his herds in the foothills. After three days hebought a property. Before he left he sold it at a profit greater thanthe earnings of his first five years on the ranch. It would be indeeda stubborn confidence which could not be won by such an experience, andbefore leaving for the ranch Y. D. Had arranged for Transley practicallyan open credit with his bankers, and had undertaken to send down all thehorses and equipment that could be spared. 

Transley had planned to return to the foothills with Y. D. , but at thelast moment business matters developed which required his attention. Heplaced a tiny package in Y. D. 's capacious palm. 

"For the girl, " he said. "I should deliver it myself, but you'llexplain?"

Y. D. Fumbled the tiny package into a vest pocket. "Sure, I'll attend tothat, " he promised. "Wasn't much of these fancy trimmin's when I settledinto double harness, but lots of things has changed since then. You'llbe out soon?"

"Just as soon as business will stand for it. Not a minute longer. "

On his return home Y. D. , after maintaining an exasperating silence untilsupper was finished, casually handed the package to his daughter. 

"Some trinket Transley sent out, " he explained. "He'll be here himselfas soon as business permits. "

She took the package with a glow of expectancy, started to open it, thenfolded the paper again and ran up to her room. Here she tempted herselffor minutes before she would finally open it, whetting the appetite ofanticipation to the full. . . . The gem justified her little play. It wasmagnificent; more beautiful and more expensive than anything her fatherever bought her. 

She hesitated strangely about putting it on. To Zen it seemed that theputting on of Transley's ring would be a voluntary act symbolizing heracceptance of him. If she had been carried off her feet--swept into theposition in which she found herself--that explanation would not applyto the deliberate placing of his ring upon her finger. There would beno excuse; she could never again plead that she had been the victim ofTransley's precipitateness. This would be deliberate, and she must do itherself. 

She rather blamed Transley for not having left his old business and cometo perform this rite himself, as he should have done. What was one dayof business, more or less? Yet Zen gathered no hint from thatincident that always, with Transley, business would come first. It wassymbolic--prophetic--but she did not see the sign nor understand theprophecy. 

She held the ring between her fingers; slipped it off and on her littlefingers; held it so the rays of the sun fell through the window upon itand danced before her eyes in all their primal colors. 

"I have to put this on, " she said, pursing her lips firmly, "and--andforget about Dennison Grant!"

For a long time she thought of that and all it meant. Then she raisedthe jewel to her lips. 

"Help me--help me--" she murmured. With a quick little impetuous motionshe drew it on to the finger where it belonged. There she gazed upon itfor a moment, as though fascinated by it. Then she fell upon her bed andlay motionless until long after the valley was wrapped in shadow. 

The events of these days had almost driven from Zen's mind the tragedyof George Drazk. When she thought of it at all it presented such agrotesque unreality--it was such an unreasonable thing--that it assumedthe vague qualities of a dream. It was something unreal and very muchbetter forgotten, and it was only by an unwilling effort at such timesthat she could bring herself to know that it was not unreal. It wasa matter that concerned her tremendously. Sooner or later Drazk'sdisappearance must be noted, --perhaps his body would be found--and whileshe had little fear that anyone would associate her with the tragedy itwas a most unpleasant thing to think about. Sometimes she wondered ifshe should not tell her father or Transley just what had happened, butshe shrank from doing so as from the confession of a crime. Mostly shewas able to think of other matters. 

Her father brought it up in a startling way at breakfast. Absolutely outof a blue sky he said, "Did you know, Zen, that Drazk has disappeared?Transley tells me you were int'rested a bit in him, or perhaps I shouldsay he was int'rested in you. "

Zen was so overcome by this startling change in the conversation thatshe was unable to answer. The color went from her face and she leanedlow over her plate to conceal her agitation. 

"Yep, " continued Y. D. , with no more concern than if a steer had beenlost from the herd. "Transley said to tell you Drazk had disappeared an'he reckoned you wouldn't be bothered any more with him. "

"Drazk was nothing to me, " she managed to say. "How can you think hewas?"

"Now who said he was?" her father retorted. "For a young woman with theprice of a herd of steers on her third finger you're sort o' short thismornin'. Now I'm jus' wonderin' how far you can see through a boardfence, Zen. Are you surprised that Drazk has disappeared?"

She was entirely at a loss to understand the drift of her father's talk. He could not connect her with Drazk's disappearance, or he would notapproach the matter with such unconcern. That was unthinkable. Neithercould Transley, or he would not have sent so brutal a message. And yetit was clear that they thought she should be interested. 

Her father's question demanded an answer. 

"What should I care?" she ventured at length. 

"I didn't ask you whether you cared. I asked you whether you wassurprised. "

"Drazk's movements were--are nothing to me. I don't know that I have anyoccasion to be surprised about anything he may do. "

"Well, I'm rather glad you're not, because if you don't jump toconclusions, perhaps other people won't. Not that it makes anypartic'lar diff'rence. "

"Dad, " she cried in desperation, "whatever do you mean?"

"It was all plain enough to me, an' plain enough to Transley, " herfather continued with remarkable calmness. "We seen it right from thefirst. "

"You're talking in riddles, Y. D. , " his wife remonstrated. "You'regetting Zen all worked up. "

"Jewelry seems to be mighty upsettin', " Y. D. Commented. "There wasnothin' like that in our engagement, eh, Jessie? Well, to come to thepoint. There was a fire which burned up the valley of the South Y. D. Fires don't start themselves--usually. This one started among theLandson stacks, so it was natural enough to suspec' Y. D. Or some of hissympathizers. Well it wasn't Y. D. , an' I reckon it wasn't Zen, an' itwasn't Transley nor Linder an' every one of the gang's accounted forexcep' Drazk. Drazk thought he was doin' a great piece of business whenhe fired the Landson hay, but when the wind turned an' burned up thewhole valley Drazk sees where he can't play no hero part around here sohe loses himself for good. I gathered from Transley that Drazk had beenbotherin' you a little, Zen, which is why I told you. "

The girl's heart was pounding violently at this explanation. It waslogical, and would be accepted readily by those who knew Drazk. Shewould not trust herself in further conversation, so she slipped away assoon as she could and spent the day riding down by the river. 

The afternoon wore on, and as the day was warm she dismounted by a fordand sat down upon a flat rock close to the water. The rock reminded herof the one on which she and Grant had sat that night while the thin redlines of fire played far up and down the valley. Her ankle was paininga little so she removed her boot and stocking and soothed it in the coolwater. 

As she sat watching her reflection in the clear stream and toying withthe ripple about her foot a horseman rode quickly down through thecottonwoods on the other side and plunged into the ford. It happenedso quickly that neither saw the other until he was well into the river. Although she had had no dream of seeing him here, in some way she feltno surprise. Her heart was behaving boisterously, but she sat outwardlydemure, and when he was close enough she sent a frank smile up to him. The look on his sunburned face as he returned her greeting convinced herthat the meeting, on his part, was no less unexpected and welcome thanit was to her. 

When his horse was out of the water he dismounted and walked to her withextended hand. 

"This is an unexpected pleasure, " he said. "How is the ankleprogressing?"

"Well enough, " she returned, "but it gets tired as the day wears on. Iam just resting a bit. "

There was a moment of somewhat embarrassed silence. 

"That is a good-sized rock, " he suggested, at length. 

"Yes, isn't it? And here in the shade, at that. "

She did not invite him with words, but she gave her body a slight hitch, as though to make room, although there was enough already. He sat downwithout comment. 

"Not unlike a rock I remember up in the foothills, " he remarked, after asilence. 

"Oh, you remember that? It WAS like this, wasn't it?"

"Same two people sitting on it. "

". . . . Yes. "

"Not like this, though. "

"No. . . . You're mean. You know I didn't intend to fall asleep. "

"Of course not. Still. . . . "

His voice lingered on it as though it were a delightful remembrance. 

She found herself holding one of her hands in the other. She could feelthe pressure of Transley's ring on her palm, and she held it tighterstill. 

"Riding anywhere in particular?" he inquired. 

"No. Just mooning. " She looked up at him again, this time at closequarters. It was a quick, bright flash on his face--a moment only. 

"Why mooning?"

She did not answer. Looking down in the water he met her gaze there. 

"You're troubled!" he exclaimed. 

"Oh, no! My--my ankle hurts a little. "

He looked at her sympathetically. "But not that much, " he said. 

She gave a forced little laugh. "What a mind reader you are! Can youtell my fortune?"

"I should have to read it in your hand. "

She would have extended her hand, but for Transley's ring. 

"No. . . . No. You'll have to read it in--in the stars. "

"Then look at me. " She did so, innocently. 

"I cannot read it there, " he said, after his long gaze had begun to whipthe color to her cheeks. "There is no answer. "

She turned again to the water, and after a long while she heard hisvoice, very low and earnest. 

"Zen, I could read a fortune for you, if you would not be offended. Weare only chance acquaintances--not very well acquainted, yet--"

She knew what he meant, but she pretended she did not. Even in thatmoment something came to her of Transley's speech about love being agame of pretence. Very well, she would play the game--this once. 

"I don't see how I could be offended at your reading my fortune, " shemurmured. 

"Then this is the fortune I would read for you, " he said boldly. "I seea young man, a rather foolish young man, perhaps, by ordinary standards, and yet one who has found a great deal of happiness in his simple, unconventional life. Until a short time ago he felt that life could givehim all the happiness that was worth having. He had health, strength, hours of work and hours of pleasure, the fields, the hills, themountains, the sky--all God's open places to live in and enjoy. Hethought there was nothing more. 

"Well, then he found, all of a sudden, that there was somethingmore--everything more. He made that discovery on a calm autumn night, when fire had blackened all the foothills and still ran in dancing redribbons over their distant crests. That night a great thing--two greatthings--came into his life. First was something he gave. Not very much, indeed, but typical of all it might be. It was service. And next wassomething he received, something so wonderful he did not understand itthen, and does not understand it yet. It was trust. These were things hehad been leaving largely out of his life, and suddenly he discovered howempty it was. I think there is one word for both these things, and, itmay be, for even more. You know?"

"I know, " she said, and her voice was scarcely audible. 

"But it is YOUR fortune I am to read, " he corrected himself. "It hasbeen your fortune to open that new world to me. That can never beundone--those gates can never be closed--no matter where the paths maylead. Those two paths go down to the future--as all paths must--evenas this road leads away through the valley to the sunset. Zen--if only, like this road, they could run side by side to the sunset--Oh! Zen, ifthey could?"

"I know, " she said, and as she raised her face he saw that her eyes werewet. "I know--if only they could!"

There was a little sob in her voice, and in her beauty and distressshe was altogether irresistible. He reached out his arms and would havetaken her in them, but she thrust her hands in his and held herselfback. She turned the diamond deliberately to his eyes. She could feelhis grip relax and apparently grow suddenly cold. He stood speechless, like one dazed--benumbed. 

"You see, I should not have let you talk--it is my fault, " she said, speaking hurriedly. "I should not have let you talk. Please do not thinkI am shallow; that I let you suffer to gratify my vanity. " Her eyesfound his again. "If I had not believed every word you said--if I hadnot liked every word you said--if I had not--HOPED--every word you said, I would not have listened. . . . But you see how it is. "

He was silent for so long that she thought he was not going to answerher at all. When he spoke it was in a dry, parched voice. 

"I beg your pardon, " he said. "I should not have presumed--"

"I know, I know. If only--"

Then he looked straight at her and talked out. 

"You liked me enough to let me speak as I did. I opened my heart toyou. I ask no such concession in return. I hope you will not think mepresumptuous, but I do not plead now for my happiness, but for yours. Isthis irrevocable? Are--you--sure?"

He said the last words so slowly and deliberately that she felt thateach of them was cutting the very rock from underneath her. She knewshe was at a junction point in her life, and her mind strove to quicklyappraise the situation. On one side was this man who had for her sostrange and so powerful an appeal. It was only by sheer force of willthat she could hold herself aloof from him. But he was a man who hadbroken with his family and quarrelled with her father--a man whom herfather would certainly not for a moment consider as a son-in-law. Hewas a foreman; practically a ranch hand. Neither Zen nor her father weresnobs, and if Grant worked for a living, so did Transley. That was notto be counted against him. The point was, what kind of living did heearn? What Transley had to offer was perhaps on a lower plane, butit was more substantial. It had been approved by her father, and hermother, and herself. It wasn't as though one man were good and the otherbad; it wasn't as though one thing were right and the other wrong. Itwould have been easy then. . . . 

"I have promised, " she said at last. 

She released her hands from his, and, sitting down, silently put on herstocking and boot. She was aware that he was still standing near, asthough waiting to be formally dismissed. She walked by him to her horseand put her foot in the stirrup. Then she looked at him and gave herhand a little farewell wave. 

Then a great pang, irresistible in its yearning, swept over her. Shedrew her foot from the stirrup, and, rushing down, threw her arms abouthis neck. . . . 

"I must go, " she said. "I must go. We must both go and forget. "

And Dennison Grant continued his way down the valley while Zen rode backto the Y. D. , wondering if she could ever forget. 

CHAPTER X

Linder scratched his tousled brown hair reflectively as he gazed afterthe retreating form of Transley. His hat was off, and the perspirationstood on his sunburned face--a face which, in point of handsomeness, needed make no apology to Transley. 

"Well, by thunder!" said Linder; "by thunder, think of that!"

Linder stood for some time, thinking "of that" as deeply as his somewhatdisorganized mental state would permit. For Transley had announced, withhis usual directness, that he wanted so many men and teams for a houseexcavation in the most exclusive part of the city. So far they had beenbuilding in the cheaper districts a cheap type of house for those who, having little capital, are the easier deprived of what they have. Theshift in operations caused Linder to lift his eyebrows. 

Transley laughed boyishly and clapped a palm on his shoulder. 

"I may as well make you wise, Linder, " he said. "We're going to build ahouse for Mr. And Mrs. Transley. "

"MISSUS?" Linder echoed, incredulously. 

"That's the good word, " Transley confirmed. "Never expected it to happento me, but it did, all of a sudden. You want to look out; maybe it'scatching. "

Transley was evidently in prime humor. Linder had, indeed, noted thisgood humor for some time, but had attributed it to the very successfuloperations in which his employer had been engaged. He pulled himselftogether enough to offer a somewhat confused congratulation. 

"And may I ask who is to be the fortunate young lady?" he ventured. 

"You may, " said Transley, "but if you could see the length of your noseit wouldn't be necessary. Linder, you're the best foreman I ever had, just because you don't ever think of anything else. When you pass onthere'll be no heaven for you unless they give you charge of a bunch ofmen and teams where you can raise a sweat and make money for the boss. If you weren't like that you would have anticipated what I've toldyou--or perhaps made a play for Zen yourself. "

"Zen? You don't mean Y. D. 's daughter?"

"If I don't mean Y. D. 's daughter I don't mean anybody, and you can takethat from me. You bet it's Zen. Say, Linder, I didn't think I couldgo silly over a girl, but I'm plumb locoed. I bought the biggest oldsparkler in this town and sent it out with Y. D. , if he didn't lose itthrough the lining of his vest--he handled it like it might have been abox of pills--bad pills, Linder--and I've got an architect figuring howmuch expense he can put on a house--he gets a commission on the cost, you see--and one of these nights I'm going to buy you a dinner that'llkeep you fed till Christmas. I never knew before that silliness andhappiness go together, but they do. I'm glad I've got a sober oldforeman--that's all that keeps the business going. "

And after Transley had turned away Linder had scratched his head andsaid "By thunder. . . . Linder, when you wake up you'll be dead. . . . Afterher practically saying 'The water's fine. '. . . Well, that's why I'm aforeman, and always will be. "

But after a little reflection Linder came to the conclusion that perhapsit was all for the best. He could not have bought Y. D. 's daughter a bigsparkler or have built her a fine home--because he was a foreman. Itwas a round circle. . . . He threw himself into the building of Transley'shouse with as much fidelity as if it had been his own. He gave hisundivided attention to Transley's interests, making dollars for himwhile earning cents for himself. This attention was more needed than itever had been, as Transley found it necessary to make weekly trips tothe ranch in the foothills to consult with Y. D. Upon business matters. 

Zen found her interest in Transley growing as his attentions continued. He spent money upon her lavishly, to the point at which she protested, for although Y. D. Was rated as a millionaire the family life was one ofalmost stark simplicity. Transley assured her that he was making moneyfaster than he possibly could spend it, and even if not, money had nonobler mission than to bring her happiness. He explained the blue-printsof the house, and discussed with her details of the appointments. As thebuilding progressed he brought her weekly photographs of it. He urgedher to set the date about Christmas; during the winter contracting wouldbe at a standstill, so they would spend three months in California andreturn in time for the spring business. 

Day by day the girl turned the situation over in her mind. Her lifehad been swept into strange and unexpected channels, and the experiencepuzzled her. Since the episode with Drazk she had lost some of hernative recklessness; she was more disposed to weigh the result of heractions, and she approached the future not without some misgivings. Sheassured herself that she looked forward to her marriage with Transleywith the proper delight of a bride-to-be, and indeed it was a prospectthat could well be contemplated with pleasure. . . . Transley had won thecomplete confidence of her father and when doubts assailed her Zen foundin that fact a very considerable comfort. Y. D. Was a shrewd man; a manwho seldom guessed wrong. Zen did not admit that she was allowingher father to choose a husband for her, but the fact that her fatherconcurred in the choice strengthened her in it. Transley had in himqualities which would win not only wealth, but distinction, and shewould share in the laurels. She told herself that it was a delightfuloutlook; that she was a very happy girl indeed--and wondered why she wasnot happier!

Particularly she laid it upon herself that she must now, finally, dismiss Dennison Grant from her mind. It was absurd to suppose thatshe cared more for Grant than she did for Transley. The two men were sodifferent; it was impossible to make comparisons. They occupied quitedifferent spheres in her regard. To be sure, Grant was a very likeableman, but he was not eligible as a husband, and she could not marry two, in any case. Zen entertained no girlish delusions about there being onlyone man in the world. On the contrary, she was convinced that therewere very many men in the world, and, among the better types, there was, perhaps, not so much to choose between them. Grant would undoubtedly bea good husband within his means; so would Transley, and his means weregreater. The blue-prints of the new house in town had not been withouttheir effect. It was a different prospect from being a foreman's wife ona ranch. Her father would never hear of it. . . . 

So she busied herself with preparations for the great event, and whatpreparations they were! "Zen, " her father had said, "for once the lid isoff. Go the limit!" She took him at his word. There were many tripsto town, and activities about the old ranch buildings such as they hadnever known since Jessie Wilson came to finish Y. D. 's up-bringing, noreven then. The good word spread throughout the foothill country and downover the prairies, and many a lazy cloud of dust lay along the Novemberhillsides as the women folk of neighboring ranches came to pay theirrespects and gratify their curiosity. Zen had treasures to show whichsent them home with new standards of extravagance. 

Y. D. Had not thought he could become so worked up over a simple matterlike a wedding. Time had dulled the edge of memory, but even aftermaking allowances he could not recall that his marriage to Jessie Wilsonhad been such an event in his life as this. It did not at least reflectso much glory upon him personally. He basked in the reflected glow ofhis daughter's beauty and popularity, as happily as the big cat lyingon the sunny side of the bunk-house. He found all sorts of excuses forinvading where his presence was little wanted while Zen's finerywas being displayed for admiration. Y. D. Always pretended that suchinvasions were quite accidental, and affected a fine indifference to allthis "women's fuss an' feathers, " but his affectations deceived at leastnone of the older visitors. 

As the great day approached Y. D. 's wife shot a bomb-shell at him. "Whatdo you propose to wear for Zen's wedding?" she demanded. 

"What's the matter with the suit I go to town in?"

"Y. D. , " said his wife, kindly, "there are certain little touches whichyou overlook. Your town suit is all right for selling steers, althoughI won't say that it hasn't outlived its prime even for that. To attendZen's wedding it is--hardly the thing. "

"It's been a good suit, " he protested. "It is--"

"It HAS. It is also a venerable suit. But really, Y. D. , it will notdo for this occasion. You must get yourself a new suit, and a whiteshirt--"

"What do I want with a white shirt--"

"It has to be, " his wife insisted. "You'll have to deck yourself out ina new suit and a while shirt and collar. "

Y. D. Stamped around the room, and in a moment slipped out. "All foolnonsense, " he confided to himself, on his way to the bunk-house. "It'sall right for Zen to have good clothes--didn't I tell her to go thelimit?--but as for me, 'tain't me that's gettin' married, is it?Standin' up before all them cow punchers in a white shirt!" Thebitterness of such disgrace cut the old rancher no less keenly than thephysical discomfort which he forecast for himself, yet he put his owndesires sufficiently to one side to buy a suit of clothes, and a whiteshirt and collar, when he was next in town. 

It must not be supposed that Y. D. Admitted to the salesman that hepersonally was descending to any such garb. 

"A suit for a fellow about my size, " he explained. "He's visitin' outat the ranch, an' he hefts about the same as me. Put in one of themHereford shirts an' a collar. "

Y. D. Tucked the package surreptitiously in his room and awaited the dayof Zen's marriage with mingled emotions. 

Zen, yielding to Transley's importunities, had at last said that itshould be Christmas Day. The wedding would be in the house, with theleading ranchers and farmers of the district as invited guests, andthe general understanding was to be given out that the countryside as awhole would be welcome. All could not be taken care of in the house, soY. D. Gave orders that the hay was to be cleared out of one of the barnsand the floor put in shape for dancing. Open house would be held inthe barn and in the bunk-house, where substantial refreshments would beserved to all and sundry. 

Christmas Day dawned with a seasonable nip to the air, but the sun rosewarm and bright. There was no snow, and by early afternoon clouds ofdust were rising on every trail leading to the Y. D. The old ranchersand their wives drove in buckboards, and one or two in automobiles;the younger generation, of both sexes, came on horseback, with many anexciting impromptu race by the way. Y. D. Received them all in theyard, commenting on the horses and the weather, and how the steerswere wintering, and revealing, at the proper moments, the location ofa well-filled stone jug. The faithful Linder was on hand to assist incaring for the horses and maintaining organization about the yard. Thewomen were ushered into the house, but the men sat about the bunk-houseor leaned against the sunny side of the barn, sharpening their witsin conversational sallies which occasionally brought loud guffaws ofmerriment. 

In the house every arrangement had been completed. Zen was to come downthe stairs leaning on her father's arm, and the ceremony would takeplace in the big central room, lavishly decorated with flowers whichTransley had sent from town in a heated automobile. After the ceremonythe principals and the older people would eat the wedding dinner inthe house, and all others would be served in the bunk-house. One of thedownstairs rooms was already filled with presents. 

As the hour approached Zen found herself possessed of a calmness whichshe deemed worthy of Y. D. 's daughter. She had elected to be unattendedas she had no very special girl friend, and that seemed the simplestway out of the problem of selecting someone for this honor. She was, however, amply assisted with her dressing, and the color of her finecheeks burned deeper with the compliments to which she listened withmodest appreciation. 

At a quarter to the hour it was discovered that Y. D. Had not yet dressedfor the occasion. He was, in fact, engaged with Landson in making atentative arrangement for the distribution of next year's hay. Zen hadbeen so insistent upon an invitation being sent to Mr. And Mrs. Landson, that Y. D. , although fearing a snub for his pains, at last conceded thepoint. He had done his neighbor rather less than justice, and now heand Landson, with the assistance of the jug already referred to, wereburying the hatchet in a corner of the bunk-house. 

"Dang this dressin', " Y. D. Remonstrated when a message demanding instantaction reached him. "Landson, hear me now! I wouldn't take a milliondollars for that girl, y' understand--and I wouldn't trade a mangycayuse for another!"

So, grumbling, he found his way to his room and began a wrestle with his"store" clothes. Before the fight was over he was being reminded throughthe door that he wasn't roping a steer, and everybody was waiting. Atthe last moment he discovered that he had neglected to buy shoes. Therewas nothing for it but his long ranch boots, so on they went. 

He sought Zen in her room. "Will I do in this?" he asked, feeling verysheepish. 

Zen could have laughed, or she could have cried, but she did neither. She sensed in some way the fact that to her father this experience was apositive ordeal. So she just slipped her arm through his and whispered, "Of course you'll do, you silly old duffer, " and tripped down the stairsby the side of his ponderous steps. 

After the ceremony the elder people sat down to dinner in the house, and the others in the bunk-house. Zen was radiant and calm; Transleyhandsome, delighted, self-possessed. His good luck was the subject ofmany a comment, both inside and out of the old house. He accepted it atits full value, and yet as one who has a right to expect that luck willplay him some favors. 

Suddenly there was a rush from outside, and Zen found herself beingcarried bodily away. The young people had decided that the dancing couldwait no longer, so a half dozen hustlers had been deputed to kidnapthe bride and carry her to the barn, where the fiddles were alreadystrumming. Zen insisted that the first dance must belong to Transley, but after that she danced with the young ranchers and cowboys withstrict impartiality. And even as she danced she found herself wonderingif, among all this representation of the countryside, that one upon whomher thoughts had turned so much should be missing. She found herselfwatching the door. Surely it would have been only a decent respect toher--surely he might have helped to whirl her joyously away into the newlife in which the past had to be forgotten. . . . How much better that theyshould part that way, than with the memories they had!

But Dennison Grant did not appear. Evidently he preferred to keep hismemories. . . . 

When at last the night had worn thin and it was time for the bridalcouple to leave if they were to catch the morning train in town, and they had ridden down the foothill trails to the thunder of manyaccompanying hoof-beats, the old ranch became suddenly a place veryquiet and still and alone. Y. D. Sat down in the corner of the big roomby the fire, and saw strange pictures in its dying embers. Zen. . . . Zen!. . . Transley was a good fellow, but how much a man will take withscarce a thank-you!. . . Presently Y. D. Became aware of a hand restingupon his shoulder, and tingling from its fingertips came something akinto the almost forgotten rapture of a day long gone. He raised his greatpalm and took that slowly ageing hand, once round and fresh like Zen's, in his. Together they watched the fire die out in the silence of theirempty house. . . . 

CHAPTER XI

Grant read the account of her wedding in the city papers a day or twolater. It was given the place of prominence among the Christmas Daynuptials. He read it through twice and then tossed the paper to the endof his little office. Grant was housed in a building by himself; a shacktwelve by sixteen feet, double boarded and tar-papered. A single squarewindow in the eastern wall commanded a view of the Landson corrals. On the opposite side of the room was his bed; in the centre a hugewood-burning stove; near the window stood a table littered with dailypapers and agricultural journals. The floor was of bare boards; aleather trunk, with D. G. In aggressive letters, sat by the head ofhis bed, and in the corner near the foot was a washstand with basinand pitcher of graniteware. In another corner was a short shelfof well-selected books; clothing hung from nails driven into thetwo-by-fours which formed the framework of the little building; a riflewas suspended over the door, and lariat and saddle hung from spikes inthe wall. Grant sat in an arm chair by the stove, where the bracket lampon the wall could shed its yellow glare upon his paper. 

After throwing the sheet across the room he half turned in his chair, so that the yellow light fell across his face. Fidget, the pup, alwaysalert for action, was on her feet in a moment, eager to lead the wayto the door and whatever adventure might lie outside. But Grant didnot leave his chair, and, finding all her tail-waving of no avail, shepresently settled down again by the stove, her chin on her outstretchedpaws, her drooping eyes half closed, but a wakeful ear floppingoccasionally forward and back. Grant snuggled his foot against herfriendly side and fell into reverie. . . . 

There was nothing else for it; he must absolutely dismiss Zen--ZenTransley--from his mind. That was not only the course of honor; it wasthe course of common sense. After all, he had not sought her for hisbride. He had not pressed his suit. He had given her to Transley. Thethought was rather a pleasant one. It implied some sort of voluntaryaction upon Grant's part. He had been magnanimous. Nevertheless, he wascave man enough to know pangs of jealousy which his magnanimity couldnot suppress. 

"If things had been different, " he remarked to himself; "if I had beenin a position to offer her decent conditions, I would have followed upthe lead. And I would have won. " He turned the incident on the riverbank over in his mind, and a faint smile played along his lips. "I wouldhave won. But I couldn't bring her here. . . . It's the first time I everfelt that money could really contribute to happiness. Well--I was happybefore I met her; I can be happy still. This little episode. . . . "

He crossed the room and picked up the newspaper he had thrown away; hecrumpled it in his hand as he approached the stove. It said thebride was beautiful--the happy couple--the groom, prosperous youngcontractor--California--three months. . . . He turned to the table, smoothed out the paper, and studied it again. Of course he had heardthe whole thing from the Landsons; they had done Y. D. And his daughterjustice. He clipped the article carefully from the sheet and folded itaway in a little book on the shelf. 

Then he told himself that Zen had been swept from his mind; that if everthey should meet--and he dallied a moment with that possibility--theywould shake hands and say some decent, insipid things and part as peoplewho had never met before. Only they would know. . . . 

Grant occupied himself with the work of the ranch that winter, spring, and summer. Occasional news of Mrs. Transley filtered through; she wastoo prominent a character in that countryside to be lost track of ina season. But anything which reached Grant came through accidentalchannels; he sought no information of her, and turned a deaf ear, almost, to what he heard. Then in the fall came an incident whichimmediately changed the course of his career. 

It came in the form of an important-looking letter with an easternpostmark. It had been delivered with other mail at the house, andLandson himself brought it down. Grant read it and at first stared at itsomewhat blankly, as one not taking in its full portent. 

"Not bad news, I hope?" said his employer, cloaking his curiosity incommiseration. 

"Rather, " Grant admitted, and handed him the letter. Landson read:

"It is our duty to place before you information which must be of a verydistressing nature, and which at the same time will have the effect ofgreatly increasing your responsibilities and opportunities. Unless youhave happened to see the brief despatches which have appeared in thePress this letter will doubtless be the first intimation to youthat your father and younger brother Roy were the victims of a mostregrettable accident while motoring on a brief holiday in the South. Theautomobile in which they were travelling was struck by a fast train, and both of them received injuries from which they succumbed almostimmediately. 

"Your father, by his will, left all his property, aside from certainbehests to charity, to his son Roy, but Roy had no will, and as he wasunmarried, and as there are no other surviving members of the familyexcept yourself, the entire estate, less the behests already referredto, descends to you. We have not yet attempted an appraisal, but youwill know that the amount is very considerable indeed. In recent yearsyour father's business undertakings were remarkably successful, and wethink we may conservatively suggest that the amount of the estate willbe very much greater than even you may anticipate. 

"The brokerage firm which your father founded is, temporarily, withouta head. You have had some experience in your father's office, and as hissolicitors for many years, we take the liberty of suggesting that youshould immediately assume control of the business. A faithful staffare at present continuing it to the best of their ability, but you willunderstand that a permanent organization must be effected at as early adate as may be possible. 

"Inability to locate you until after somewhat exhaustive inquiries hadbeen made explains the failure to notify you by wire in time to permitof your attending the funeral of your father and brother, which tookplace in this city on the eighth instant, and was marked by manyevidences of respect. 

"We beg to tender our very sincere sympathy, and to urge upon youthat you so arrange your affairs as to enable you to assume theresponsibilities which have, in a sense, been forced upon you, at a veryearly date. In the meantime we assure you of our earnest attention toyour interests. 

"Yours sincerely, "BARRETT, JONES, BARRETT, DEACON & BARRETT. "

"Well, I guess it means you've struck oil, and I've lost a goodforeman, " said Landson, as he returned the letter. "I'm sorry about yourloss, Grant, and glad to hear of your good luck, if I may put it thatway. "

"No particular good luck that I can see, " Grant protested. "I came westto get away from all that bothering nuisance, and now I've got to goback and take it all up again. I feel badly about Dad and the kid;they were decent, only they didn't understand me. . . . I suppose I didn'tunderstand them, either. At any rate they didn't wish this on me. Theyhad quite other plans. "

"What do you reckon she's worth?" Landson asked, after waiting as longas his patience would permit. 

"Oh, I don't know. Possibly six or eight millions by this time. "

"Six or eight millions! Jehoshaphat! What will you do with it?"

"Look after it. Mr. Landson, you know that I have never worried aboutmoney; if I had I wouldn't be here. I figure that the more money a manhas the greater are his responsibilities and his troubles; worse thanthat, his wealth excites the jealousy of the public and even the envyof his friends. It builds a barrier around him, shutting out all thosethings which are really most worth while. It makes him the legitimateprey of the unprincipled. I know all these things, and it is because Iknow them that I sought happiness out here on the ranges, where perhapssome people are rich and some are poor, but they all think alikeand live alike and are part of one community and stand together in apinch--and out here I have found happiness. Now I'm going back to theother job. I don't care for the money, but any son-of-a-gun who takes itfrom me is a better man than I am, and I'll sit up nights at both endsof the day to beat him at his own game. Now, just as soon as you canline up someone to take charge I'll have to beat it. "

The news of Grant's fortune spread rapidly, and many were thecongratulations from his old cow puncher friends; congratulations, for the most part, without a suggestion of envy in them. Grant put hisaffairs in order as quickly as possible, and started for the East with atrunkful of clothes. But even before he started one thought had risen upto haunt him. He crushed it down, but it would insist. If only this hadhappened a year ago. . . . 

Dennison Grant's mother had died in his infancy, and as soon as Roywas old enough to go to boarding-school his father had given uphousekeeping. The club had been his home ever since. Grant reflected onthis situation with some satisfaction. He would at least be spared theunpleasantness of discharging a houseful of servants and disposing ofthe family furniture. As for the club--he had no notion for that. Acouple of rooms in some quiet apartment house, where he could cook ameal to his own liking as the fancy took him; that was his picture ofsomething as near domestic happiness as was possible for a single manrather sadly out of his proper environment. 

Grant reached his old home city late at night, and after a quiet cigarand a stroll through some of the half-forgotten streets he put up at oneof the best hotels. He was deferentially shown to a room about as largeas the whole Landson house; soft lights were burning under pink shades;his feet fell noiselessly on the thick carpets. He placed a chair by awindow, where he could watch the myriad lights of the city, and triedto appraise the new sphere in which he found himself. It would be a verydifferent game from riding the ranges or roping steers, but it would bea game, nevertheless; a game in which he would have to stand on hisown resources even more than in those brave days in the foothills. Herelished the notion of the game even while he was indifferent to theprize. He had no clear idea what he eventually should do with hiswealth; that was something to think about very carefully in the days andyears to come. In the meantime his job was to handle a big business inthe way it should be handled. He must first prove his ability to makemoney before he showed the world how little he valued it. 

He turned the water into his bath; there was a smell about the towels, the linen, the soap, that was very grateful to his nostrils. . . . 

In the morning he passed by the office of Grant & Son. He did not turnin, but pursued his way to a door where a great brass plate announcedthe law firm of Barrett, Jones, Barrett, Deacon & Barrett. He smiledat this elaboration of names; it represented three generations of theBarrett family and two sons-in-law. Grant found himself speculatingover a name for the Landson ranch; it might have been Landson, Grant, Landson, Murphy, Skinny & Pete. . . . 

He entered and inquired for Mr. Barrett, senior. 

"Mr. David Barrett, senior, sir; he's out of the city, sir; he has notyet come in from his summer home in the mountains. "

"Then the next Mr. Barrett?"

"Mr. David Barrett, junior, sir; he also is out of the city. "

"Have you any more Barretts?"

"There's young Mr. Barrett, but he seldom comes down in the forenoon, sir. "

Grant suppressed a grin. "The Barretts are a somewhat leisurely family, I take it, " he remarked. 

"They have been very successful, " said the clerk, with a touch ofreserve. 

"Apparently; but who does the work?"

"Mr. Jones is in his office. Would you care to send in your card?"

"No, I think I'll just take it in. " He pressed through a counter-gateand opened a door upon which was emblazoned the name of Mr. Jones. 

Mr. Jones proved to be a man with thin, iron-grey hair and a stubby, pugnacious moustache. He sat at a desk at the end of a long, narrowroom, down both sides of which were rows of cases filled withimpressive-looking books. He did not raise his eyes when Grant entered, but continued poring over a file of correspondence. 

"What an existence!" Grant commented to himself. "And yet I suppose thisman thinks he's alive. "

Grant remained standing for a moment, but as the lawyer showed nodisposition to divide his attention he presently advanced to the desk. Mr. Jones looked up. 

"You are Mr. Jones, I believe?"

"I am, but you have the better of me--"

"Only for the moment. You are a lawyer. You will take care of that. Iunderstand the firm of Barrett, Jones, Barrett, Deacon & Barrett havesomewhat leisurely methods?"

"Is the firm on trial?" inquired Mr. Jones, sharply. 

"In a sense, yes. I also understand that although all the Barretts, andalso Mr. Deacon, share in the name plate, Mr. Jones does the work?"

The lawyer laid down his papers. "Who the dickens are you, anyway, andwhat do you want?"

"That's better. With undivided attention we shall get there muchquicker. I have a certain amount of legal business which requiresattention, and in connection with which I am willing to pay what theservice is worth. But I'm not going to pay two generations of Barrettswhich are out of the city, and a third which doesn't come down in theforenoon. If I have to buy name plates, I'll buy name plates of my own, and that is what I've decided to do. Do you mind saying how much thisjob here is worth?"

"Of course I do, sir. I don't understand you at all--"

"Then I'll make myself understood. I am Dennison Grant. By force ofcircumstances I find myself--"

The lawyer had risen from his chair. "Oh, Mr. Dennison Grant! I'm soglad--"

Grant ignored the outstretched hand. "I'm exactly the same man who cameinto your office five minutes ago, and you were too busy to raiseyour eyes from your papers. It is not me to whom you are now offeringcourtesy; it's to my money. "

"I am sure I beg your pardon. I didn't know--"

"Then you will know in future. If you've got a hand on you, stick itout, whether your visitor has any money or not. "

Grant was glaring at the lawyer across the desk, and thepugnacious-looking moustache was beginning to bristle back. 

"Did you come in here to read me a lecture, or to get legal advice?" thelawyer returned with some spirit. 

"I came in here on business. In the course of that business I find itnecessary to tell you where you get off at, and to ask you what you'regoing to do about it. "

The lawyer came around from behind his desk. "And I'll show you, " hesaid, very curtly. "You've been drinking, or you're out of your head. In either case I'm going to put you out of this room until you are in adifferent frame of mind. "

"Hop to it!" said Grant, bracing himself. Jones was an oldish man, and he had no intention of hurting him. In a moment they clenched, andbefore Grant could realize what was happening he was on his back. 

He arose quickly, laughing, and sat down in a chair. "Mr. Jones, willyou sit down? I want to talk to you. "

"If you will talk business. You were rude to me. "

"Perhaps. For my rudeness I apologize. But I was not untruthful. And Iwanted to find something out. I found it. "

"What?"

"Whether you had any sand in you. You have, and considerable muscle, orknack, as well. I'm not saying you could do it again--"

"Well, what is this all about?"

"Simply this. If I am to manage the business of Grant & Son I shall needlegal advice of the highest order, and I want it from a man with redblood in him--I should be afraid of any other advice. What is yourprice? You understand, you leave this firm and think of nothing, professionally, but what I pay you for. "

Mr. Jones had seated himself, and the pugnacious moustache was settlingback into a less hostile attitude. 

"You are quite serious?"

"Quite. You see, I know nothing about business. It is true I spent sometime in my father's office, but I never had much heart for it. Iwent west to get away from it. Fate has forced it back upon my hands. Well--I'm not a piker, and I mean to show Fate that I can handle thejob. To do so I must have the advice of a man who knows the game. I wanta man who can look over a bond issue, or whatever it is, and tell meat a glance whether it's spavined or wind-broken. I want a man who cansense out the legal badger-holes, and who won't let me gallop over acutbank. I want a man who has not only brains to back up his muscle, butwho also has muscle to back up his brains. To be quite frank, I didn'tthink you were the man. I had no doubt you had the legal ability, or youwouldn't be guiding the affairs of this five-cylinder firm, but I wasafraid you didn't have the fight in you. I picked a quarrel with you tofind out, and you showed me, for which I am much obliged. By the way, how do you do it?"

Before answering Mr. Jones got up, walked around behind his desk, unlocked a drawer and produced a box of cigars. 

"That's a mistake you Westerners make, " he remarked, when they hadlighted up. "You think the muscle is all out there, just as someEasterners will admit that the brains are all down here. Both are wrong. Life at a desk calls for an antidote, and two nights a week keep me inform. I wrestled a bit when I was a boy, but I haven't had a chance totry out my skill in a long while. I rather welcomed the opportunity. "

"I noticed that. Well--what's she worth?"

Mr. Jones ruminated. "I wouldn't care to break with the firm, " he saidat length. "There are family ties as well as those of business. A year'sleave of absence might be arranged. By that time you would be safe inyour saddle. By the way, do you propose to hire all your staff by thesame test?"

Grant smiled. "I don't expect to hire any more staff. I presume there isalready a complete organization, doubtless making money for me at thisvery moment. I will not interfere except when necessary, but I want aman like you to tell me when it is necessary. "

Terms were agreed upon, and Mr. Jones asked only the remainder of theweek to clean up important matters on hand. Telegrams were despatched toMr. David Barrett, senior, and Mr. David Barrett, junior, and Jones insome way managed to convey the delicate information to young Mr. Barrettthat a morning appearance on his part would henceforth be essential. Grant decided to fill in the interval with a little fishing expedition. He was determined that he would not so much as call at the office ofGrant & Son until Jones could accompany him. "A tenderfoot like me wouldstampede that bunch in no time, " he warned himself. 

When he finally did appear at the office he was received with adeference amounting almost to obeisance. Murdoch, the chief clerk, andmanager of the business in all but title, who had known him in the olddays when he had been "Mr. Denny, " bore him into the private officewhich had for so many years been the sacred recess of the senior Grant. Only big men or trusted employees were in the habit of passing thosesilent green doors. 

"Well Murdy, old boy, how goes it?" Grant had said when they met, takinghis hand in a husky grip. 

"Not so bad, sir; not so bad, considering the shock of the accident, sir. And we are all so glad to see you--we who knew you before, sir. "

"Listen, Murdy, " said Grant. "What's the idea of all the sirs?"

"Why, " said the somewhat abashed official, "you know you are now thehead of the firm, sir. "

"Quite so. Because a chauffeur neglected to look over his shoulder I amconverted from a cow puncher to a sir. Well, go easy on it. If a man hasnative dignity in him he doesn't need it piled on from outside. "

"Very true, sir. I hope you will be comfortable here. Some memorablematters have been transacted within these walls, sir. Let me take yourhat and cane. "

"Cane? What cane?"

"Your stick, sir; didn't you have a stick?"

"What for? Have you rattlers here? Oh, I see--more dignity. No, I don'tcarry a stick. Perhaps when I'm old--"

"You'll have to try and accommodate yourself to our manners, " saidJones, when Murdoch had left the room. "They may seem unnecessary, or even absurd, but they are sanctioned by custom, and, you know, civilization is built on custom. The poet speaks of a freedom which'slowly broadens down from precedent to precedent. ' Precedent is custom. Never defy custom, or you will find her your master. Humor her, and shewill be your slave. Now I think I shall leave, while you try and tuneyourself to the atmosphere of these surroundings. I need hardly warn youthat the furniture is--quite valuable. "

Grant saw him out with a friendly grip on his arm. "You will needanother course of wrestling lessons presently, " he warned him. 

So this was the room which had been the inner shrine of the firm ofGrant & Son. The quarters were new since he had left the East; thefurnishings revealed that large simplicity which is elegance and wealth. A painting of the elder Grant hung from the wall; Dennison stood beforeit, looking into the sad, capable, grey eyes. What had life brought tohis father that was worth the price those eyes reflected? Dennison foundhis own eyes moistening with memories now strangely poignant. . . . 

"Environment, " the young man murmured, as he turned from the portrait, "environment, master of everything! And yet--"

A photograph of Roy stood on the mantelpiece, and beside it, in a littlesilver frame, was one of his mother. . . . Grant pulled himself togetherand fell to an examination of the papers in his father's desk. 

CHAPTER XII

Grant's first concern was to get a grasp of the business affairs whichhad so unexpectedly come under his direction. To accomplish this hecontinued the practice of the Landson ranch; he was up every morning atfive, and had done a day's work before the members of his staff began toassemble. For advice he turned to Jones and Murdoch, and the managementof routine affairs he left entirely in the hands of the latter. He hadsoon convinced himself that the camaraderie of the ranch would not workin a staff of this kind, so while he was formulating plans of his ownhe left the administration to Murdoch. He found this absence ofcompanionship the most unpleasant feature of his position; it seemedthat his wealth had elevated him out of the human family. He waveredbetween amusement and annoyance over the deference that was paid him. Some of the staff were openly terrified at his approach. 

Not so Miss Bruce. Miss Bruce had tapped on the door and entered withthe words, "I was your father's stenographer. He left practically allhis personal correspondence to me. I worked at this desk in the corner, and had a private office through the door there into which I slippedwhen my absence was preferred. "

She had crossed the room, and, instead of standing respectfully beforeGrant's desk, had come around the end of it. Grant looked up withsome surprise, and noted that her features were not without commendingqualities. The mouth, a little large, perhaps--

"How do you think you're going to like your job?" she asked. 

Grant swung around quickly in his chair. No one in the staff had spokento him like that; Murdoch himself would not have dared address him in sofamiliar a manner. He decided to take a firm position. 

"Were you in the habit of speaking to my father like that?"

"Your father was a man well on in years, Mr. Grant. Every man accordingto his age. "

"I am the head of the firm. "

"That is so, " she assented. "But if it were not for me and the others onyour pay roll there would be no firm to require a head, and you'd be outof a job. You see, we are quite as essential to you as you are to us. "

Grant looked at her keenly. Whatever her words, he had to admit thather tone was not impertinent. She had a manner of stating a fact, ratherthan engaging in an argument. There was nothing hostile about her. Shehad voiced these sentiments in as matter-of-fact a way as if she weresaying, "It's raining out; you had better take your umbrella. "

"You appear to be a very advanced young woman, " he remarked. "I am alittle surprised--I had hardly thought my father would select youngwomen of your type as his confidential secretaries. "

"Private stenographer, " she corrected. "A little extra side on a titleis neither here nor there. Well, I will admit that I rather took yourfather's breath at times; he discharged me so often it became a habit, but we grew to have a sort of tacit understanding that that was just hisway of blowing off steam. You see, I did his work, and I did it right. I never lost my head when he got into a temper; I could always read mynotes even after he had spent most of the day in death grips with somebusiness rival. You see, I wasn't afraid of him, not the least bit. AndI'm not afraid of you. "

"I don't believe you are, " Grant admitted. "You are a remarkable woman. I think we shall get along all right if you are able to distinguishbetween independence and bravado. " He turned to his desk, then suddenlylooked up again. He was homesick for someone he could talk to frankly. 

"I don't mind telling you, " he said abruptly, "that the deference whichis being showered upon me around this institution gives me a good dealof a pain. I've been accustomed to working with men on the same level. They took their orders from me, and they carried them out, but the olderhands called me by my first name, and any of them swore back when hethought he had occasion. I can't fit in to this 'Yes sir, ' 'No sir, ''Very good, sir, ' way of doing business. It doesn't ring true. "

"I know what you mean, " she said. "There's too much servility in it. Andyet one may pay these courtesies and not be servile. I always 'sir'd'your father, and he knew I did it because I wanted to, not because I hadto. And I shall do the same with you once we understand each other. Theposition I want to make clear is this: I don't admit that because I workfor you I belong to a lower order of the human family than you do, and Idon't admit that, aside from the giving of faithful service, I am underany obligation to you. I give you my labor, worth so much; you pay me;we're square. If we can accept that as an understanding I'm ready tobegin work now; if not, I'm going out to look for another job. "

"I think we can accept that as a working basis, " he agreed. 

She produced notebook and pencil. "Very well, SIR. Do you wish todictate?"

The selection of a place to call home was a matter demanding Grant'searly attention. He discussed it with Mr. Jones. 

"Of course you will take memberships in some of the better clubs, " thelawyer had suggested. "It's the best home life there is. That is why itis not to be recommended to married men; it has a tendency to break upthe domestic circle. "

"But it will cost more than I can afford. "

"Nonsense! You could buy out one of their clubs, holus-bolus, if youwanted to. "

"You don't quite get me, " said Grant. "If I used the money which wasleft by my father, or the income from the business, no doubt I coulddo as you say. But I feel that that money isn't really mine. You see, Inever earned it, and I don't see how a person can, morally, spend moneythat he did not earn. "

"Then there are a great many immoral people in the world, " the lawyerobserved, dryly. 

"I am disposed to agree with you, " said Grant, somewhat pointedly. "ButI don't intend that they shall set my standards. "

"You have your salary. That comes under the head of earnings, if you arefinnicky about the profits. What do you propose to pay yourself?"

"I have been thinking about that. On the ranch I got a hundred dollars amonth, and board. "

"Well, your father got twenty thousand a year, and Roy half that, and ifthey wanted more they charged it up as expenses. "

"Considering the cost of board here, I think I would be justified intaking two hundred dollars a month, " Grant continued. 

Jones got up and took the young man by the shoulders. "Look here, Grant, you're not taking yourself seriously. I don't want to assail your pettheories--you'll grow out of them in time--but you hired me to give youadvice, and right here I advise you not to make a fool of yourself. Youare now in a big position; you're a big man, and you've got to live ina big way. If for nothing else than to hold the confidence of the publicyou must do it. Do you think they're going to intrust their investmentsto a firm headed by a two-hundred-dollar-a-month man?"

"But I AM a two-hundred-dollar-a-month man. In fact, I'm not sure I'mworth quite that much. I've got no more muscle, and no more sense, andvery little more experience than I had a month ago, when in the openmarket my services commanded a hundred and board. "

"When a man is big enough--or his job is big enough--" Jones argued, "hearises above the ordinary law of supply and demand. In fact, in a sense, he controls supply and demand. He puts himself in the job and dictatesthe salary. You have a perfect right to pay yourself what other men insimilar positions are getting. Besides, as I said, you'll have to doso for the credit of the firm. Do you call a doctor who lives in atumble-down tenement? You do not. You call one from a fine home; youselect him for his appearance of prosperity, regardless of the fact thathe may have mortgaged his future to create that appearance, and of thefurther fact that he will charge you a fee calculated to help payoff the mortgage. When you want a lawyer, do you seek some garretpractitioner? You do not. You go to a big building, with a big nameplate"--the pugnacious moustache gave hint of a smile gatheringbeneath--"and you pay a big price for a man with an office full ofimposing-looking books, not a tenth part of which he has ever read, orintends ever to read. I admit there's a good deal of bunco in the game, but if you sit in you've got to play it that way, or the dear publicwill throw you into the discard. Many a man who votes himself a salaryin five figures--or gets a friendly board of directors to do it forhim--if thrown unfriended between the millstones of supply and demandprobably couldn't qualify for your modest hundred dollars a monthand board. But he has risen into a different world; instead of beingdictated to, he dictates. That is your position, Grant. Look at itsensibly. "

"Nevertheless, I shall get along on two hundred a month. If I find itnecessary in order to protect the interests of the business to take amembership in an expensive club, or commit any other extravagance, Ishall do so, and charge it up as a business expense. Besides, I think Ican be happier that way. "

"And in the meantime your business is piling up profits. What are yougoing to do with them? Give them away?"

"No. That, too, is immoral--whether it be a quarter to a beggar or alibrary to a city. It feeds the desire to get money without earning it, which is the most immoral of all our desires. I have not yet decidedwhat I shall do with it. I have hired an expert, in you, to show me howto make money. I shall probably find it necessary to hire another toshow me how to dispose of it. But not a dollar will be given away. "

"And so you would let the beggar starve? That's a new kind of altruism. "

"No. I would correct the conditions that made him a beggar. That'sthe only kind of altruism that will make him something better than abeggar. "

"Some people would beg in any case, Grant. They are incapable ofanything better. "

"Then they are defectives, and should be cared for by the State. "

"Then the State may practise charity--"

"It is not charity; it is the discharge of an obligation. A father maysupport his children, but he must not let anyone else do it. "

"Well, I give up, " said Jones. "You're beyond me. "

Grant laughed and extended a cigar box. "Don't hesitate, " he said, "thisdoesn't come out of the two hundred. This is entertainment expense. Andyou must come and see me when I get settled. "

"When you get settled--yes. You won't be settled until you're married, and you might as well do some thinking about that. A man in yourposition gets a pretty good range of choice; you'd be surprised if youknew the wire-pulling I have already encountered; ambitious old damesfishing for introductions for their daughters. You may be an expert withrope or branding-iron, but you're outclassed in this matrimonial game, and some one of them will land you one of these times before you knowit. You should be very proud, " and Mr. Jones struck something of anattitude. "The youth and beauty of the city are raving about you. "

"About my money, " Grant retorted. "If my father had had time to changehis will they would every one of them have passed me by with their nosesin the air. As for marrying--that's all off. "

The lawyer was about to aim a humorous sally, but something in Grant'sappearance closed his lips. "Very well, I'll come and see you if you saywhen, " he agreed. 

Grant found what he wanted in a little apartment house on a side street, overlooking the lake. Here was a place where the vision could leap outwithout being beaten back by barricades of stone and brick. He restedhis eyes on the distance, and assured the inveigling landlady that therooms would do, and he would arrange for decorating at his own expense. There was a living-room, about the size of his shack on the Landsonranch; a bathroom, and a kitchenette, and the rent was twenty-twodollars a month. A decorator was called in to repaper the bathroomand kitchenette, but for the living-room Grant engaged a carpenter. He ordered that the inside of the room should be boarded up with roughboards, with exposed scantlings on the walls and ceiling. No doubt thetradesman thought his patron mad, or nearly so, but his business was toobey orders, and when the job was completed it presented a very passableduplicate of Grant's old quarters on the ranch. He had spared thefireplace, as a concession to comfort. When he had gotten his personaleffects out of storage, when he had hung rifle, saddle and lariatfrom spikes in the wall; had built a little book-shelf and set his oldfavorites upon it; had installed his bed and the trunk with the bigD. G. ; sitting in his arm chair before the fire, with Fidget's nosesnuggled companionably against his foot, he would not have traded hisquarters for the finest suite in the most expensive club in the city. Here was something at least akin to home. 

As he was arranging the books on his shelf the clipping with the accountof Zen's wedding fell to the floor. He sat down in his chair and read itslowly through. Later he went out for a walk. 

It was in his long walks that Grant found the only real comfort of hisnew life. To be sure, it was not like roaming the foothills; there wasnot the soft breath of the Chinook, nor the deep silence of the mightyvalleys. But there was movement and freedom and a chance to think. The city offered artificial attractions in which the foothills had notcompeted; faultlessly kept parks and lawns; splashes of perfume andcolor; spraying fountains and vagrant strains of music. He reflectedthat some merciful principle of compensation has made no place quiteperfect and no place entirely undesirable. He remembered also the tollof his life in the saddle; the physical hardship, the strain of longhours and broken weather. And here, too, in a different way, he was inthe saddle, and he did not know which strain was the greater. He wasbeginning to have a higher regard for the men in the saddle of business. The world saw only their success, or, it may be, their pretence ofsuccess. But there was a different story from all that, which each oneof them could have told for himself. 

On this evening when his mind had been suddenly turned into old channelsby the finding of the newspaper clipping dealing with the wedding ofY. D. 's daughter, Grant walked far into the outskirts of the city, payinglittle attention to his course. It was late October; the leaves laythick on the sidewalks and through the parks; there was in all the airthat strange, sad, sweet dreariness of the dying summer. . . . Grant hadtried heroically to keep his thoughts away from Transley's wife. Thepast had come back on him, had rather engulfed him, in that littlenewspaper clipping. He let himself wonder where she was, and whethernearly a year of married life had shown her the folly of her decision. He took it for granted that her decision had been folly, and he arrivedat that position without any reflection upon Transley. Only--Zen hadbeen in love with him, with him, Dennison Grant! Sooner or later shemust discover the tragedy of that fact, and yet he told himself he wasbig enough to hope she might never discover it. It would be best thatshe should forget him, as he had--almost--forgotten her. There was nodoubt that would be best. And yet there was a delightful sadness inthinking of her still, and hoping that some day--He was never able tocomplete the thought. 

He had been walking down a street of modest homes; the bare trees gropedinto a sky clear and blue with the first chill presage of winter. Aquick step fell unheeded by his side; the girl passed, hesitated, thenturned and spoke. 

"You are preoccupied, Mr. Grant. "

"Oh, Miss Bruce, I beg your pardon. I am glad to see you. " Even at thatmoment he had been thinking of Zen, and perhaps he put more cordialityinto his words than he intended. But he had grown to have considerableregard, on her own account, for this unusual girl who was not afraid ofhim. He had found that she was what he called "a good head. " She couldtake a detached view; she was absolutely fair; she was not easilyflustered. 

Her step had fallen into swing with his. 

"You do not often visit our part of the city, " she essayed. 

"You live here?"

"Near by. Will you come and see?"

He turned with her at a corner, and they went up a narrow street lyingdeep in dead leaves. Friendly domestic glimpses could be caught throughunblinded windows. 

"This is our home, " she said, stopping before a little gate. Grant's eyefollowed the pathway to a cottage set back among the trees. "I livehere with my sister and brother and mother. Father is dead, " she went onhurriedly, as though wishing to place before him a quick digest of thefamily affairs, "and we keep up the home by living on with mother asboarders; that is, Grace and I do. Hubert is still in high school. Won'tyou come in?"

He followed her up the path and into a little hall, lighted only bychance rays falling through a half-opened door. She did not switch onthe current, and Grant was aware of a comfortable sense of her nearness, quite distinct from any office experience, as she took his hat. In theliving-room her mother received him with visible surprise. She was notold, but widowhood and the cares of a young family had whitened her hairbefore its time. 

"We are glad to see you, Mr. Grant, " she said. "It is an unexpectedpleasure. Big business men do not often--"

"Mr. Grant is different, " her daughter interrupted, lightly. "I foundhim wandering the streets and I just--retrieved him. "

"I think I AM different, " he admitted, as his eye took in thesurroundings, which he appraised quickly as modest comfort, attainedthrough many little economies and makeshifts. "You are very happy here, "he went on, frankly. "Much more so, I should say, than in many of themore pretentious homes. I have always contended that, beyond the marginnecessary for decent living, the possession of money is a burden and ahandicap, and I see no reason to change my opinion. "

"Phyllis is a great help to me--and Grace, " the mother observed. "I hopeshe is a good girl in the office. "

Grant was hurrying an assent but the girl interrupted, perhaps wishingto relieve him of the necessity of an answer. 

"'Decent living' is a very elastic term, " she remarked. "There areso many standards. Some women think they must have maids and socialstatus--whatever that is--and so on. It can't be done on mother'sincome. "

"That quality is not confined to women, " Grant said. "I know I amregarded as something of a freak because I prefer to live simply. Theycan't understand my preference for a plain room to read and sleep in, for quiet walks by myself when I might be buzzing around in big motorcars or revelling with a bunch at the club. I suppose it's a puzzle tothem. "

Miss Bruce had seated herself near him. "They are beginning to offerexplanations, " she said. "I hear them--such things always filter down. They say you are mean and niggardly--that you're afraid to spend adollar. The fact that you have raised the wages of your staff doesn'tseem to answer them; they rather hold that against you, because it hasa tendency to make them do the same. Other office staffs are going totheir heads and saying, 'Grant is paying his help so much. ' That doesn'tpopularize you. To be a good fellow you should hold your staff down tothe lowest wages at which you can get service, and the money you save inthis way should be spent with gusto and abandon at expensive hotels andother places designed to keep rich people from getting too rich. "

"I am afraid you are satirizing them a little, but there is a good dealin what you say. They think I'm mean because they don't understand me, and they can't understand my point of view. I believe that money wascreated as a medium for the exchange of value. I think they will allagree with me there. If that is so, then I have no right to money unlessI have given value for it, and that is where they part company with me;but surely we can't accept the one fact without the other. "

Grant found himself thumbing his pockets. "You may smoke, if you havetobacco, " said Mrs. Bruce. "My husband smoked, and although I did notapprove of it then, I think I must have grown to like it. "

He lighted a cigarette, and continued. "Not all the moral law was givenon Mount Sinai. It seems to me that the supernaturalism which has beenintroduced into the story of the Ten Commandments is most unfortunate. It seems to remove them out of the field of natural law, whereas theyare, really, natural law itself. No social state can exist where theyare habitually ignored. But of course these natural laws existed longbefore Moses. He did not make the law; he discovered it, just as Newtondiscovered the law of gravitation. Well--there must be many othernatural laws, still undiscovered, or at least unaccepted. The thing isto discover them, to obey them, and, eventually, to compel others toobey them. I am no Moses, but I think I have the germ of the law whichwould cure our economic ills--that no person should be allowed toreceive value without earning it. Because I believed in that I gave upa fortune and went to work as a laborer on a ranch, but Fate has forcedwealth upon me, doubtless in order that I may prove out my own theories. Well, that is what I am doing. "

"It shouldn't be hard to get rid of money if you don't want it, " Mrs. Bruce ventured. 

"But it is. It is the hardest kind of thing. You see, I am limited bymy principles. I believe it is morally wrong to receive money withoutearning it; consequently I cannot give it away, as by doing so I wouldplace the recipient in that position. I believe it is morally wrong tospend on myself money which I have not earned; consequently I canspend only what I conceive to be a reasonable return for my services. Meanwhile, my wealth keeps rolling up. "

"It's a knotty problem, " said Phyllis. "I think there is only onesolution. "

"And that is?--"

"Marry a woman who is a good spender. "

At this moment Grace and Hubert came in from the picture-show together, and the conversation turned to lighter topics. Mrs. Bruce insistedon serving tea and cake, and when Grant found that he must go Phyllisaccompanied him to the gate. 

"This all seems so funny, " she was saying. "You are a very remarkableman. "

"I think I once passed a similar opinion about you. "

She extended her hand, and he held it for a moment. "I have not changedmy first opinion, " he said, as he released her fingers and turnedquickly down the pavement. 

CHAPTER XIII

Grant's first visit to the home of his private stenographer was not hislast, and the news leaked out, as it is sure to do in such cases. Thesocial set confessed to being on the point of being shocked. Two schoolsof criticism developed over the five o'clock tea tables; one held thatGrant was a gay dog who would settle down and marry in his class when hehad had his fling, and the other that Phyllis Bruce was an artful hussywho was quite ready to sell herself for the Grant millions. And therewere so many eligible young women on the market, although none of themwere described as artful hussies!

Grant's behavior, however, placed him under no cloud in so far as socialopportunities were concerned; on the contrary, he found himself beingshowered with invitations, most of which he managed to decline on thegrounds of pressure of business. When such an excuse would have been tootransparent he accepted and made the best of it, and he found no lackof encouragement in the one or two incipient amorous flurries whichresulted. From such positions he always succeeded in extricatinghimself, with a quiet smile at the vagaries of life. He had to admitthat some of the young women whom he had met had charms of morethan passing moment; he might easily enough find himself chasing therainbow. . . . 

Mrs. LeCord carried the warfare into his own office. The late Mr. LeCordhad left her to face the world with a comfortable fortune and threedaughters, of whom the youngest was now married and the oldest was aforlorn hope. To place the second was now her purpose, and the bestbargain on the market was young Grant. Caroline, she was sure, wouldmake a very acceptable wife, and the young lady herself confessed abelief that she could love even a bold Westerner whose bank balance wasexpressed in seven figures. 

The fact that Grant avoided social functions only added zest to thedetermination with which Mrs. LeCord carried the war into his ownoffice. She chose to consult him for advice on financial matters and shecame accompanied by Caroline, a young woman rather prepossessing in herown right. The two were readily admitted into Grant's private office, where they had opportunity not only to meet the young man in person, butto satisfy their curiosity concerning the Bruce girl. 

"I am Mrs. LeCord, Mr. Grant, " the lady introduced herself. "This is mydaughter Caroline. We wish to consult you on certain financial matters, privately, if you please. "

Grant received them cordially. "I shall be glad to advise you, if Ican, " he said. 

Mrs. LeCord cast a significant glance at Phyllis Bruce. 

"Miss Bruce is my private stenographer. You may speak with perfectfreedom. "

Mrs. LeCord took up her subject after a moment's silence. "Mr. LeCordleft me not entirely unprovided for, " she explained. "Almost a milliondollars in bonds and real estate made a comfortable protection for meand my three daughters against the buffetings of a world which, as youmay have found, Mr. Grant, is not over-considerate. "

"The buffetings of the world are an excellent training for the world'saffairs. "

"Maybe so, maybe so, " his visitor conceded. "However, there are othertrainings--trainings of finer quality, Mr. Grant--than those which haveto do with subsistence. I have been able to give my daughters the besteducation that money could command, and, if I do say it, I permit myselfsome gratification over the result. Gretta is comfortably and happilymarried, --a young man of some distinction in the financial world--a Mr. Powers, Mr. Newton Powers--you may happen to know him; Madge, I think, is always going to be her mother's girl; Caroline is still heart-free, although one can never tell--"

"Oh, mother!" the girl protested, blushing daintily. 

"I said you could never tell, Mr. Grant, --while handsome young men likeyourself are at large. " Mrs. LeCord laughed heartily, as much as to saythat her remark must be regarded only as a little pleasantry. "But youwill think I am a gossipy old body, " she continued briskly. "I reallycame to discuss certain financial matters. Since Mr. LeCord's deathI have taken charge of all the family business affairs with, if Imay confess it, some success. We have lived, and my girls have beeneducated, and our little reserve against a rainy day has been almostdoubled, in addition to giving Gretta a hundred thousand in her ownright on the occasion of her marriage. Caroline is to have the same, andwhen I am done with it there will be a third of the estate for each. Inthe meantime I am directing my investments as wisely as I can. I want mydaughters to be provided for, quite apart from any income marriage maybring them. I should be greatly humiliated to think that any daughter ofmine would be dependent upon her husband for support. On the contrary, I mean that they shall bring to their husbands a sum which will be anappreciable contribution toward the family fortune. "

"If I can help you in any way in your financial matters--" Grantsuggested. 

"Oh, yes, we must get back to that. How I wander! I'm afraid, Mr. Grant, I must be growing old. "

Grant protested gallantly against such conclusion, and Mrs. LeCord, after asking his opinion on certain issues shortly to be floated, aroseto leave. 

"You must find life in this city somewhat lonely, Mr. Grant, " shemurmured as she drew on her gloves. "If ever you find a longing for aquiet hour away from business stress--a little domesticity, if I may sayit--our house--"

"You are very kind. Business allows me very few intermissions. Still--"

She extended her hand with her sweetest smile. Caroline shook hands, too, and Grant bowed them out. 

On other occasions Mrs. LeCord and her daughter were fortunate enoughto find Grant alone, and at such times the mother's conversation becameeven more pointed than in their first interview. Grant hesitated tooffend her, mainly on account of Caroline, for whom he admitted tohimself it would not be at all difficult to muster up an attachment. There were, however, three barriers to such a development. One was theobvious purpose of Mrs. LeCord to arrange a match; a purpose which, asa mere matter of the game, he could not allow her to accomplish. One wasZen Transley. There was no doubt about it. Zen Transley stood betweenhim and marriage to any girl. Not that he ever expected to take herinto his life, or be admitted into hers, but in some way she hedged himabout. He felt that everything was not yet settled; he foundhimself entertaining a foolish sense that everything was not quiteirrevocable. . . . And then there was--perhaps--Phyllis Bruce. 

When at length, for some reason, Mrs. LeCord visited him alone hedecided to be frank with her. 

"You have thought me clever enough to advise you on financial matters?"he queried, when his visitor had discussed at some length the new loanin which she was investing. 

"Why, yes, " she returned, detecting the personal note in his voice. "Isometimes think, Mr. Grant, you hardly do yourself justice. Even thehardest old heads on the Exchange are taking notice of you. I have heardyour name mentioned--"

"Then it may be presumed, " he interrupted, "that I am clever enough toknow the real purpose of your visits to this office?"

She turned a little in her chair, facing him squarely. "I hardlyunderstand you, Mr. Grant. "

"Then I possess an advantage, because I quite clearly understand you. I have hesitated, out of consideration for your daughter, to show anyresentment of your behavior. But I must now tell you that when I marry, if ever I do, I shall choose my wife without the assistance of hermother, and without regard to her dowry or the size of the family bankaccount. "

"Oh, I protest!" exclaimed Mrs. LeCord, who had grown very red. "Iprotest against any such conclusion. I have seen fit to intrustmy financial affairs to your firm; I have visited you onbusiness--accompanied at times by my daughter, it is true--but only onbusiness; recognizing in you a social equal I have invited you to myhouse, a courtesy which, so far, you have not found yourself able toaccept; but in all this I have shown toward you surely nothing butfriendliness and a respect amounting, if I may say it, to esteem. Butnow that you are frank, Mr. Grant, I too will be frank. You cannot beunaware of the rumors which have been associated with your name?"

"You mean about Miss Bruce?"

"Ah, then you know of them. You are a young man, and we older people aredisposed to make allowance for the--for that. But you must realize thegreat mistake you would be making should you allow this matter to becomemore than--a rumor. "

"I do not admit your right to question me on such a subject, Mrs. LeCord, but I shall not avoid a discussion of it. Suppose, for the sakeof argument, that I were to contemplate marriage with Miss Bruce; ifshe and her relatives were agreeable, what right would anyone have toobject?"

"It would be a great mistake, " Mrs. LeCord insisted, avoiding hisquestion. "She is not in your class--"

"What do you mean by 'class'?"

"Why, I mean socially, of course. She lives in a different world. Shehas no standing, in a social way. She works in an office for a living--"

"So do I, " he interrupted, "and your daughters do not. It wouldtherefore appear that I am more in Miss Bruce's 'class' than in theirs. "

"Ah, but you are an employer. You direct things. You work because youwant to, not because you have to. That makes a difference. "

"Apparently it does. Well, if I had my way, everybody would work, whether he wanted to or not. I would not allow any healthy man tospend money which he had not earned by the sweat of his own brow. I amconvinced that that is the only economic system which is sound atthe bottom, but it would destroy 'class, ' as at present organized, so'class' must fight it. "

"I am afraid you are rather radical, Mr. Grant. You may be sure that asystem which has served so long and so well is a good system. "

"That introduces the clash between East and West. The East says becausethings are so, and have always been so, they must be right. The Westsays because things are so, and have always been so, they are in allprobability wrong. I guess I am a Westerner. "

"You should not allow your theories of economics to stand in the way ofyour success, " Mrs. LeCord pursued. "Suppose I admit that Caroline wouldnot be altogether deaf to your advances. Suppose I admit that much. Allowing for a mother's prejudice, will you not agree with me thatCaroline has her attractions? She is well bred, well educated, and notwithout appearance. She belongs to the smartest set in town. Her circlewould bring you not only social distinction, but valuable businessconnections. She would introduce that touch of refinement--"

But Grant, now thoroughly angry, had risen from his chair. "You speakof refinement, " he exclaimed, in the quick, sharp tones which alonerevealed the fighting Grant;--"you, who have been guilty of--I could usea very ugly word which I will give you the credit of not understanding. When I decide to buy myself a wife I will send to you for a catalogue ofyour daughter's charms. "

Grant dismissed Mrs. LeCord from his office with the confidentexpectation that he soon would have occasion to know something of themeaning of the proverb about hell's furies and a woman scorned. Shewould strike at him, of course, through Phyllis Bruce. Well--

But his attention was at once to be turned to very different matters. A stock market, erratic for some days, went suddenly into a paroxysm. Grant escaped with as little loss as possible for himself and hisclients, and after three sleepless nights called his staff together. They crowded into the board-room, curious, apprehensive, almostfrightened, and he looked over them with an emotion that was quite newto his experience. Even in the aloofness which their standards had madeit necessary for him to adopt there had grown up in his heart, quiteunnoticed, a tender, sweet foliage of love for these men and women whowere a part of his machine. Now, as he looked in their faces herealized how, like little children, they leaned on him--how, like littlechildren, they feared his power and his displeasure--how, perhaps, likelittle children, they had learned to love him, too. He realized, as hehad never done before, that they WERE children; that here and there inthe mass of humanity is one who was born to lead, but the great massitself must be children always, doing as they are bid. 

"My friends, " he managed to say, "we suddenly find ourselves intremendous times. Some of you know my attitude toward this businessin which we are engaged. I did not seek it; I did not approve of it;I tried to avoid it; yet, when the responsibility was forced upon meI accepted that responsibility. I gave up the life I enjoyed, theenvironment in which I found delight, the friends I loved. Well--ournation is now in a somewhat similar position. It has to go into abusiness which it did not seek, of which it does not approve, but whichfate has thrust upon it. It has to break off the current of its life andturn it into undreamed-of channels, and we, as individuals who make upthe nation, must do the same. I have already enlisted, and expect thatwithin a few hours I shall be in uniform. Some of you are single men ofmilitary age; you will, I am sure, take similar steps. For the rest--thebusiness will be wound up as soon as possible, so that you may bereleased for some form of national service. You will all receive threemonths' salary in lieu of notice. Mr. Murdoch will look after thedetails. When that has been done my wealth, or such part of it asremains, will be placed at the disposal of the Government. If we win itwill be well invested in a good cause; if we lose, it would have beenlost anyway. "

"We are not going to lose!" It was one of the younger clerks whointerrupted; he stood up and for a moment looked straight at his chief. In that instant's play of vision there was surely something more thancan be told in words, for the next moment he rushed forward and seizedone of Grant's hands in both his own. There was a moment's handclasp, and the boy had become a man. 

"I'm going, Grant, " he said. "I'm going--NOW!"

He turned and made his way out of the room, leaving his chief breathlessin a rapture of joy and pride. Others crowded up. They too weregoing--NOW. Even old Murdoch tried to protest that he was as good a manas ever. It seemed to Grant that the drab everyday costumings of hisstaff had fallen away, and now they were heroes, they were gods!

No one knew just how the meeting broke up, but Grant had a confusedremembrance of many handclasps and some tears. He was not sure that hehad not, perhaps, added one or two to the flow, but they were alltears of friendship and of an emotion born of high resolve. . . . The mostwonderful thing was that the youngster had called him Grant!

As he stood in his own office again, trying to get the events of theselast few days into some sort of perspective, Phyllis Bruce entered. Hemotioned dumbly to a chair, but she came and stood by his desk. Her facewas very white and her lips trembled with the words she tried to utter. 

"I can't go, " she managed to say at length. 

"Can't go? I don't understand?"

"Hubert has joined, " she said. 

"Hubert, the boy! Why, he is only in school--"

"He is sixteen, and large for his age. He came home confessing, andsaying it was his first lie, and the first important thing he ever didwithout consulting mother. He said he knew he wouldn't be able to standit if he told her first. "

"Foolish, but heroic, " Grant commented. "Be proud of him. It takes morethan wisdom to be heroic. "

"And Grace is going to England. She was taking nursing, you know, and sogets a preference. We can't ALL leave mother. "

He found it difficult to speak. "You wanted to go to the Front?" hemanaged. 

"Of course; where else?"

Her hand was on the desk; his own slipped over until it closed on it. 

"You are a little heroine, " he murmured. 

"No, I'm not. I'm a little fool to tell you this, but how can Istay--why should I stay--when you are gone?"

She was looking down, but after her confession she raised her eyes tohis, and he wondered that he had never known how beautiful she was. He could have taken her in his arms, but something, with the power ofinvisible chains, held him back. In that supreme moment a vision swambefore him; a vision of a mountain stream backed by tawny foothills, and a girl as beautiful as even this Phyllis who had wrapped him in herarms. . . And said, "We must go and forget. " And he had not forgotten. . . . 

When he did not respond she drew herself slowly away. "You will hateme, " she said. 

"That is impossible, " he corrected, quickly. "I am very sorry if Ihave let you think more than I intended. I care for you very, very muchindeed. I care for you so much that I will not let you think I care foryou more. Can you understand that?"

"Yes. You like me, but you love someone else. "

He was disconcerted by her intuition and the terse frankness with whichshe stated the case. 

"I will take you into my confidence, Phyllis, if I may, " he said atlength. "I DO like you; I DID love someone else. And that old attachmentis still so strong that it would be hardly fair--it would be hardlyfair--"

"Why didn't you marry her?" she demanded. 

"Because some one else did. "

"Oh!"

Her hands found his this time. "I'm sorry, " she said. "Sorry Ibrought this up--sorry I raised these memories. But now you--who haveknown--will know--"

"I know--I know, " he murmured, raising her fingers to his lips. . . . 

"Time, they say, is a healer of all wounds. Perhaps--"

"No. It is better that you should forget. Only, I shall see you off; Ishall wave my handkerchief to YOU; I shall smile on YOU in the crowd. Then--you will forget. ". . . 

CHAPTER XIV

Four years of war add only four years to the life of a man accordingto the record in the family Bible, if he happen to spring from stockin which that sacred document is preserved. But four years of war addtwenty years to the grey matter behind the eyes--eyes which learn todream and ponder strangely, and sometimes to shine with a hardness thathas no part with youth. When Captain Grant and Sergeant Linder steppedoff the train at Grant's old city there was, however, little to suggestthe ageing process that commonly went on among the soldiers in the GreatWar. Grant had twice stopped an enemy bullet, but his fine figure andsunburned health now gave no evidence of those experiences. Lindercounted himself lucky to carry only an empty sleeve. 

They had fallen in with each other in France, and the friendship plantedin the foothills of the range country had grown, through the strangeprunings and graftings of war, into a tree of very solid timber. Lindermight have told you of the time his captain found him with his armcrushed under a wrecked piece of artillery, and Grant could haverecounted a story of being dragged unconscious out of No Man's Land, butfor either to dwell upon these matters only aroused the resentment ofthe other, and frequently led to exchanges between captain and sergeanttotally incompatible with military discipline. They were content to paytribute to each other, but each to leave his own honors unheralded. 

"First thing is a place to eat, " Grant remarked, when they had beendismissed. Words to similar effect had, indeed, been his first remarkupon every suitable opportunity for three months. An appetite whichhas been four years in the making is not to be satisfied overnight, andGrant, being better fortified financially against the stress of a goodmeal, sought to be always first to suggest it. Linder accepted thesituation with the complacence of a man who has been four years on armypay. 

When they had eaten they took a walk through the old town--Grant's oldtown. It looked as though he had stepped out of it yesterday; it washard to realize that ages lay between. There are experiences which soakin slowly, like water into a log. The new element surrounds the body, but it may be months before it penetrates to the heart. Grant had somesense of that fact as he walked the old familiar streets, apparentlyunchanged by all these cataclysmic days. . . . In time he would come tounderstand. There was the name plate of Barrett, Jones, Barrett, Deacon& Barrett. There had not even been an addition to the firm. Here wasthe old Grant office, now used for some administration purpose. That, atleast, was a move in the right direction. 

They wandered along aimlessly while the sunset of an early summerevening marshalled its glories overhead. On a side street childrenplayed in the roadway; on a vacant spot a game of ball was in progress. Women sat on their verandas and shot casual glances after them as theypassed. Handsome pleasure cars glided about; there was a smell of newflowers in all the air. 

"What do you make of it, mate?" said Grant at last. 

Linder pulled slowly on his cigarette. Even his training as a sergeanthad not made him ready of speech, but when he spoke it was, as ever, tothe point. 

"It's all so unnecessary, " he commented at length. 

"That's the way it gets me, too. So unnecessary. You see, when youget down to fundamentals there are only two things necessary--foodand shelter. Everything else may be described as trimmings. We'vebeen dealing with fundamentals so long---mighty bare fundamentals atthat--that all these trimmings seem just a little irritating, don't youthink?"

"I follow you. I simply can't imagine myself worrying over a straycalf. "

"And I can't imagine myself sitting in an office and dealing with suchunessential things as stocks and bonds. . . . And I'm not going to. "

"Got any notion what you will do?" said Linder, when he had reached themiddle of another cigarette. 

"Not the slightest. I don't even know whether I'm rich or broke. Isuppose if Jones and Murdoch are still alive they will be lookingafter those details. Doing their best, doubtless, to embarrass me withadditional wealth. What are YOU going to do?"

"Don't know. Maybe go back and work for Transley. "

The mention of Transley threw Grant's mind back into old channels. Hehad almost forgotten Transley. He told himself he had quite forgottenZen Transley, but once he knew he lied. That was when they potted himin No Man's Land. As he lay there, waiting. . . . He knew he had notforgotten. And he had thought many times of Phyllis Bruce. At first hehad written to her, but she had not answered his letters. Evidentlyshe meant him to forget. Nor had she come to the station to welcome himhome. Perhaps she did not know. Perhaps--Many things can happen in fouryears. 

Suddenly it occurred to Grant that it might be a good idea to call onPhyllis. He would take Linder along. That would make it less personal. He knew his man well enough to keep his own counsel, and eventually theyreached the gate of the Bruce cottage, as though by accident. 

"Let's turn in here. I used to know these people. Mother and daughter;very fine folk. "

Linder looked for an avenue of retreat, but Grant barred his way, andtogether they went up the path. A strange woman, with a baby on her arm, met them at the door. Grant inquired for Mrs. Bruce and her daughter. 

"Oh, you haven't heard?" said the woman. "I suppose you are just back. Well, it was a sad thing, but these have been sad times. It was whenHubert was killed I came here first. Poor dear, she took that to heartawful, and couldn't be left alone, and Phyllis was working in an office, so I came here part time to help out. Then she was just beginning tobrace up again when we got the word about Grace. Grace, you know, waslost on a hospital ship. That was too much for her. "

Grant received this information with a strange catching about the heart. There had been changes, after all. 

"What became of Phyllis?" He tried to ask the question in an even voice. 

"I moved into the house after Mrs. Bruce died, " the woman continued, "asmy man came back discharged about that time. Phyllis tried to get on asa nurse, but couldn't manage it. Then her office was moved to anotherpart of the city and she took rooms somewhere. At first she came to seeus often, but not lately. I suppose she's trying to forget. "

"Trying to forget, " Grant muttered to himself. "How much of life is madeup of trying to forget!"

Further questions brought no further information. The woman didn'tknow the firm for which Phyllis worked; she thought it had to do withmunitions. Suddenly Grant found himself impelled by a tremendous desireto locate this girl. He would set about it at once; possibly Jones orMurdoch could give him information. Strangely enough, he now felt thathe would prefer to be rid of Linder's company. This was a matter forhimself alone. He took Linder to an hotel, where they arranged forlodgings, and then started on his search. 

He located Murdoch without difficulty. It was now late, and the oldclerk came down the stairs with inoffensive imprecations upon the headof his untimely caller, but his mutterings soon gave way to a cry ofdelight. 

"My dear boy!" he exclaimed, embracing him. "My dear boy--excuse me, sir, I'm a blithering old man, but oh! sir--my boy, you're home again!"There was no doubting the depth of old Murdoch's welcome. He ran beforeGrant into the living-room and switched on the lights. In a momenthe was back with his arm about the young man's shoulder; he was withdifficulty restraining caresses. 

"Sit you down, Mr. Grant; here--this chair--it's easier. I must get thewomen up. This is no night for sleeping. Why didn't you send us word?"

"There is a tradition that official word is sent in advance, " Granttried to explain. 

"Aye, a tradition. There's a tradition that a Scotsman is a dour bodywithout any sentiment. Well--I must call the women. "

He hurried up the stairs and Grant settled back into his chair. So thiswas the home of Murdoch, the man who really had earned a considerablepart of the Grant fortune. He had never visited Murdoch before; he hadnever thought of him in a domestic sense; Murdoch had always been to hima man of figures, of competent office routine, of almost too respectfuldeference. The light over the centre table fell subdued through apinkish shade; the corners of the room lay in restful shadows; thecomfortable furniture showed the marks of years. The walls suggested theneed of new paper; the well-worn carpet had been shifted more than oncefor economy's sake. Grant made a hasty appraisal of these conditions;possibly his old clerk was feeling the pinch of circumstances--

Murdoch, returning, led in his wife, a motherly woman who almost kissedthe young soldier. In the welcome of her greeting it was a moment beforeGrant became aware of the presence of a fourth person in the room. 

"I am very glad to see you safely back, " said Phyllis Bruce. "We haveall been thinking about you a great deal. "

"Why, Miss--Phyllis! It was you I was looking for!" The frank confessioncame before he had time to suppress it, and, having said so much, itseemed better to finish the job. 

"Yes, Phyllis is making her home with us now, " Mrs. Murdoch explained. "It is more convenient to her work. "

Grant wondered how much of this arrangement was due to Mrs. Murdoch'ssympathy for the bereaved girl, and how much to the addition which itmade to the family income. No doubt both considerations had contributedto it. 

"I called at your old home, " he continued. "I needn't say how distressedI was to hear--The woman could tell me nothing of you, so I came toMurdoch, hoping--"

"Yes, " she said, simply, as though there were nothing more to explain. Grant noticed that her eyes were larger and her cheeks paler than theyhad been, but the delight of her presence leapt about him. Her hurriedcostume seemed to accentuate her beauty despite of all that war had doneto destroy it. There was a silence which lengthened out. They were allgroping for a footing. 

Mrs. Murdoch met the situation by insisting that she would put onthe kettle, and Mr. Murdoch, in a burst of almost divine inspiration, insisted that his wife was quite incompetent to light the gas alone atthat hour of the night. When the old folks had shuffled into the kitchenGrant found himself standing close to Phyllis Bruce. 

"Why didn't you answer my letters?" he demanded, plunging to the issuewith the directness of his nature. 

"Because I had promised to let you forget, " she replied. There was asoftness in her voice which he had not noted in those bygone days;she seemed more resigned and yet more poised; the strange wizardry ofsuffering had worked new wonders in her soul. Suddenly, as he lookedupon her, he became aware of a new quality in Phyllis Bruce--the qualityof gentleness. She had added this to her unique self-confidence, andit had toned down the angularities of her character. To Grant, straightfrom his long exile from fine womanly domesticity, she suddenly seemedaltogether captivating. 

"But I didn't want to forget!" he insisted. "I wanted not toforget--YOU. "

She could not misunderstand the emphasis he placed on that last word, but she continued as though he had not interrupted. 

"I knew you would write once or twice out of courtesy. I knew you woulddo that. I made up my mind that if you wrote three times, then I wouldknow you really wanted to remember me. . . . I did not get any thirdletter. "

"But how could I know that you had placed such a test--such an arbitrarymeasurement--upon my friendship?"

"It wasn't necessary for you to know. If you had cared--enough--youwould have kept on writing. "

He had to admit to himself that there was just enough truth in what shesaid to make her logic unanswerable. His delight in her presence now didnot alter the fact that he had found it quite possible to live for fouryears without her, and it was true that upon one or two great vitalmoments his mind had leapt, not to Phyllis Bruce, but to Zen Transley!He blushed at the recollection; it was an impossible situation, but itwas true!

He was framing some plausible argument about honorable men notpersisting in a correspondence when Murdoch bustled in again. 

"Mother is going to set the dining-room table, " he announced, "and thecoffee will be ready presently. Well, sir, you do look well in uniform. You will be wondering how the business has gone?"

"Not half as much as I am wondering some other things, " he said, witha significance intended for the ear of Phyllis. "You see--I was justtalking it over with a pal to-day, a very good comrade whom I used toknow in the West, and who pulled me out of No Man's Land where I wouldhave been lying yet if he hadn't thought more of me than he did ofhimself--I was talking it over with him to-day, and we agreed thatbusiness isn't worth the effort. Fancy sitting behind a desk, wonderingabout the stock market, when you've been accustomed to leaning upagainst a parapet wondering where the next shell is going to burst! Ifthat is not from the sublime to the ridiculous, it is at least from thevital to the inconsequential. You can't expect men to take a jump likethat. "

"No, not as a jump, " Murdoch agreed. "They'll have to move downgradually. But they must remember that life depends quite as much onwheat-fields as it does on trenches, and that all the machinery ofcommerce and industry is as vital in its way as is the machinery of war. They must remember that, or instead of being at the end of our troubleswe will find ourselves at the beginning. "

"I suppose, " Grant conceded, "but it all seems so unnecessary. No doubtyou have been piling up more money to be a problem to my conscience. "

"Your peculiar conscience, I might almost correct, sir. Yourresponsibilities do seem to insist upon increasing. Following yourinstructions I put the liquid assets into Government bonds. Interest, even on Government bonds, has a way of working while you sleep. Then, you may remember, we were carrying a large load of certain steel stocks. These I did not dispose of at once, with the result that they, inthemselves, have made you a comfortable fortune. "

"I suppose I should thank you for your foresight, Murdoch. I was ratherhoping you would lose my money and so relieve me of an embarrassingsituation. What am I to do with it?"

"I don't know, sir, but I feel sure you will use it for some goodpurpose. I was glad to get as much of it together for you as I did, because otherwise it might have fallen to people who would have wastedit. "

"Upon my word, Murdoch, that smacks of my own philosophy. Is it possibleeven you are becoming converted?"

"Come, Mr. Grant; come, everybody!" a cheerful voice called from behindthe sliding doors which shut off the dining-room. The fragrant smell ofcoffee was already in the air, and as Grant took his seat Mrs. Murdoch declared that for once she had decided to defy all the laws ofdigestion. 

At the table their talk dribbled out into thin channels. It was asthough there were at hand a great reservoir of thought, of experience, of deep gropings into the very well-springs of life, which none of themdared to tap lest it should rush out and overwhelm them. They seemed insome strange awe of its presence, and spoke, when they spoke at all, oftrivial things. Grant proved uncommunicative, and perhaps, in a sense, disappointing. He preferred to forget both the glories and the horrorsof war; when he drew on his experience at all it was to relate somehumorous incident. That, it seemed, was all he cared to remember. Hewas conscious of a restraint which hedged him about and hampered everymental deployment. 

Phyllis, too, must have been conscious of that restraint, for beforethey parted she said something about human minds being like pianos, which get out of tune for lack of the master-touch. . . . 

When Grant found himself in the street air again he was almost swallowedup in the rush of things which he might have said. His mental machinery, which seemed to have been out of mesh, --came back into adjustment witha jerk. He suddenly discovered that he could think; he could drive hismind from his own batteries. In soldiering the mind is driven from thebatteries of the rank higher up. The business of discipline is to makeman an automatic machine rather than a thinking individual. It seemedto Grant that in that moment the machine part of him gave way and theindividual was restored. In his case the change came in a moment; he hadbeen re-tuned; he was able to think logically in terms of civil life. He pieced together Murdoch's conversation. "Not as a jump, " Murdoch hadsaid, when he had argued that a man cannot emerge in a moment from thepsychology of the trenches to that of the counting-house. Undoubtedlythat would be true of the mass; they would experience no instantaneousreadjustment. . . . 

There are moments when the mind, highly vitalized, reaches out into theuniverse of thought and grasps ideas far beyond its conscious intention. All great thoughts come from uncharted sources of inspiration, and itmay be that the function of the mind is not to create thought, butonly to record it. To do so it must be tuned to the proper key ofreceptivity. Grant had a consciousness, as he walked along the desertedstreets toward his hotel, that he was in that key; the quietness, thedomesticity of Murdoch's home, the loveliness of Phyllis Bruce, had, for the moment at least, shut out a background of horror and lifted histhought into an exalted plane. He paused at a bridge to lean against therailing and watch the trembling reflection of city lights in the river. 

"I have it!" he suddenly exclaimed to the steel railing. "I have it!"

He paused for a moment to turn over his thought, as though to make sureit should not escape. Then, at a pace which aroused the wondering glanceof one or two placid policemen, he hurried to the hotel. 

Linder and Grant had been assigned to the same room, and the sergeant'sdreams, if he dreamt at all, were of the sweet hay meadows of the West. Grant turned on the light and looked down into the face of his friend. A smile, born of fields afar from war's alarms, was playing about hislips. Even in his excitement Grant could not help reflecting what awonderful thing it is to sleep in peace. Then--

"I have it!" he shouted. "Linder, I have it!"

The sergeant sat up with a start, blinking. 

"I have it!" Grant repeated. 

"THEM, you mean, " said Linder, suddenly awake. "Why, man, what's wrongwith you? You're more excited than if we were just going over the top. "

"I've got my great idea. I know what I'm going to do with my money. "

"Well, don't do it to-night, " Linder protested. "Someone has to settlefor this dug-out in the morning. "

"We're leaving for the West to-morrow, Linder, old scout. Everybodywill say we're crazy, but that's a good sign. They've said that of everyreformer since--"

But Linder was again sleeping the sleep of a man four years in France. 

CHAPTER XV

The window was grey with the light of dawn before Grant's mind hadcalmed down enough for sleep. When Linder awoke him it was noon. 

"You sleep well on your Big Idea, " was his comment. 

"No better than you did last night, " retorted Grant, springing out ofbed. "Let me see. . . . Yes, I still have it clearly. I'll tell you aboutit sometime, if you can stay awake. When do we eat?"

"Now, or as soon as you are presentable. I've a notion to give you threedays' C. B. For appearing on parade in your pyjamas. "

"Make it a cash fine, Sergeant, old dear, and pay it out of what you oweme. Now that that is settled order up a decent meal. I'll be shaved anddressed long before it arrives. You know this is a first-class hotel, where prompt service would not be tolerated. "

As they ate together Grant showed no disposition to discuss what Lindercalled his Big Idea, nor yet to give any satisfaction in response to hiscompanion's somewhat pointed references as to his doings of the nightbefore. 

"There are times, Linder, " he said, "when my soul craves solitude. You, being a sergeant, and therefore having no soul, will not be able tounderstand that longing for contemplation--"

"It's all right, " said Linder. "I don't want her. "

"Furthermore, " Grant continued, "to-night I mean to resume mysoliloquies, and your absence will be much in demand. "

"The supply will be equal to the demand. "

"Good! Here are some morsels of money. If you will buy our railwaytickets and settle with the chief extortionist downstairs I will joinyou at the night train going west. "

Linder sprang to attention, gave a salute in which mock deferencecould not entirely obscure the respect beneath, and set about on hiscommissions, while Grant devoted the afternoon to a session with Murdochand Jones, to neither of whom would he reveal his plans further than tosay he was going west "to engage in some development work. " During theafternoon it was noted that Grant's interest centred more in a certaintelephone call than in the very gratifying financial statement whichMurdoch was able to place before him. And it was probably as a resultof that telephone call that a taxi drew up in front of Murdoch's homeat exactly six-thirty that evening and bore Miss Phyllis Bruce and anofficer wearing a captain's uniform in the direction of the best hotelin the city. 

The dining-room was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and soft strainsof music stole vagrantly about its high arching pillars, minglingwith the chatter of lovely women and of men to whom expense was noconsideration. Grant was conscious of a delicious sense of intimacyas he helped Phyllis remove her wraps and seated himself by her at asecluded corner table. 

"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "I don't make compliments for exercise, but youdo look stunning to-night!"

A warmth of color lit up her cheek--he had noticed at Murdoch's how paleshe was--and her eyes laughed back at him with some of their old-timevivacity. 

"I am so glad, " she said. "It seems almost like old times--"

They gave their orders, and sat in silence through an overture. Grantwas delighting himself simply in her presence, and guessed that for herpart she could not retract the confession her love had wrung from her solong ago. 

"There are some things which don't change, Phyllis, " he said, when theorchestra had ceased. 

She looked back at him with eyes moist and dreamy. "I know, " shemurmured. 

There seemed no reason why Grant should not there and then have laidhimself, figuratively, at her feet. And there was not any reason--onlyone. He wanted first to go west. He almost hoped that out theresome light of disillusionment would fall about him; that some suddenexperience such as he had known the night before would readjust hispersonality in accordance with the inevitable. . . 

"I asked you to dine with me to-night, " he heard himself saying, "fortwo reasons: first, for the delight of your exquisite companionship; andsecond, because I want to place before you certain business plans which, to me at least, are of the greatest importance. 

"You know the position which I have taken with regard to the spending ofmoney, that one should not spend on himself or his friends anythingbut his own honest earnings for which he has given honest service tosociety. I have seen no reason to change my position. On the contrarythe war has strengthened me in my convictions. It has brought home tome and to the world the fact that heroism is a flower which grows in nopeculiar soil, and that it blossoms as richly among the unwashed and theunderfed as among the children of fortune. This fact only aggravatesthe extremes of wealth and poverty, and makes them seem more unjust thanever. 

"For myself I have accepted this view, but our financial system isfounded upon very different ethics. I wonder if you have ever thoughtof the fact that when the barons at Runnymede laid the foundations ofdemocratic government for the world they overlooked the almost equallyimportant matter of creating a democratic system of finance. Well--let'snot delve into that now. The point is that under our present system wedo acquire wealth which we do not earn, and the only thing to be donefor the time being is to treat that wealth as a trust to be managed forthe benefit of humanity. That is what I call the new morality as appliedto money, although it is not so new either. It can be traced back atleast nineteen hundred years, and all our philanthropists, great andlittle, have surely caught some glimpse of that truth, unless, perhaps, they gave their alms that they might have honor of men. But giving one'smoney away does not solve the problem; it pauperizes the recipient anddelays the evolution of new conditions in which present injustices wouldbe corrected. I hope you are able to follow me?"

"Perfectly. It is easy for me, who have nothing to lose, to follow yourlogic. You will have more trouble convincing those whose pockets itwould affect. "

"I am not so sure of that. Humanity is pretty sound at heart, but wecan't abandon the boat we're on until we have another that is provenseaworthy. However, it seems to me that I have found a solution whichI can apply in my individual case. Have you thought what are the threegreatest needs, commercially speaking, of the present day?"

"Production, I suppose, is the first. "

"Yes--most particularly production of food. And the others are corollaryto it. They are instruction and opportunity. I am thinking especially ofreturned men. "

"Production--instruction--opportunity, " she repeated. "How are you goingto bring them about?"

"That is my Big Idea, as Linder calls it, although I have not yetconfided in him what it is. Well--the world is crying for food, and inour western provinces are millions of acres which have never felt theplow--"

"In the East, too, for that matter. "

"I know, but I naturally think of the West. I propose to form a companyand buy a large block of land, cut it up into farms, build houses andcommunity centres, and put returned men and their families on thesefarms, under the direction of specialists in agriculture. I shall breakup the rectangular survey of the West for something with humanizingpossibilities; I mean to supplant it with a system of survey which willpermit of settlement in groups--villages, if you like--where I shallinstal all the modern conveniences of the city, including movie shows. Our statesmen are never done lamenting that population continues to flowfrom the country to the city, but the only way to stop that flow is tomake the country the more attractive of the two. "

"But your company--who are to be the shareholders?"

"That is the keystone of the Big Idea. There never before was a companylike this will be. In the first place, I shall put up all the moneymyself. Then, when I have prepared a farm ready to receive a man and hisfamily, I will sell him shares equivalent to the value of his farm, and give him a perpetual lease, subject to certain restrictions. Letme illustrate. Suppose you are the prospective shareholder. I say, MissBruce, I can place you on a farm worth, with buildings and equipment, ten thousand dollars. I do not ask any cash from you; not a cent, but Iwant you to subscribe for ten thousand dollars stock in my company. Thatwill make you a shareholder. When the farm begins to produce you areto have all you and your family--this is an illustration, you know--canconsume for your own use. The balance is to be sold, and one-third ofthe proceeds is to be paid into the treasury of the company and creditedon your purchase of shares. When you have paid for all your shares inthis way you will have no further payments to make, except such levy asmay be made by the company for running expenses. You, as a shareholderof the company, will have a voice with the other shareholders indetermining what that levy shall be. You and your descendents will beallowed possession of that farm forever, subject only to your obeyingthe rules of the company. You--"

"But why the company? It simply amounts to buying the land on paymentsto be made out of each year's crop, except that you want me to pay forshares in the company instead of for the land itself. "

"That, as I told you, is the keystone of my Big Idea. If I sold you theland you would be master of it; you could do as you liked with it. Youcould let it lie idle; you could allow your buildings and machineryto get out of repair; you could keep scrub stock; all your methods ofhusbandry might be slovenly or antiquated; you could even rent or sellthe land to someone who might be morally or socially undesirable in thecommunity. On the other hand you might be peculiarly successful, whenyou would proceed to buy out your less successful neighbors, or makeloans on their land, and thus create yourself a land monopolist. But asa shareholder in the company you will be subject to the rules laid downby the company. If it says that houses must be painted every four yearsyou will paint your house every fourth year. If it rules that hayracksare not to be left on the front lawn you will have to deposit yourssomewhere else. If it orders that crops must be rotated to preserve thefertility of the soil you will obey those instructions. If you donot like the regulations you can use your influence with the board ofdirectors to have them changed. If you fail there you can sell yourshares to someone else--provided you can find a purchaser acceptable tothe board--and get out. The Big Idea is that the community--the companyin this case--shall control the individual, and the individual shallexert his proper measure of control over the community. The two areinterlocked and interdependent, each exerting exactly the proper amountof power and accepting proportionate responsibility. "

"But have you provided against the possibility of one man or a group ofmen buying up a majority of the stock and so controlling the company?They could then freeze out the smaller owners. "

"Yes, " said Grant, toying with his coffee, "I have made a provision forthat which I think is rather ingenious. Don't imagine that this all cameto me in a moment. The central thought struck me last night on my wayhome, and I knew then I had the embryo of the plan, but I lay awakeuntil daylight working out details. I am going to allot votes on a veryunique principle. It seems to me that a man's stake in a country shouldbe measured, not by the amount of money he has, but by the number ofmouths he has to feed. I will adopt that rule in my company, and thevoting will be according to the number of children in the family. Thatshould curb the ambitious. "

They laughed over this proviso, and Phyllis agreed that it was all avery wonderful plan. "And when they have paid for all their shares youget your money back, " she commented. 

"Oh, no. I don't want my money back. I didn't explain that to you. Iwill advance the money on the bonds of the company, without interest. Suppose I am able to finance a hundred farms that way, then as thepayments come in, still more farms. The thing will spread like a ripplein a pool, until it covers the whole country. When you turn a sum ofmoney loose, WITH NO INTEREST CHARGE ATTACHED TO IT, there is no limitto what it can accomplish. "

"But what will you do with your bonds, eventually? They will beperfectly secured. I don't see that you are getting rid of your money atall, except the interest, which you are giving away. "

"That, Phyllis, is where autocracy and democracy meet. All progress islike the swinging of a pendulum, with autocracy at one end of the arcand democracy at the other, and progress is the mean of their opposingforces. But there are times when the most democratic countries have touse autocratic methods, as, for example, Great Britain and the UnitedStates in the late war. We must learn to make autocracy the servant ofdemocracy, not its enemy. Well--I'm going to be the autocrat in thiscase. I am going to sit behind the scenes and as long as my companyfunctions all right I will leave it alone, but if it shows signs ofwrecking itself I will assume the role of the benevolent despot and setit to rights again. Oh, Phyllis, don't you see? It's not just MY companyI'm thinking about. This is an experiment, in which my company willrepresent the State. If it succeeds I shall turn the whole machineryover to the State as my contribution to the betterment of humanity. Ifit fails--well, then I shall have demonstrated that the idea is unsound. Even that is worth something. 

"I like to think of the great inventors, experimenting with themysterious forces of nature. Their business is to find the natural lawsthat govern material things. And I am quite sure that there arealso natural laws designed to govern man in his social and economicrelationships, and when those laws have been discovered theimpossibilities of to-day will become the common practice of to-morrow, just as steam and electricity have made the impossibilities of yesterdaythe common practice of to-day. The first need is to find the law, and towhat more worthy purpose could a man devote himself? When I landed hereyesterday--when I walked again through these old streets--I was a beingwithout purpose; I was like a battery that had dried up. All these pettyaffairs of life seemed so useless, so humdrum, so commonplace, I knew Icould never settle down to them again. Then last night from some unknownsource came a new idea--an inspiration--and presto! the battery isre-charged, life again has its purposes, and I am eager to be at work. 

"I said 'some unknown source, ' but it was not altogether unknown. Ithad something to do with honest old Murdoch, and his good wife pouringcoffee for the midnight supper in their cozy dining-room, and PhyllisBruce across the table! We never know, Phyllis, how much we owe to ourfriends; to that charmed circle, be it ever so small, in which everynote strikes in harmony. I know my Big Idea is only playing on thesurface; only skimming about the edges. What the world needs is justfriends. "

Grant had talked himself out, but he continued to sit at the littletable, reveling in the happiness of a man who feels that he has beencalled to some purpose worth while. His companion hesitated to interrupthis thoughts; her somewhat drab business experience made her pessimistictoward all idealism, and yet she felt that here, surely, was a man whocould carry almost any project through to success. The unique quality inhim, which distinguished him from any other man she had ever known, washis complete unselfishness. In all his undertakings he coveted no rewardfor himself; he was seeking only the common good. 

"If all men were like you there would be no problems, " she murmured, and while he could not accept the words quite at par they rang verypleasantly in his ears. 

A movement among the diners reminded him of the flight of time, andwith a glance at his watch he sprang up in surprise. "I had no idea theevening had gone!" he exclaimed. "I have just time to see you home andget back to catch my train. "

He called a taxi and accompanied her into it. They seated themselvestogether, and the fragrance of her presence was very sweet about him. It would have been so easy to forget--all that he had been trying toforget--in the intoxication of such environment. Surely it was notnecessary that he should go west--that he should see HER again--in orderto be sure. 

"Phyllis, " he breathed, "do you imagine I could undertake these thingsif I cared only for myself--if it were not that I longed for someone'sapproval--for someone to be proud of me? The strongest man is weakenough for that, and the strongest man is stronger when he knows thatthe woman he loves--"

He would have taken her in his arms, but she resisted, gently, firmly. 

"You have made me think too much of you, Dennison, " she whispered. 

CHAPTER XVI

On the way west Grant gradually unfolded his plan to Linder, whoaccepted it with his customary stoicism. 

"I'm not very strong for a scheme that hasn't got any profits in it, "Linder confessed. "It doesn't sound human. "

"I don't notice that you have ever figured very high in profits on yourown account, " Grant retorted. "Your usefulness has been in making themfor other people. I suppose if I would let you help to swell my bankaccount you would work for me for board and lodging, but as I refuseto do that I shall have to pay you three times Transley's rate. I don'tknow what he paid you, but I suspect that for every dollar you earnedfor yourself you earned two for him, so I am going to base your scaleaccordingly. You are to go on with the physical work at once; buy thehorses, tractors, machinery; break up the land, fence it, build thehouses and barns; in short, you are to superintend everything that isdone with muscle or its substitute. I will bring Murdoch out shortly totake charge of the clerical details and the general organization. As formyself, after I have bought the land and placed the necessary funds tothe credit of the company I propose to keep out of the limelight. I willbe the heart of the undertaking; Murdoch will be the head, and youare to be the hands, and I hope you two conspirators won't give mepalpitation. You think it a mistake to work without profits, but Murdochthinks it a sin. When I lay my plans before him I am quite prepared tohear him insist upon calling in an alienist. "

"It's YOUR money, " Linder assented, laconically. "What are YOU going todo?"

"I'm going to buy a half section of my own, and I'm going to startmyself on it on identically the same terms that I offer to theshareholders in my company. I want to prove by my own experience thatit can be done, but I must keep away from the company. Human nature isa clinging vine at best, and I don't want it clinging about me. Youwill notice that my plan, unlike most communistic or socialist ventures, relieves the individual of no atom of responsibility. I give him theopportunity, but I put it up to him to make good with that opportunity. I have not overlooked the fact that a man is a man, and never can bemade quite into a machine. "

The two friends discussed at great length the details of the BigIdea, and upon arrival in the West Linder lost no time in preparingblue-prints and charts descriptive of the improvements to be made on theland and the order in which the work was to be carried on. Grant boughta tract suitable to his purpose, and the wheels of the machine whichwas to blaze a path for the State were set in motion. When this had beendone Grant turned to the working out of his own individual experiment. 

During the period in which these arrangements were being made it wasinevitable that Grant should have heard more or less of Transley. He hadnot gone out of his way to seek information of the contractor, but itrather had been forced upon him. Transley's name was frequently heard inthe offices of the business men with whom he had to do; it wasmentioned in local papers with the regularity peculiar to celebrities incomparatively small centres. Transley, it appeared, had become somethingof a power in the land. Backed by old Y. D. 's capital he had carried somerather daring ventures through to success. He had seized the panickymoments following the outbreak of the war to buy heavily on the wheatand cattle markets, and increases in prices due to the world's demandfor food had made him one of the wealthy men of the city. The desire ofmany young farmers to enlist had also afforded an opportunity to acquiretheir holdings for small considerations, and Transley had proved hispatriotism by facilitating the ambitions of as many men in this positionas came to his attention. The fact that even before the war ended thefarms which he acquired in this way were worth several times the pricehe paid was only an incident in the transactions. 

But no word of Transley's domestic affairs reached Grant, who toldhimself that he had ceased to be interested in them, but kept an alertear nevertheless. It would seem that Transley rather eclipsed his wifein the public eye. 

So Grant set about with the development of his own farm, and kept hismind occupied with it and with his larger experiment--except when itwent flirting with thoughts of Phyllis Bruce. He was rather proud ofthe figure he had used to Linder, of the head, hands, and heart ofhis organization, but to himself he admitted that that figure wasincomplete. There was a soul as well, and that soul was the girl whoseinspiring presence had in some way jerked his mind out of the stagnantbackwaters in which the war had left it. There was no doubt of that. Hehad written to Murdoch to come west and undertake new work for him. Hehad intimated that the change would be permanent, and that it might bewell to bring the family. . . . 

He selected a farm where a ridge of foothills overlooked a broad valleyreceding into the mountains. The dealer had no idea of selling him thisparticular piece of land; they were bound for a half section farther upthe slope when Grant stopped on the brow of the hill to feast hiseyes on the scene that lay before him. It burst upon him with theunexpectedness peculiar to the foothill valleys; miles of gentlyundulating plain, lying apparently far below, but in reality rising ina sharp ascent toward the snow-capped mountains looking down silentlythrough their gauze of blue-purple afternoon mist. At distances whicheven his trained eye would not attempt to compute lay little round lakeslike silver coins on the surface of the prairie; here and there weredark green bluffs of spruce; to the right a ribbon of river, blue-greensave where the rapids churned it white, and along its edge a fringe ofleafy cottonwoods; at vast intervals square black plots of plowed landlike sections on a chess-board of the gods, and farm buildings cut soclear in the mountain atmosphere that the sense of space was lost andthey seemed like child-houses just across the way. 

Grant turned to his companion with an animation in his face which almoststartled the prosaic dealer in real estate. 

"Wonderful! Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "We don't need to go any fartherif you can sell me this. "

"Sure I can sell you this, " said the dealer, looking at him somewhatqueerly. "That is, if you want it. I thought you were looking for awheat farm. "

The man's total lack of appreciation irritated Grant unreasonably. "Wheat makes good hog fodder, " he retorted, "but sunsets keep alive thesoul. What is the price?"

Again the dealer gave him a queer sidelong look, and made as though toargue with him, then suddenly seemed to change his purpose. Perhaps hereflected that strange things happened to the boys overseas. 

"I'll get you the price in town, " he said. "You are sure it will suit?"

"Suit? No king in Christendom has his palace on a site like this. I'd goround the world for it. "

"You're the doctor, " said the dealer, turning his car. 

Grant completed the purchase, ordered lumber for a house and barn, andengaged a carpenter to superintend the construction. It was one of hiswhims that he would do most of the work himself. 

"I guess I'm rather a man of whims, " he reflected, as he stood onthe brow of the hill where the material for his buildings had beendelivered. "It was a whim which first brought me west, and a whim whichhas brought me west again. I have a whim about my money, a whim about myfarm, a whim about my buildings. I do not do as other people do, whichis the unpardonable sin. To Linder I am a jester, to Murdoch a fanatic, to our friend the real estate dealer a fool; I even noticed my honestcarpenter trying to ask me something about shell shock! Well--they're MYwhims, and I get an immense amount of satisfaction out of them. "

The days that followed were the happiest Grant had known sincechildhood. The carpenter, a thin, twisted man, bowed with much labor atthe bench, and answering to the name Peter, sold his services by the dayand manifested a sympathy amounting to an indulgence toward the whims ofhis employer. So long as the wages were sure Peter cared not whether thehouse was finished this year or next--or not at all. He enjoyed Grant'scooking in the temporary work-shed they had built; he enjoyed Grant'sstories of funny incidents of the war which would crop out at unexpectedmoments, and which were always good for a new pipe and a few minutes'rest; he even essayed certain flights of his own, which showed thatPeter was a creature not entirely without humor. He developed anappreciation of scenery; he would stand for long intervals gazing acrossthe valley. Grant was not deceived by these little devices, but he nevertook Peter to task for his loitering. He was prepared almost to suspendhis rule that money must not be paid except for service rendered. "Ifthe old dodger isn't quite paying his way now, no doubt he has more thanpaid it many times in the past, " he mused. "This is an occasion uponwhich to temper justice with mercy. "

But it was in the planning and building of the house he found his realdelight. He laid it out on very modest lines, as became the amount ofmoney he was prepared to spend. It was to be a single-story bungalow, with veranda round the south and west. The living-room ran across thesouth side; into its east wall he built a capacious fireplace, withnarrow slits of windows to right and left, and in the western wall weredeep French windows commanding the magic of the view across the valley. The dining-room, too, faced to the west, with more French windows to letin sun and soul. The kitchen was to the east, and off the kitchen layGrant's bedroom, facing also to the east, as becomes a man who risesearly for his day's labors. And then facing the west, and opening offthe dining-room, was what he was pleased to call his whim-room. 

The idea of the whim-room came upon him as he was working out plans onthe smooth side of a board, and thinking about things in general, anda good deal about Phyllis Bruce, and wondering if he should ever runacross Zen Transley. It struck him all of a sudden, as had the Big Ideathat night when he was on his way home from Murdoch's house. He workedit out surreptitiously, not allowing even old Peter to see it untilhe had made it into his plan, and then he described it just as thewhim-room. But it was to be by all means the best room in the house;special finishing and flooring lumber were to be bought for it; thefireplace had to be done in a peculiarly delicate tile; the Frenchwindows must be high and wide and of the most brilliant transparency. . . . 

The ring of the saw, the trill of the plane, the thwack of the hammer, were very pleasant music in his ears. Day by day he watched his dwellinggrow with the infinite joy of creating, and night after night he creptwith Peter into the work-shed and slept the sleep of a man tiredand contented. In the long summer evenings the sunlight hung like achampagne curtain over the mountains even after bedtime, and Grant hadto cut a hole in the wall of the shed that he might watch the dyingcolors of the day fade from crimson to purple to blue on the tassels ofcloud-wraith floating in the western sky. At times Linder and Murdochwould visit him to report progress on the Big Idea, and the three wouldsit on a bench in the half-built house, sweet with the fragrance of newsawdust, and smoke placidly while they determined matters of policy oradministration. It had been something of a disappointment to Grant thatMurdoch had not considered Phyllis Bruce one of "the family. " He hadleft her, regretfully, in the East, but had made provision that she wasstill to have her room in the old Murdoch home. 

"Phyllis would have come west, and gladly, if I could have promisedher a position, " Murdoch explained, "but I could not do that, as I knewnothing of your plans, and a girl can't afford to trifle with her jobthese days, Mr. Grant. "

And Grant said nothing, but he thought of his whim-room, and smiled. 

Grant was almost sorry when the house was finished. "There's so muchmore enjoyment in doing things than in merely possessing them afterthey're done, " he philosophized to Linder. "I think that must be thesecret of the peculiar fascination of the West. The East, with all itsculture and conveniences and beauty, can never win a heart which hasonce known the West. That is because in the East all the obvious thingsare done, but in the West they are still to do. "

"You should worry, " said Linder. "You still have the plowing. "

"Yes, and as soon as the stable is finished I am going to buy fourhorses and get to work. "

"I supposed you would use a tractor. "

"Not this time. I can admire a piece of machinery, but I can't love it. I can love horses. "

"You'll be housing them in the whim-room, " Linder remarked dryly, andhad to jump to escape the hammer which his chief shied at him. 

But the plowing was really a great experience. Grant had an eyefor horse-flesh, and the four dapple-greys which pressed their fineshoulders into the harness of his breaking plow might have delightedthe heart of any teamster. As he sat on his steel seat and watched thecolter cut the firm sod with brittle cracking sound as it snapped thetough roots of the wild roses, or looking back saw the regular terracesof shiny black mould which marked his progress, he felt that he wasengaged in a rite of almost sacramental significance. 

"To take a substance straight from the hand of the Creator and be thefirst in all the world to impose a human will upon it is surely anoccasion for solemnity and thanksgiving, " he soliloquized. "How cananyone be so gross as to see only materialism in such work as this?Surely it has something of fundamental religion in it! Just as from thesoil springs all physical life, may it not be that deep down in the soilare, some way, the roots of the spiritual? The soil feeds the city intwo ways; it fills its belly with material food, and it is continuallyre-vitalizing its spirit with fresh streams of energy which can comeonly from the land. Up from the soil comes all life, all progress, alldevelopment--"

At that moment Grant's plowshare struck a submerged boulder, and he wasdumped precipitately into that element which he had been so generouslyapostrophizing. The well-trained horses came to a stop as he gatheredhimself up, none the worse, and regained his seat. 

"That WAS a spill, " he commented. "Ditched not only myself, but my wholetrain of thought. Never mind; perhaps I was dangerously close to thedevelopment of a new whim, and I am well supplied in that particularalready. Hello, whom have we here?"

The horses had come to a stop a short distance before the end of thefurrow, and Grant, glancing ahead, saw immediately in front of them alittle chap of four or five obstructing the way. He stood astride ofthe furrow with widespread legs bridging the distance from the virginprairie to the upturned sod. He was hatless, and curls of silky yellowhair fell about his round, bright face. His hands were stuck obtrusivelyin his trouser pockets. 

"Well, son, what's the news?" said Grant, when the two had measured eachother for a moment. 

"I got braces, " the boy replied proudly. "Don't you see?"

"Why, so you have!" Grant exclaimed. "Come around here until I see thembetter. "

So encouraged, the little chap came skipping around the horses, andexhibited his braces for Grant's admiration. But he had already becomeinterested in another subject. 

"Are these your horses?" he demanded. 

"Yes. "

"Will they bite?"

"Why, no, I don't believe they would. They have been very well broughtup. "

"What do you call them?"

"This one is Prince, on the left, and the others are Queen, and King, and Knave. I call him Knave because he's always scheming, trying to getout of his share of the work, and I make him walk on the plowed land, too. "

"That serves him right, " the boy declared. "What's your name?"

"Why--what's yours?"

"Wilson. "

"Wilson what?"

"Just Wilson. "

"What does your mother call you?"

"Just Wilson. Sometimes daddy calls me Bill. "

"Oh!"

"What's your name?"

"Call me The Man on the Hill. "

"Do you live on the hill?"

"Yes. "

"Is that your house?"

"Yes. "

"Did you make it?"

"Yes. "

"All yourself?"

"No. Peter helped me. "

"Who's Peter?"

"He is the man who helped me. "

"Oh!"

These credentials exchanged, the boy fell silent, while Grant lookeddown upon him with a whimsical admixture of humor and tenderness. Suddenly, without a word, the boy dashed as fast as his legs could carryhim to the end of the field, and plunged into a clump of bushes. In amoment he emerged with something brown and chubby in his arms. 

"He's my teddy, " he said to Grant. "He was watching in the bushes to seeif you were a nice man. "

"And am I?" Grant was tempted to ask. 

"Yes. " There was no evasion about Wilson. He approved of his newacquaintance, and said so. 

"Let us give teddy a ride on Prince?"

"Let's!"

Grant carefully arranged teddy on the horse's hames, and the boy clappedhis hands with delight. 

"Now let us all go for a ride. You will sit on my knee, and teddy willdrive Prince. "

He took the boy carefully on his knee, driving with one hand and holdinghim in place with the other. The little body resting confidently againsthis side was a new experience for Grant. 

"We must drive carefully, " he remarked. "Here and there are big stoneshidden in the grass. If we were to hit one it might dump us off. "

The little chap chuckled. "Nothing could dump you off, " he said. 

Grant reflected that such implicit and unwarranted confidence implied agreat responsibility, and he drove with corresponding care. A mishap nowmight nip this very delightful little bud of hero-worship. 

They turned the end of the furrow with a fine jingle of loosetrace-chains, and Prince trotted a little on account of being on theouter edge of the semicircle. The boy clapped his hands again as teddybounced up and down on the great shoulders. 

"Have you a little boy?" he asked, when they were started again. 

"Why, no, " Grant confessed, laughing at the question. 

"Why?"

There was no evading this childish inquisitor. He had a way of pursuinga subject to bedrock. 

"Well, you see, I've no wife. "

"No mother?"

"No--no wife. You see--"

"But I have a mother--"

"Of course, and she is your daddy's wife. You see they have to havethat--"

Grant found himself getting into deep water, but the sharp littleintellect had cut a corner and was now ahead of him. 

"Then I'll be your little boy, " he said, and, clambering up to Grant'sshoulder pressed a kiss on his cheek. In a sudden burst of emotion Grantbrought his team to a stop and clasped the little fellow in both hisarms. For a moment everything seemed misty. 

"And I have lived to be thirty-two years old and have never known whatthis meant, " he said to himself. 

"Daddy's hardly ever home, anyway, " the boy added, naively. 

"Where is your home?"

"Down beside the river. We live there in summer. "

And so the conversation continued and the acquaintanceship grew as manand boy plied back and forth on their mile-long furrow. At lengthit occurred to Grant that he should send Wilson home; the boy's longabsence might be occasioning some uneasiness. They stopped at the endof the field and carefully removed teddy from his place of prestige, but just at that moment a horsefly buzzing about caused Prince to stampimpatiently, and the big hoof came down on the boy's foot. Wilson sentup a cry proportionate to the possibilities of the occasion, and Grantin alarm tore off the boot and stocking. Fortunately the soil had beensoft, and the only damage done was a slight bruise across the upper partof the foot. 

"There, there, " said Grant, soothingly, caressing the injury with hisfingers. "It will be all right in a minute. Prince didn't mean to do it, and besides, I've seen much worse than that at the war. "

At the mention of war the boy suspended a cry half uttered. 

"Were you at the war?" he demanded. 

"Yes. "

"Did you kill a German?"

"I've seen a German killed, " said Grant, evading a question which nosoldier cares to discuss. 

"Did you kill 'em in the tummy?" the boy persisted. 

"We'll talk about that to-morrow. Now you hop up on to my shoulders, andI'll tie the horses and then carry you home. "

He followed the boy's directions until they led him to a path runningamong pleasant trees down by the river. Presently he caught a glimpseof a cottage in a little open space, its brown shingled walls almostsmothered in a riot of sweet peas. 

"That's our house. Don't you like it?" said the boy, who had alreadyforgotten his injury. 

"I think it is splendid. " And Grant, taking his young charge from hisshoulder, stepped up on to the porch and knocked at the screen door. 

In a moment it was opened by Zen Transley. 

CHAPTER XVII

Sitting on his veranda that evening while the sun dropped low over themountains and the sound of horses munching contentedly came up from thestables, Grant for the twentieth time turned over in his mind the eventsof a day that was to stand out as an epochal one in his career. Themeeting with the little boy and the quick friendship and confidencewhich had been formed between them; the mishap, and the trip to thehouse by the river--these were logical and easily followed. But why, ofall the houses in the world, should it have been Zen Transley's house?Why, of all the little boys in the world, should this have been the sonof his rival and the only girl he had ever--the girl he had loved mostin all his life? Surely events are ordered to some purpose; surelyeverything is not mere haphazard chance! The fatalism of the trenchesforbade any other conclusion; and if this was so, why had he been throwninto the orbit of Zen Transley? He had not sought her; he had not dreamtof her once in all that morning while her child was winding innocenttendrils of affection about his heart. And yet--how the boy had grippedhim! Could it be that in some way he was a small incarnation of the Zenof the Y. D. , with all her clamorous passion expressed now in childishlove and hero-worship? Had some intelligence above his own guided himinto this environment, deliberately inviting him to defy conventionsand blaze a path of broader freedom for himself, and for her? These werequestions he wrestled with as the shadows crept down the mountain slopesand along the valley at his feet. 

For neither Zen nor himself had connived at the situation which hadmade them, of all the people in the world, near neighbors in this silentvalley. Her surprise on meeting him at the door had been as genuine ashis. When she had made sure that the boy was not seriously hurt she hadturned to him, and instinctively he had known that there are some thingswhich all the weight of passing years can never crush entirely dead. Heloved to rehearse her words, her gestures, the quick play of sympatheticemotions as one by one he reviewed them. 

"You! I am surprised--I had not known--" She had become confused in hergreeting, and a color that she would have given worlds to suppress creptslowly through her cheeks. 

"I am surprised, too--and delighted, " he had returned. "The little boycame to me in the field, boasting of his braces. " Then they had bothlaughed, and she had asked him to come in and tell about himself. 

The living-room, as he recalled it, was marked by the simplicityappropriate to the summer home, with just a dash of elegance in thefurnishings to suggest that simplicity was a matter of choice and not ofnecessity. After soothing Wilson's sobs, which had broken out afresh inhis mother's arms, she had turned him over to a maid and drawn a chairconvenient to Grant's. 

"You see, I am a farmer now, " he had said, apologetically regarding hisoveralls. 

"What changes have come! But I don't understand; I thought you wererich--very rich--and that you were promoting some kind of settlementscheme. Frank has spoken of it. "

"All of which is true. You see, I am a man of whims. I choose to livejoyously. I refuse to fit into a ready-made niche in society. I do whatother people don't do--mainly for that reason. I have some peculiarnotions--"

"I know. You told me. " And it was then that their eyes had met and theyhad fallen into a momentary silence. 

"But why are you farming?" she had exclaimed, brightly. 

"For several reasons. First, the world needs food. Food is the greatestsafeguard--I would almost say the only safeguard--against anarchyand chaos. Then, I want to learn by experience; to prove by my owndemonstrations that my theories are workable--or that they're not. Andthen, most of all, I love the prairies and the open life. It's my whim, and I follow it. "

"You are very wonderful, " she had murmured. And then, with startlingdirectness, "Are you happy?"

"As happy as I have any right to be. Happier than I have been sincechildhood. "

She had risen and walked to the mantelpiece; then, with an apparentchange of impulse, she had turned and faced him. He had noted thather figure was rounder than in girlhood, her complexion paler, but thesunlight still danced in her hair, and her reckless force had given wayto a poise that suggested infinite resources of character. 

"Frank has done well, too, " she had said. 

"So I have heard. I am told that he has done very well indeed. "

"He has made money, and he is busy and excited over his pursuit ofsuccess--what he calls success. He has given it his life. He thinks ofnothing else--"

She had stopped suddenly, as though her tongue had trapped her intosaying more than she had intended. 

"What do you think of my summer home?" she had exclaimed, abruptly. "Come out and admire the sweet peas, " and with a gay little flourishshe had led him into the garden. "They tell me Western flowers havea brilliance and a fragrance which the East, with all its advantages, cannot duplicate. Is that true?"

"I believe it is. The East has greater profusion--more varieties--butthe individual qualities do not seem to be so well developed. "

"I see you know something of Eastern flowers, " she had said, and hefancied he had caught a note of banter--or was it inquiry?--in hervoice. Then, with another abrupt change of subject, she had madehim describe his house on the hill. But he had said nothing of thewhim-room. 

"I must go, " he had exclaimed at length. "I left the horses tied in thefield. "

"So you must. I shall let Wilson visit you frequently, if he is not atrouble. "

Then she had chosen a couple of blooms and pinned them on his coat, laughingly overriding his protest that they consorted poorly with hiscostume. And she had shaken hands and said good-bye in the manner ofgood friends parting. 

The more Grant thought of it the more was he convinced that in her case, as in his own, the years had failed to extinguish the spark kindled inthe foothills that night so long ago. He reminded himself continuallythat she was Transley's wife, and even while granting the irrevocabilityof that fact he was demanding to know why Fate had created for them bothan atmosphere charged with unspoken possibilities. He had turned herwords over again and again, reflecting upon the abrupt angles her speechhad taken. In their few minutes' conversation three times she had hadto make a sudden tack to safer subjects. What had she meant by thatreference to Eastern and Western flowers? His answer reminded him howwell he knew. And the confession about her husband, the worshipper ofsuccess--"what he calls success"--how much tragedy lay under those lightwords?

The valley was filled with shadow, and the level rays of the setting sunfell on the young man's face and splashed the hill-tops with gold andsaffron as within his heart raged the age-old battle. . . . But as yet hefelt none of its wounds. He was conscious only of a wholly irrationaldelight. 

As the next forenoon passed Grant found himself glancing with increasingfrequency toward the end of the field where the little boy might beexpected to appear. But the day wore on without sign of his youngfriend, and the furrows which he had turned so joyously at nine weredragging leadenly at eleven. He had not thought it possible that a childcould so quickly have won a way to his affections. He fell to wonderingas to the cause of the boy's absence. Had Zen, after a night'sreflection, decided that it was wiser not to allow the acquaintance todevelop? Had Transley, returning home, placed his veto upon it? Or--andhis heart paused at this prospect--had the foot been more seriously hurtthan they had supposed? Grant told himself that he must go over thatnight and make inquiry. That would be the neighborly thing to do. . . . 

But early that afternoon his heart was delighted by the sight of alittle figure skipping joyously over the furrows toward him. He had hishat crumpled in one hand, and his teddy-bear in the other, and his facewas alive with excitement. He was puffing profusely when he pulled upbeside the plow, and Grant stopped the team while he got his breath. 

"My! My! What is the hurry? I see the foot is all better. "

"We got a pig!" the lad gasped, when he could speak. 

"A pig!"

"Yessir! A live one, too! He's awful big. A man brought him in a wagon. That is why I couldn't come this morning. "

Grant treated himself to a humble reflection upon the wisdom of childishpreferments. 

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Eat him up, I guess. Daddy said there was enough wasted about our houseto keep a pig, so we got one. Aren't you going to take me up?"

"Of course. But first we must put teddy in his place. "

"I'm to go home at five o'clock, " the boy said, when he had got properlysettled. 

The hours slipped by all too quickly, and if the lad's presence did notcontribute to good plowing, it at least made a cheerful plowman. It wasplain that Zen had sufficient confidence in her farmer neighbor to trusther boy in his care, and his frequent references to his mother had aninterest for Grant which he could not have analyzed or explained. Duringthe afternoon the merits of the pig were sung and re-sung, and at lastWilson, after kissing his friend on the cheek and whispering, "I likeyou, Uncle Man-on-the-Hill, " took his teddy-bear under his arm andplodded homeward. 

The next morning he came again, but mournfully and slow. There were tearstains on the little round cheeks. 

"Why, son, what had happened?" said Grant, his abundant sympathiesinstantly responding. 

"Teddy's spoiled, " the child sobbed. "I set him--on the side of--the pigpen, and he fell'd in, and the big pig et him--ate him--up. He didn't'zactly eat him up, either--just kind of chewed him, like. "

"Well that certainly is too bad. But then, you're going to eat the pigsome day, so that will square it, won't it?"

"I guess it will, " said the boy, brightening. "I never thought of that. "

"But we must have a teddy for Prince. See, he is looking around, waitingfor it. " Grant folded his coat into the shape of a dummy and set it upon the hames, and all went merrily again. 

That afternoon, which was Saturday, the boy came thoughtfully andwith an air of much importance. Delving into a pocket he produced anenvelope, somewhat crumpled in transit. It was addressed, "The Man onthe Hill. "

Grant tore it open eagerly and read this note:

"DEAR MAN-ON-THE-HILL, --That is the name Wilson calls you, so perhapsyou will let me use it, too. Frank is to be home to-morrow, and will youcome and have dinner with us at six? My father and mother will be here, and possibly one or two others. You had a clash with my men-folk once, but you will find them ready enough to make allowance for, even if theyfail to understand, your point of view. Do come. --ZEN. 

"P. S. --It just occurs to me that your associates in your colonizationscheme may want to claim your time on Sunday. If any of them come out, bring them along. Our table is an extension one, and its capacity hasnever yet been exhausted. "

Although Grant's decision was made at once he took some time forreflection before writing an acceptance. He was to enter Zen's houseon her invitation, but under the auspices, so to speak, of husband andparents. That was eminently proper. Zen was a sensible girl. Then therewas a reference to that ancient squabble in the hay meadow. It wasevidently her plan to see the hatchet buried and friendly relationsestablished all around. Eminently proper and sensible. 

He turned the sheet over and wrote on the back:

"DEAR ZEN, --Delighted to come. May have a couple of friends with me, oneof whom you have seen before. Prepare for an appetite long denied thejoys of home cooking. --D. G. "

It was not until after the child had gone home that Grant remembered hehad addressed Transley's wife by her Christian name. That was the way healways thought of her, and it slipped on to paper quite naturally. Well, it couldn't be helped now. 

Grant unhitched early and hurried to his house and the telephone. In afew minutes he had Linder on the line. 

"Hello, Linder? I want you to go to a store for me and buy ateddy-bear. "

The chuckle at the other end of the line irritated Grant. Linder had astrange sense of humor. 

"I mean it. A big teddy, with electric eyes, and a deep bass growl, ifthey make 'em that way. The best you can get. Fetch it out to-morrowafternoon, and come decently dressed, for once. Bring Murdoch along ifyou can pry him loose. "

Grant hung up the receiver. "Stupid chap, Linder, some ways, " hemuttered. "Why shouldn't I buy a teddy-bear if I want to?"

Sunday afternoon saw the arrival of Linder and Murdoch, with the largestteddy the town afforded. "What is the big idea now?" Linder demanded, ashe delivered it into Grant's hands. 

"It is for a little boy I know who has been bereaved of his firstteddy by the activities of the family pig. You will renew some pleasantacquaintanceships, Linder. You remember Transley and his wife--Zen, ofthe Y. D?"

"You don't say! Thanks for that tip about dressing up. I may explain, "Linder continued, turning to Murdoch, "there was a time when I mighthave been an also-ran in the race for Y. D. 's daughter, only Transleybeat me on the getaway. "

"You!" Grant exclaimed, incredulously. 

"You, too!" Linder returned, a great light dawning. 

"Well, Mr. Grant, " said Murdoch, "I brought you a good cigar, bought atthe company's expense. It comes out of the organization fund. You mustbe sick of those cheap cigars. "

"Since the war it is nothing but Player's, " Grant returned, takingthe proffered cigar. "They tell me it has revolutionized the tobaccobusiness. However, this does smell a bit all right. How goes ourventure, Murdoch? Have I any prospect of being impoverished in a worthycause?"

"None whatever. Your foreman here is spending every dollar in a wayto make you two in spite of your daft notion--begging your pardon, sir--about not taking profits. The subscribers are coming along forstock, but fingering it gently, as though they can't well believethere's no catch in it. They say it doesn't look reasonable, and I tellthem no more it is. "

"And then they buy it?"

"Aye, they do. That's human nature. There's as many members booked nowas can be accommodated in the first colony. I suppose they reason thatthey will be sure of their winter's housing, anyway. "

"You don't seem to have much faith in human nature, Murdoch. "

"Nor have I. Not in that kind of human nature which is always wantingsomething for nothing. "

Linder's report was more cheerful. The houses and barns were built andwere now being painted, the plowing was done, and the fences were beingrun. By the use of a triangular system of survey twelve farm homes hadbeen centralized in one little community where a community buildingwould be erected which would be used as a school in daytime, amotion-picture house at night, and a church on Sunday. A communitysecretary would have his office here, and would have charge of a selectlittle library of fiction, poetry, biography, and works of reference. The leading periodicals dealing with farm problems, sociology, andeconomics, as well as lighter subjects, would be on file. In connectionwith this building would be an assembly-room suitable for dances, social events, and theatricals, and equipped with a player piano andconcert-size talking machine. Arrangements were being made for a weeklyexchange of records, for a weekly musical evening by artists fromthe city, for a semi-monthly vaudeville show, and for Sunday meetingsaddressed by the best speakers on the more serious topics of the time. 

"What has surprised me in making these arrangements, " Linder confessed, "is the comparatively small outlay they involve. The building will costno more than many communities spend on school and church which they usethirty hours a week and three hours a week respectively. This one can beused one hundred and sixty-eight hours a week, if needed. Lecturers onmany subjects can be had for paying their expenses; in some cases theyare employed by the Government, and will come without cost. Amateurtheatrical companies from the city will be glad to come in return foran appreciative audience and a dance afterward, with a good fill-up onsolid farm cooking. Even some of the professionals can be had on theseterms. Of course, before long we will produce our own theatricals. 

"Then there is to be a plunge bath big enough to swim in, open to menand women alternate nights, and to children every day. There will be apool-room, card-room, and refreshment buffet; also a quiet little roomfor women's social events, and an emergency hospital ward. I think weshould hire a trained nurse who would not be too dignified to cook andserve meals when there's no business doing in the hospital. You knowhow everyone gets hankering now and then for a meal from home, --not thatit's any better, but it's different. I suppose there are farmer's wiveswho don't get a meal away from home once a year. I'm going to change allthat, if I have to turn cook myself!"

"Bully for you, Linder!" said Grant, clapping him on the shoulder. "Ibelieve you actually are enthusiastic for once. "

"I understand my orders are to make the country give the city a run forits money, and I'm going to do it, or break you. If all I've mentionedwon't do it I've another great scheme in storage. "

"Good! What is it?"

"I am inventing a machine that will make a noise like a trolley-car anda smell like a sewer. That will add the last touch in city refinements. "

When the laugh over Linder's invention had subsided Murdoch broachedanother. 

"The office work is becoming pretty heavy, Mr. Grant, and I'm none tooconfident in the help I have. Now if I could send for Miss Bruce--"

"What do you think you should pay her?"

"I should say she is worth a hundred dollars a month. "

"Then she must be worth two hundred. Wire her to come and start her atthat figure. "

CHAPTER XVIII

Promptly at six Linder drew his automobile up in front of the Transleysummer home with Grant and Murdoch on board. Wilson had been watching, and rushed down upon them, but before he could clamber up on Granta great teddy-bear was thrust into his arms and sent him, wild withdelight, to his mother. 

"Look, mother! Look what The-Man-on-the-Hill brought! See! He has firein his eyes!"

Transley and Y. D. Met the guests at the gate. "How do, Grant? Glad tosee you, old man, " said Transley, shaking his hand cordially. "The wifehas had so many good words for you I am almost jealous. What ho, Linder!By all that's wonderful! You old prairie dog, why did you never look meup? I was beginning to think the Boche had got you. "

Grant introduced Murdoch, and Y. D. Received them as cordially as hadTransley. "Glad to see you fellows back, " he exclaimed. "I al'us saidthe Western men 'ud put a crimp in the Kaiser, spite o' hell an' highwater!"

"One thing the war has taught us, " said Grant, modestly, "is that menare pretty much alike, whether they come from west or east or north orsouth. No race has a monopoly of heroism. "

"Well, come on in, " Transley beckoned, leading the way. "Dinner will beready sharp on time twenty minutes late. Not being a married man, Grant, you will not understand that reckoning. You'll have to excuse Mrs. Transley a few minutes; she's holding down the accelerator in thekitchen. Come in; I want you to meet Squiggs. "

Squiggs proved to be a round man with huge round tortoise-shell glassesand round red face to match. He shook hands with a manner that suggestedthat in doing so he was making rather a good fellow of himself. 

"We must have a little lubrication, for Y. D. 's sake, " said Transley, producing a bottle and glasses. "I suppose it was the dust on the plainsthat gave these old cow punchers a thirst which never can be slaked. These be evil days for the old-timers. Grant?"

"Not any, thanks. "

"No? Well, there's no accounting for tastes. Squiggs?"

"I'm a lawyer, " said Squiggs, "and as booze is now ultra vires I domy best to keep it down, " and Mr. Squiggs beamed genially upon hispleasantry and the full glass in his hand. 

"I take a snort when I want it and I don't care who knows it, " said Y. D. "I al'us did, and I reckon I'll keep on to the finish. It didn't snuffme out in my youth and innocence, anyway. Just the same, I'm admittin'it's bad medicine in onskilful hands. Here's ho!"

The glasses had just been drained when Mrs. Transley entered the room, flushed but radiant from a strenuous half hour in the kitchen. 

"Well, here you are!" she exclaimed. "So glad you could come, Mr. Grant. Why, Mr. Linder! Of all people--This IS a pleasure. And Mr. --?"

"Mr. Murdoch, " Transley supplied. 

"My chief of staff; the man who persists in keeping me rich, " Grantelaborated. 

"I mustn't keep you waiting longer. Dinner is ready. Dad, you are tocarve. "

"Hanged if I will! I'm a guest here, and I stand on my rights, " Y. D. Exploded. 

"Then you must do it, Frank. "

"I suppose so, " said Transley, "although all I get out of a meal whenI have to carve is splashing and profanity. You know, Squiggs, I'vefigured it out that this practice of requiring the nominal head of thehouse to carve has come down from the days when there wasn't usuallyenough to go 'round, and the carver had to make some fine decisionsand, perhaps, maintain them by force. It has no place under moderncivilization. "

"Except that someone must do it, and it's about the only householdresponsibility man has not been able to evade, " said Mrs. Transley. 

As they entered the dining-room Zen's mother, whiter and it seemedeven more distinguished by the years, joined them, accompanied by Mrs. Squiggs, a thin woman much concerned about social status, and the partywas complete. 

Transley managed the carving more skilfully than his protest might havesuggested, and there was a lull in the conversation while the firstdemands of appetite were being satisfied. 

"Tell us about your settlement scheme, Mr. Grant, " Mrs. Transleyurged when it seemed necessary to find a topic. "Mr. Grant has quite awonderful plan. "

"Yes, wise us up, old man, " said Transley. "I've heard something of it, but never could see through it. "

"It's all very simple, " Grant explained. "I am providing the capital tostart a few families on farms. Instead of lending the money directly tothem I am financing a company in which each farmer must subscribe forstock to the value of the land he is to occupy. His stock he will payfor with a part of the proceeds of each year's crop, until it is paid infull, when he becomes a paid-up shareholder, subject to no further callexcept a levy which may be made for running expenses. "

"And then your advances are returned to you with interest, " Squiggssuggested. "A very creditable plan of benefaction; very creditable, indeed. "

"No, that is not the idea. In the first place, I am accepting nointerest on my advances, and in the second place the money, when repaidby the shareholders, will not be returned to me, but will be used toestablish another colony on the same basis, and so on--the movement willbe extended from group to group. "

Mr. Squiggs readjusted his large round tortoise-shell glasses. 

"Do I understand that you are charging no interest?"

"Not a cent. "

"Then where do YOU come in?"

"I had hoped to make it clear that I am not seeking to 'come in. ' Yousee, the money I am doing this with is not really mine at all. "

"Not yours?" cried a chorus of voices. 

"No. Mr. Squiggs, you are a lawyer, and therefore a man of perspicuityand accurate definitions. What is money?"

"You flatter me. I should say that money is a medium for the exchange ofvalue. "

"Very well. Therefore, if a man accepts money without giving value forit in exchange he is violating the fundamental principle underlying theuse of money. He is, in short, an economic outlaw. "

"I am afraid I don't follow you. "

"Let me illustrate by my own experience, and that of my family. Myfather was possessed of a piece of land which at one time had little orno value. Eventually it became of great value, not through anything hehad done, but as a result of the natural law that births exceed deaths. Yet he, although he had done nothing to create this value, was able, through a faulty economic system, to pocket the proceeds. Then, asa result of the advantages which his wealth gave him, he was able toextract from society throughout all the remainder of his life value outof all proportion to any return he made for it. Finally it came down tome. Holding my peculiar belief, which my right and left bower considersinful and silly respectively, I found money forced upon me, regardlessof the fact that I had given absolutely no value in exchange. Now ifmoney is a medium for the exchange of value and I receive money withoutgiving value for it, it is plain that someone else must have partedwith money without receiving value in return. The thing is basicallyimmoral. "

"Your father couldn't take it with him. "

"But why should _I_ have it? I never contributed a finger-weight ofservice for it. From society the money came and to society it shouldreturn. "

"You should worry, " said Transley. "Society isn't worrying over you. Some more of the roast beef?"

"No, thank you. But to come down to date. It seems that I cannot getaway from this wealth which dogs me at every turn. Before enlisting Ihad been margining certain steel stocks, purely in the ordinary courseof affairs. With the demands made by the war on the steel industry mystocks went up in price and my good friend Murdoch was able to reportthat it had made a fortune for me while I was overseas. . . . And we callourselves an intelligent people!"

"And so we are, " said Mr. Squiggs. "We stick to a system we know tobe sound. It has weathered all the gales of the past, and promises toweather those of the future. I tell you, Grant, communism won'twork. You can't get away from the principle of individual reward forindividual effort. "

"My dear fellow, that's exactly what I'm pleading for. I have nopatience with any claim that all men are equal, or capable of renderingequal service to society, and I want payment to be made according toservice rendered, not according to the freaks of a haphazard system suchas I have been trying to describe. "

"But how are you going to bring that golden age about?" Murdochinquired. 

"By education. The first thing is to accept the principle that wealthcannot be accepted except in exchange for full-measure service. You, Mrs. Transley--you teach your little boy that he must not steal. As hegrows older simply widen your definition of theft to include receivingvalue without giving value in exchange. When all the mothers beginteaching that principle the golden age which Mr. Murdoch inquires aboutwill be in sight. "

"How would you drive it home?" said Y. D. "We have too many lawsalready. "

"Let us agree on that. The acceptance of this principle will make halfthe laws now cluttering our statute books unnecessary. I merely urgethat we should treat the CAUSE of our economic malady rather than thesymptoms. "

"Theoretically your idea has much to commend it, but it is quiteimpracticable, " Mr. Squiggs announced with some finality. "It couldnever be brought into effect. "

"If a corporation can determine the value of the service rendered byeach of its hundred thousand employees, why cannot a nation determinethe value of the service rendered by each of its hundred millioncitizens?"

"THERE'S something for you to chew on, Squiggs, " said Transley. "Youargue your case well, Grant; I believe you have our legal light ratherfeazed--that's the word, isn't it, Mr. Murdoch?--for once. I confess agood deal of sympathy with your point of view, but I'm afraid you can'tchange human nature. "

"I am not trying to do that. All that needs changing is the popular ideaof what is right and what is wrong. And that idea is changing with arapidity which is startling. Before the war the man who made money, byalmost any means, was set up on a pedestal called Success. Moralistspointed to him as one to be emulated; Sunday school papers printedarticles to show that any boy might follow in his footsteps and becomegreat and respected. To-day, for following precisely the same practices, the nation demands that he be thrown into prison; the Press heapscontumely upon him; he has become an object of suspicion in the populareye. This change, world wide and quite unforeseen, has come about infive years. "

"Is that due to a new sense of right and wrong, or to just old-fashionedenvy of the rich which now feels strong enough to threaten where it usedto fawn?" Y. D. 's wife asked, and Grant was spared a hard answer by therancher's interruption, "Hit the profiteer as hard as you like. He's gotno friends. "

"That depends upon who is the profiteer--a point which no one seemsto have settled. In the cities you may even hear prosperous ranchersincluded in that class--absurd as that must seem to you, " Grant added, with a smile to Y. D. "Require every man to give service according tohis returns and you automatically eliminate all profiteers, large andsmall. "

"But you will admit, " said Mrs. Squiggs, "that we must have somewell-off people to foster culture and give tone to society generally?"

"I agree that the boy who is brought up in a home with a bath tub, andall that that stands for, is likely to be a better citizen than the boywho doesn't have that advantage. That's why I want every home to have abath tub. "

Mrs. Squiggs subsided rather heavily. In youth her Saturday nightablutions had been taken in the middle of the kitchen floor. 

"I have a good deal of sympathy, " said Transley, "with any movementwhich has for its purpose the betterment of human conditions. Anysuccessful man of to-day will admit, if he is frank about it, that heowes his success as much to good luck as to good judgment. If you couldfind a way, Grant, to take the element of luck out of life, perhapsyou would be doing a service which would justify you in keepingthose millions which worry you so. But I can't see that it makes anydifference to the prosperity of a country who owns the wealth in it, solong as the wealth is there and is usefully employed. Money doesn'tgrow unless it works, and if it works it serves Society just the same asmuscle does. You could put all your wealth in a strong-box and bury itunder your house up there on the hill, and it wouldn't increase a nickelin a thousand years, but if you put it to work it makes money foryou and money for other people as well. I'm a little nervous aboutnew-fangled notions. It's easier to wreck the ship than to build a newone, which may not sail any better. What the world needs to-day is thegospel of hard work, and everybody, rich and poor, on the job for allthat's in him. That's the only way out. "

"We seem to have much in common, " Grant returned. "Hard work is the onlyway out, and the best way to encourage hard work is to find a system bywhich every man will be rewarded according to the service rendered. "

At this point Mrs. Transley arose, and the men moved out into theliving-room to chat on less contentious subjects. After a time the womenjoined them, and Grant presently found himself absorbed in conversationwith the old rancher's wife. Zen seemed to pay but little attentionto him, and for the first time he began to realize what consummateactresses women are. Had Transley been the most suspicious ofhusbands--and in reality his domestic vision was as guileless as that ofa boy--he could have caught no glint of any smoldering spark of the longago. Grant found himself thinking of this dissembling quality as one ofnature's provisions designed for the protection of women, much as thesombre plumage of the prairie chicken protects her from the eye of thesportsman. For after all the hunting instinct runs through all men, bethe game what it may. 

Before they realized how the time had flown Linder was protestingthat he must be on his way. At the gate Transley put a hand on Grant'sshoulder. 

"I'm prepared to admit, " he said, "that there's a whole lot in this oldworld that needs correcting, but I'm not sure that it can be corrected. You have a right to try out your experiments, but take a tip and keepa comfortable cache against the day when you'll want to settle down andtake things as they are. It is true and always has been true that a manwho is worth his salt, when he wants a thing, takes it--or goes downin the attempt. The loser may squeal, but that seems to be the path ofprogress. You can't beat it. "

"Well, we'll see, " said Grant, laughing. "Sometimes two men, each worthhis salt, collide. "

"As in the meadow of the South Y. D. , " said Transley, with a smile. "Youremember that, Y. D. --when our friend here upset the haying operations?"

"Sure, I remember, but I'm not holdin' it agin him now. A dead horse isa dead horse, an' I don't go sniffin' it. "

"Perhaps I ought to say, though, " Grant returned, "that I really do notknow how the iron pegs got into that meadow. "

"And I don't know how your haystacks got afire, but I can guess. Remember Drazk? A little locoed, an' just the crittur to pull off a foolstunt like that. When the fire swept up the valley, instead of down, hemade his get-away and has never been seen since. I reckon likely therewas someone in Landson's gang capable o' drivin' pegs without consultin'the boss. "

The little group were standing in the shadow and Grant had noopportunity to notice the sudden blanching of Zen's face at the mentionof Drazk. 

"You're wrong about his not having been seen again, Y. D. , " said Grant. "He managed to locate me somewhere in France. That reminds me, he had amessage for you, Mrs. Transley. I'm afraid Drazk is as irresponsible asever, provided he hasn't passed out, which is more than likely. "

Grant shook hands cordially with Y. D. And his wife, with Squiggs andMrs. Squiggs, with Transley and Mrs. Transley. Any inclination he mayhave felt to linger over Zen's hand was checked by her quick withdrawalof it, and there was something in her manner quite beyond hisunderstanding. He could have sworn that the self-possessed Zen Transleywas actually trembling. 

CHAPTER XIX

The next day Wilson paid his usual visit to the field where Grant wasplowing, and again was he the bearer of a message. With much difficultyhe managed to extricate the envelope from a pocket. 

"Dear Mr. Grant, " it read, "I am so excited over a remark you droppedlast night I must see you again as soon as possible. Can you drop into-night, say at eight. Yours, --ZEN. "

Grant read the message a second time, wondering what remark of his couldhave occasioned it. As he recalled the evening's conversation it hadbeen most about his experiment, and he had a sense that he had occupieda little more of the stage than strictly good form would have suggested. However, it was HIS scheme that had been under discussion, and he didnot propose to let it suffer for lack of a champion. But what had hesaid that could be of more than general interest to Zen Transley? For amoment he wondered if she had created a pretext upon which to bring himto the house by the river, and then instantly dismissed that thought asunworthy of him. At any rate it was evident that his addressing her byher Christian name in the last message had given no offence. Thistime she had not called him "The Man-on-the-Hill, " and there was nosuggestion of playfulness in the note. Then the signature, "Yours, Zen";that might mean everything, or it might mean nothing. Either it waspurely formal or it implied a very great deal indeed. Grant reflectedthat it could hardly be interpreted anywhere between those two extremes, and was it reasonable to suppose that Zen would use it in an ENTIRELYformal sense? If it had been "yours truly, " or "yours sincerely, " orany such stereotyped conclusion, it would not have called for a secondthought, but the simple word "yours"--

"If only she were, " thought Grant, and felt the color creeping to hisface at the thought. It was the first time he had dared that much. He had not bothered to wonder much where or how this affair must end. Through all the years that had passed since that night when she hadfallen asleep on his shoulder, and he had watched the ribbons of firerising and falling in the valley, and the smell of grass-smoke had beenstrong in his nostrils, through all those years Zen had been to him asweet, evasive memory to be dreamed over and idealized, a wild, daring, irresponsible incarnation of the spirit of the hills. Even in these lastfew days he had followed the path simply because it lay before him. Hehad not sought her out in all that great West; he had been content withhis dream of the Zen of years gone by; if Fate had brought him oncemore within the orbit of his star surely Fate had a purpose in all itsdoings. One who has learned to believe that no bullet will find himunless "his name and number are on it" has little difficulty in excusinghis own indiscretions by fatalistic reasoning. 

He wrote on the back of the note, "Look for me at eight, " and then, observing that the boy had not brought teddy along, he inquiredsolicitously for the health of the little pet. 

"He's all right, but mother wouldn't let me bring him. Said I mightlose him. " The tone in which the last words were spoken implied just howimpossible such a thing was. Lose teddy! No one but a mother could thinksuch an absurdity. 

"But I got a knife!" Wilson exclaimed, his mind darting to a happiersubject. "Daddy gave it to me. Will you sharpen it? It is as dull as apig. "

Grant was to learn during the day that all the boy's figures of speechwere now hung on the family pig. The knife was as dull as a pig; theplow was as rough as a pig; the horses, when they capered at a corner, were as wild as a pig; even Grant himself, while he held the little chapfirmly on his knee, received the doubtful compliment of being as strongas a pig. He went through the form of sharpening the knife on theleather lines of the harness, and was pleased to discover that Wilson, with childish dexterity of imagination, now pronounced it as sharp as apig. 

The boy did not return to the field in the afternoon, and Grantspent the time in a strange admixture of happiness over the pleasantcompanionship he had found in this little son of the prairies andanticipation of his meeting with Zen that night. All his reflection hadfailed to suggest the subject so interesting to her as to bring forthher unconventional note, but it was enough for him that his presence wasdesired. As to the future--he would deal with that when he came to it. As evening approached the horses began their usual procedure of turningtheir heads homeward at the end of each furrow. Beginning about fiveo'clock, they had a habit of assuming that each furrow was obviously thelast one for the day, and when the firm hand on the lines brought themsharply back to position they trudged on with an apologetic air whichseemed to say that of course they were quite willing to work anotherhour or two but they supposed their master would want to be on his wayhome. Today, however, he surprised them, and the first time they turnedtheir heads he unhitched, and, throwing himself lightly across Prince'sample back, drove them to their stables. 

Grant prepared his supper of bacon and eggs and fried potatoes, breadand jam and black tea, and ate it from the kitchen table as was hishabit except on state occasions. Sometimes a touch of the absurdity ofhis behavior would tickle his imagination--he, who might dine in themidst of wealth and splendor, with soft lights beating down upon him, soft music swelling through arching corridors, soft-handed waitersmoving about on deep, silent carpetings, perhaps round white shouldersacross the table and the faint smell of delicate perfumes--that heshould prefer to eat from the white oilcloth of his kitchen table was ariddle far beyond any ordinary intellect. And yet he was happy in thislife; happy in his escape from the tragic routine of being decentlycivilized; happier, he knew, than he ever could be among all theartificial pleasures that wealth could buy him. Sometimes, as aconcession to this absurdity, he would set his table in the dining-roomwith his best dishes, and eat his silent meal very grandly, until theridiculousness of it all would overcome him and he would jump up with aboyish whoop and sweep everything into the kitchen. 

But to-night he had no time for make-belief. Supper ended, he puta basin of water on the stove and went out to give his horses theirevening attention, after which he had a wash and a careful shave anddressed himself in a light grey suit appropriate to an autumn evening. And then he noticed that he had just time to walk to Transley's housebefore eight o'clock. 

Zen received him at the door; the maid had gone to a neighbor's, shesaid, and Wilson was in bed. It was still bright outside, but thesheltered living-room, to which she showed him, was wrapped in a softtwilight. 

"Shall we have a lamp, or the fireplace?" she asked, then inferentiallyanswered by saying that a cool wind was blowing down from the mountains. "I had the maid build the fire, " she continued, and he could see theoutline of her form bending over the grate. She struck a match; its glowlit up her cheeks and hair; in a moment the dry wood was crackling andribbons of blue smoke were curling into the chimney. 

"I have been so anxious to see you--again, " she said, drawing a chairnot far from his. "A chance remark of yours last night brought to memorymany things--things I have been trying to forget. " Then, abruptly, "Didyou ever kill a man?"

"You know I was in the war, " he returned, evading her question. 

"Yes, and you do not care to dwell on that phase of it. I should nothave asked you, but you will be the better able to understand. For yearsI have lived under the cloud of having killed a man. "

"You!"

"Yes. The day of the fire--you remember?"

Grant had started from his chair. "I can't believe it!" he exclaimed. "There must have been justification!"

"YOU had justification at the Front, but it doesn't make the memorypleasant. I had justification, but it has haunted me night and day. Andthen, last night you said he was still alive, and my soul seemed to riseup again and say, 'I am free!'"

"Who?"

"Drazk. "

"DRAZK!"

"Yes. I thought I had killed him that day of the fire. It is rather anunpleasant story, and you will excuse me repeating the details, I know. He attacked me--we were both on horseback, in the river--I supposehe was crazed with his wild deed, and less responsible than usual. Hedragged me from my horse and I fought with him in the water, but he wasmuch too strong. I had concluded that to drown myself, and perhaps him, was the only way out, when I saw a leather thong floating in the waterfrom the saddle. By a ruse I managed to flip it around his neck, and thenext moment he was at my mercy. I had no mercy then. I understand howit might be possible to kill prisoners. I pulled it tight, tight--pulledtill I saw his face blacken and his eyes stand out. He went down, butstill I pulled. And then after a little I found myself on shore. 

"I suppose it was the excitement of the fire that carried me on throughthe day, but at night--you remember?--there came a reaction, and Icouldn't keep awake. I suddenly seemed to feel that I was safe, and Icould sleep. "

Grant had resumed his seat. He was deeply moved by this strangeconfidence; he bent his eyes intently upon her face, now shining in theruddy light from the fire-place. Her frank reference to the event thatnight seemed to create a new bond between them; he knew now, if everhe had doubted it, that Zen Transley had treasured that incident in herheart even as he had treasured it. 

"I was so embarrassed after the--the accident, you know, " she continued. "I knew you must know I had been in the water. For days and weeks Iexpected every hour to hear of the finding of the body. I expected tohear the remark dropped casually by every new visitor at the ranch, 'Drazk's body was found to-day in the river. The Mounted Police areinvestigating. ' But time went on and nothing was heard of it. It wouldalmost have been a relief to me if it had been discovered. If I hadreported the affair at once, as I should have done, all would have beendifferent, but having kept my secret for a while I found it impossibleto confess it later. It was the first time I ever felt my self-relianceseverely shaken. . . . But what was his message, and why did you not tellme before?"

"Because I attached no value to it; because I was, perhaps, a littleashamed of it. I learned something of his weaknesses at the Front. According to Drazk's statement of it he won the war, and could as easilywin another, if occasion presented itself, so when he said, 'If ever yousee Y. D. 's daughter tell her I'm well; she'll be glad to hear it, ' I putit down to his usual boasting and thought no more about it. I thought hewas trying to impress me with the idea that you were interested in him, which was a very absurd supposition, as I saw it. "

"Well, now you know, " she said, with a little laugh. "I'm glad it's offmy mind. "

"Of course your husband knows?"

"No. That made it harder. I never told Frank. "

She arose and walked to the fire-place, pretending to stir the logs. When she had seated herself again she continued. 

"It has not been easy for me to tell all things to Frank. Don'tmisunderstand me; he has been a model husband, according to mystandards. "

"According to your standards?"

"According to my standards--when I married him. If standards werepermanent I suppose happy matings would be less unusual. A young couplemust have something in common in order to respond at all to each other'sattractions, but as they grow older they set up different standards, andthey drift apart. "

She paused, and Grant sat in silence, watching the glow of the firelightupon her cheek. 

"Why don't you smoke?" she exclaimed, suddenly springing up. "Let mefind you some of Frank's cigars. "

Grant protested that he smoked too much. She produced a box of cigarsand extended them to him. Then she held a match while he got his light. 

"Your standards have changed?" said Grant, taking up the thread when shehad sat down again. 

"They have. They have changed more than Frank's, which makes me feelrather at fault in the matter. How could he know that I would change myideal of what a husband should be?"

"Why shouldn't he know? That is the course of development. Withoutchanging ideals there would be stagnation. "

"Perhaps, " she returned, and he thought he caught a note of wearinessin her voice. "But I don't blame Frank--now. I rather blame him then. He swept me off my feet; stampeded me. My parents helped him, and I wasonly half disposed to resist. You see, I had this other matter on mymind, and for the first time in my life I felt the need of protection. Besides, I took a matter-of-fact view of marriage. I thought thatsentiment--love, if you like--was a thing of books, an invention ofpoets and fiction writers. Practical people would be practical in theirmarriages, as in their other undertakings. To marry Frank seemed a verypractical course. My father assured me that Frank had in him qualitiesof large success. He would make money; he would be a prominent man incircles of those who do things. These predictions he has fulfilled. Frank has been all I expected--then. "

"But you have changed your opinion of marriage--of the essentials ofmarriage?"

"Do YOU need to ask that? I was beginning to see the light--beginning toknow myself--even before I married him, but I didn't stop to analyze. I plunged ahead, as I have always done, trusting not to get into anyposition from which I could not find a way out. But there are somepositions from which there is no way out. "

Grant reflected that possibly his experience had been somewhat like hersin that respect. He, too, had been following a path, unconcerned aboutits end. . . . Possibly for him, too, there would be no way out. 

"Frank has been all I expected of him, " she repeated, as though anxiousto do her husband justice. "He has made money. He spends it generously. If I live here modestly, with but one maid, it is because of apreference which I have developed for simplicity. I might have a dozenif I asked it, and I think Frank is somewhat surprised, and, it maybe, disappointed, that I don't ask it. Although not a man for displayhimself, he likes to see me make display. It's a strange thing, isn'tit, that a husband should wish his wife to be admired by other men?"

"Some are successful in that, " Grant remarked. 

"Some are more successful than they intend to be. "

"Frank, for instance?" he queried, pointedly. 

"I have not sought any man's admiration, " she went on, with herastonishing frankness. "I am too independent for that. What do I carefor their admiration? But every woman wants love. "

Grant had changed his position, and sat with his elbows upon his knees, his chin resting upon his hands. "You know, Zen, " he said, using herChristian name deliberately, "the picture I drew that day by the river?That is the picture I have carried in my mind ever since--shall carry tothe end. Perhaps it has led me to be imprudent--"

"Imprudent?"

"Has brought me here to-night, for example. "

"You had my invitation. "

"True. But why develop another situation which, as you say, has no wayout?"

"Do you want to go?"

"No, Zen, no! I want to stay--with you--always! But organized societymust respect its own conventions. "

She arose and stood by his chair, letting her hand fall beside hischeek. 

"You silly boy!" she said. "You didn't organize society, nor subscribeto its conventions. Still, I suppose there must be a code of some kind, and we shall respect it. You had your chance, Denny, and you passed itup. "

"Had my chance?"

"Yes. I refused you in words, I know, but actions speak louder--"

"But when you told me you were engaged what could I honorably do?"

"More--very much more--than you can do now. You could have shown me mymistake. How much better to have learned it then, from you, than later, by my own experience! You could have swept me off my feet, just as Frankdid. You did nothing. If I had sought evidence to prove how impracticalyou are, as compared with my super-practical husband, I would have foundit in the way you handled, or rather failed to handle, that situation. "

"What would your super-practical husband do now if he were in myposition?" he said, drawing her hands into his. 

"I don't know. "

"You do! He says that any man worth his salt takes what he wants in thisworld. Am I worth my salt?"

"There are different standards of value. . . . Goodness! how late it is!You must go now, and don't come back before, let us say, Wednesday. "

CHAPTER XX

Whatever may have been Grant's philosophy about the unwisdom of creatinga situation which had no way out he found himself looking forwardimpatiently to Wednesday evening. An hour or two at Zen's firesideprovided the social atmosphere which his bachelor life lacked, and asTransley seemed unappreciative of his domestic privileges, remaining intown unless his business brought him out to the summer home, it seemedonly a just arrangement that they should be shared by one who valuedthem at their worth. 

The Wednesday evening conversation developed further the understandingthat was gradually evolving between them, but it afforded no solution ofthe problem which confronted them. Zen made no secret of the error shehad made in the selection of her husband, but had no suggestions tooffer as to what should be done about it. She seemed quite satisfiedto enjoy Grant's conversation and company, and let it go at that--animpossible situation, as the young man assured himself. She dismissedhim again at a quite respectable hour with some reference to Saturdayevening, which Grant interpreted as an invitation to call again at thattime. 

When he entered Saturday night it was evident that she had beenexpecting him. A cool wind was again blowing down from the mountains, laden with the soft smell of melting snow, and the fire in the grate wasbuilt ready for the match. 

"I am my own maid to-night, " she said, as she stooped to light it. "Sarah usually goes to town Saturday evening. Now we shall see ifsomeone is in good humor. "

The fire curled up pleasantly about the wood. "There!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. "All is well. You see how economical I am; if wemust spend on fires we save on light. I love a wood fire; I suppose itis something which reaches back to the original savage in all of us. "

"To the days when our great ancestors roasted their victims while theydanced about the coals, " said Grant, completing the picture. "And yetthey say that human nature doesn't change. "

"Does it? I think our methods change with our environments, but that isall. Wasn't it you who propounded a theory about an age when men tookwhat they wanted by force giving way to an age in which they took whatthey wanted by subtlety? Now, I believe, you want society to restrainthe man of clever wits just as it has learned to restrain the man of bigbiceps. And when that is done will not man discover some other means oftaking what he wants?"

She had seated herself beside him on a divanette and the joy of hernearness fired Grant with a very happy intoxication. It recalled thatnight on the hillside when, as she had since said, she felt safe in hisprotection. 

"I am really very interested, " she continued. "I followed the argumentat the table on Sunday with as much concern as if it had been my pethobby, not yours, that was under discussion. If I said little it wasbecause I did not wish to appear too interested. "

Her amazing frankness brought Grant, figuratively, to his feet at everyturn. She seemed to have no desire to conceal her interest in him, herattachment for him. Hers was such candor as might well be born ofthe vast hillsides, the great valleys, the brooding silences of hergirlhood. Yet it seemed obvious that she must be less candid withTransley. . . . 

"I am glad you were interested, " he answered. "I was afraid I was ratherboring the company, but it was MY scheme and I had to stand up for it. Ifear I made few converts. "

"You were dealing with practical men, " she returned, "and practicalmen are never converted to a new idea. That is one of the things I havelearned in my years of married life, Dennison. Practical men find manyways of turning an old idea to advantage, but they never evolve newones. New ideas come from dreamers--theoretical fellows like you. "

"The dreamer is always a lap ahead of the rest of civilization, and thefunny thing is that the rest always thinks itself much more sane thanthe dreamer, out there blazing the way. "

"That's not remarkable, " she replied. "That's logical. The dreamerblazes the way--proves the possibilities of his dream--and the practicalman follows it up and makes money out of it. To a practical man there isnothing more practical than making money. "

"Did I convert you?" he pursued. 

"I was not in need of conversion. I have been a follower of the newfaith--an imperfect and limping follower, it is true--ever since youfirst announced it. "

"I believe you are laughing at me. "

"Certainly not! I have been brought up in an environment where thereis no standard higher than the money standard. Not that my father orhusband are dishonest; they are rigidly honest according to their ideasof honesty. But to say that a man must give actual service for everydollar he gets or it isn't his--that is a conception of honesty so farbeyond them as to be an absurdity. But I have wanted to ask you how youare going to enforce this new idealism. "

"Idealism is not enforced. We aspire to it; we may not attain to it. Christianity itself is idealism--the idealism of unselfishness. Thatideal has never been attained by any considerable number of people, andyet it has drawn all humanity on to somewhat higher levels as surely asthe moon draws the tide. Superficial persons in these days are drawingpictures of the failure of Christianity, which has failed in part; butthey could find a much more depressing subject by painting a world fromwhich all Christian idealism had been removed. "

"But surely you have some plan for putting your theories to thetest--some plan which will force those to whom idealism appeals in vain. We do not trust to a man's idealism to keep him from stealing; we puthim in jail. "

"All that will come in time, but the question for the seeker after truthis not 'Will it work?' but 'Is it true?' I fancy I can see the practicalmen of Moses' time leaning over his shoulder as he inscribed the TenCommandments and remarking 'No use of putting that down, Moses; you cannever enforce it. ' But Moses put it down and left the enforcement tonatural law and the growing intelligence of the generations which havefollowed him. We are too much disposed to think it possible to evadea law; to violate it, and escape punishment; but if a law is true, punishment follows violation as implacably as the stars follow theircourses. And if society has failed to recognize the law that service, and service only, should be able to command service in return, societymust suffer the penalty. We have only to look about us to see thatsociety is paying in full for its violations. 

"Yes, I have plans, and I think they would work, but the first thing isthe ideal--the new moral sense--that value must not be accepted withoutgiving equal value in return. Society, of course, will have to set upthe standards of value. That is a matter of detail--a matter for thepractical men who come in the wake of the idealist. But of this I amcertain--and I hark back to my old theme--that just as society has founda means of preventing the man who is physically superior from takingwealth without giving service in return, so must society find a means toprevent men who are mentally superior from taking wealth without givingservice in return. The superior person, mark you, will still have anadvantage, in that his superiority will enable him to EARN more; weshall merely stop him taking what he does not earn. That must come. Ithink it will come soon. It is the next step in the social evolution ofthe race. "

She had drunk in his argument as one who hangs on every word, and herwrapt face turned toward his seemed to glow and thrill him in returnwith a sense of their spiritual oneness. She did not need to tell himthat Transley never talked to her like this. Transley loved her, if heloved her at all, for the glory she reflected upon him; he was proud ofher beauty, of her daring, of her physical charm and self-reliance. Thedeeper side of her mental life was to Transley a field unexplored; afield of the very existence of which he was probably unaware. Grantlooked into her eyes, now close and responsive, and found within theirdepths something which sent him to his feet. 

"Zen!" he exclaimed. "The mystery of life is too much for me. Surelythere must be an answer somewhere! Surely the puzzle has a system toit--a key which may some day be found! Or can it be just chaos--justblind, driveling, senseless chaos? In our own lives, why should we bestranded, helpless, wrecked, with the happiness which might have beenours hung just beyond our reach? Is there no answer to this?"

"I suppose we disobeyed the law, back in those old days. We heard itclearly enough, and we disobeyed. I allowed myself to be guided bymotives which were not the highest; you seemed to lack the enterprisewhich would have won you its own reward. And as you have said, those whoviolate the law must suffer for it. I have suffered. "

She drew up her chin; he could see the firm muscles set beneath thepink bloom of her flesh. . . . He had not thought of Zen suffering; allhis thought of her had been very grateful to his vanity, but he had notthought of her suffering. He extended his hands and took hers withinthem. 

"I have sometimes wondered, " he said, "why there is no second chance;why one cannot wipe the slate clear of everything that has been andstart anew. What a world this might be!"

"Would it be any better? Or would we go on making our mistakes overagain? That seems to be the only way we learn. "

"But a second chance; the idea seems so fair, so plausible. Suppose youare shooting on the ranges, for instance; you are allowed a shot ortwo to find your nerve, to get your distance, to settle yourself to thebusiness in hand. But in this business of life you fire, and if somedistraction, some momentary influence or folly sends your aim wild, theshot is gone and you are left with all the years that follow to thinkabout it. You can do nothing but think about it--the most profitless ofall occupations. "

"For you there is a second chance, " she reminded him. "You must havethought of that. "

"No--no second chance. "

She drew herself up slightly and away from him. "I have been very frankwith you, Dennison, " she said. "Suppose you try being frank with me?"

In her eyes was still the fire of Zen of the Y. D. , a woman unconqueredand unconquerable. She gave the impression that she accepted thebuffetings of life, but no one forced them upon her. She had erred; shewould suffer. That was fair; she accepted that. But as Grant gazedon her face, tilted still in some of its old-time recklessness anddefiance, he knew that the day would come when she would say that hercup was full, and, throwing it to the winds, would start life over, ifthere can be such a thing as starting life over. And something in hermanner told him that day was very, very near. 

"All right, " he said, "I will be frank. Fate HAS brought within my orbita second chance, or what would have been a second chance had my heartnot been so full of you. She was a girl well worth thinking about. Whenan employee introduces herself to you with a declaration of independenceyou may know that you have met with someone out of the ordinary. I amnot speaking of these days of labor scarcity; it takes no great moralquality to be independent when you have the whip-hand. But in the daysbefore the war, with two applicants for every position, a girl whovalued her freedom of spirit more than her job--more than even a verygood job--was a girl to think about. "

"And you thought about her?"

"I did. I was sick of the cringing and fawning of which my wealth mademe the object; I loathed the deference paid me, because I knew it waspaid, not to me, but to my money--I was homesick to hear someone tell meto go to hell. I wanted to brush up against that spirit which says it isas good as anybody else--against the manliness which stands its groundand hits back. I found that spirit in Phyllis Bruce. "

"Phyllis Bruce--rather a nice name. But are the men and women of theEast so--so servile as you suggest?"

"No! That is where I was mistaken. Generations of environment had merelytrained them into docility of habit. Underneath they are red-bloodedthrough and through. The war showed us that. Zen--the proudest moment ofmy life--except one--was when a kid in the office who couldn't come intomy room without trembling jumped up and said 'We WILL win!'--and calledme Grant! Think of that! Poor chap. . . . What was I saying? Oh, yes;Phyllis. I grew to like her--very much--but I couldn't marry her. Youknow why. "

Zen was looking into the fire with unseeing eyes. "I am not sure thatI know why, " she said at length. "You couldn't marry me. It was yoursecond chance. You should have taken it. "

"Would that be playing the game fairly--with her?"

She rested her fingers lightly on the back of his hand, extending themgently down until they fell between his own. 

"Denny, you big, big boy!" she murmured. "Do you suppose every manmarries his first choice?"

"It has always seemed to me that a second choice is a makeshift. Itdoesn't seem quite square--"

"No. I fancy some second choices are really first choices. Wisdom comeswith experience, you know. "

"Not always. At any rate I couldn't marry her while my heart was yours. "

"I suppose not, " she answered, and again he noted a touch of wearinessin her voice. "I know something of what divided affection--if one caneven say it is divided--means. Denny, I will make a confession. I knewyou would come back; I always was sure you would come back. 'Then, ' Isaid to myself, 'I will see this man Grant as he is, and the realitywill clear my brain of all this idealism which I have woven about him. 'Perhaps you know what I mean. We sometimes meet people who impress usgreatly at the time, but a second meeting, perhaps years later, has avery different effect. It sweeps all the idealism away, and we wonderwhat it was that could have charmed us so. Well--I hoped--I really hopedfor some experience like that with you. If only I could meet you againand find that, after all, you were just like other men; self-centred, arrogant, kind, perhaps, but quite superior--if I could only find THATto be true then the mirage in which I have lived for all these yearswould be swept away and my old philosophy that after all it doesn'tmatter much whom one marries so long as he is respectable and gives hera good living would be vindicated. And so I have encouraged you to comehere; I have been most unconventional, I know, but I was always that--Ihave cultivated your acquaintance, and, Denny, I am SO disappointed!"

"Disappointed? Then the mirage HAS cleared away?"

"On the contrary, it grows more distorted every day. I see you toweringabove all your fellow humans; reaching up into a heaven so far abovethem that they don't even know of its existence. I see you as really TheMan-On-the-Hill, with a vision which lays all this selfish, commonplaceworld at your feet. The idealism which I thought must fade away isjustified--heightened--by the reality. "

She had turned her face to him, and Grant, little as he understood theways of women, knew that she had made her great confession. For a momenthe held himself in check. . . . Then from somewhere in his subconsciousnesscame ringing the phrase, "Every man worth his salt. . . . Takes what hewants. " That was Transley's morality; Transley, the Usurper, who hadbullied himself into possession of this heart which he had never wonand could never hold; Transley, the fool, frittering his days andnights with money! He seized her in his arms, crushing down her weakresistance; he drew her to him until, as in that day by a foothill riversomewhere in the sunny past, her lips met his and returned their caress. He cared now for nothing--nothing in the whole world but this quiveringwomanhood within his arms. . . . 

"You must go, " she whispered at length. "It is late, and Frank's habitsare somewhat erratic. "

He held her at arm's length, his hands upon her shoulders. "Do yousuppose that fear--of anything--can make me surrender you now?"

"Not fear, perhaps--I know it could not be fear--but good sense may doit. It was not fear that made me send you home early from your previouscalls. It was discretion. "

"Oh!" he said, a new light dawning, and he marvelled again at herconsummate artistry. 

"But I must tell you, " she resumed, "Frank leaves on a business tripto-morrow night. He will be gone for some time, and I shall motor intotown to see him off. I am wondering about Wilson, " she hurried on, asthough not daring to weigh her words; "Sarah will be away--I am lettingher have a little holiday--and I can't take Wilson into town with mebecause it will be so late. " Then, with a burst of confession she spokemore deliberately. "That isn't exactly the reason, Dennison; Frankdoesn't know I have let Sarah go, and I--I can't explain. "

Her face shone pink and warm in the glow of the firelight, and as thesignificance of her words sank in upon him Grant marvelled at thatwizardry of the gods which could bring such homage to the foot of man. A tenderness such as he had never known suffused him; her very presencewas holy. 

"Bring the boy over and let him spend the night with me. We are greatchums and we shall get along splendidly. "

CHAPTER XXI

Grant spent his Sunday forenoon in an exhaustive house-cleaningcampaign. Bachelor life on the farm is not conducive to domesticdelicacy, and although Grant had never abandoned the fundamentals he hadallowed his interpretation of essential cleanliness to become somewhatliberal. The result was that the day of rest usually confronted himwith a considerable array of unwashed pots and pans and other culinaryutensils. To-day, while the tawny autumn hills seemed to fairly heaveand sigh with contentment under a splendor of opalescent sunshine, hescoured the contents of his kitchen until they shone; washed the floor;shook the rugs from the living-room and swept the corners, even behindthe gramophone; cleared the ashes from the hearth and generally set hishouse in order, for was not she to call upon him that evening on herway to town, and was not little Wilson--he of the high adventures withteddy-bear and knife and pig--to spend the night with him?

When he was able to view his handiwork with a feeling that even feminineeyes would find nothing to offend, Grant did an unwonted thing. Heunlocked the whim-room and opened the windows that the fresh air mightplay through the silent chamber. To the west the mountains looked downin sombre placidity as they had looked down every bright autumn morningsince the dawn of time, their shoulders bathed in purple mist and theirsnow-crowned summits shining in the sun. For a long time Grant stooddrinking in the scene; the fertile valley lying with its square farmslike a checker-board of the gods, with its round little lakes beatingback the white sunshine like coins from the currency of the Creator; theruddy copper-colored patches of ripe wheat, and drowsy herds motionlessupon the receding hills; the blue-green ribbon of river with its yellowfringes of cottonwood and bluffs of forbidding spruce, and behind andover all the silent, majestic mountains. It was a sight to make the soulof man rise up and say, "I know I stand on the heights of the Eternal!"Then as his eyes followed the course of the river Grant picked out acolumn of thin blue smoke, and knew that Zen was cooking her Sundaydinner. 

The thought turned him to his dusting of the whim-room, and afterwardsto his own kitchen. When he had lunched and dressed he took a strollover the hills, thinking a great deal, but finding no answer. On hisreturn he descried the familiar figure of Linder in a semi-recumbentposition on the porch, and Linder's well-worn car in the yard. 

"How goes it, Linder?" he said, cheerily, as he came up. "Is the BigIdea going to fructify?"

"The Big Idea seems to be all right. You planned it well. "

"Thanks. But is it going to be self-supporting--I mean in the matter ofmotive power. Would it run if you and I and Murdoch were wiped out?"

"Everything must have a head. "

"Democracy must find its own head--must grow it out of the materialssupplied. If it doesn't do that it's a failure, and the Big Idea willend in being the Big Fizzle. That's why I'm leaving it so severelyalone--I want to see which way it's headed. "

"I could suggest another reason, " said Linder, pointedly. 

"Another reason for what?"

"For your leaving it so severely alone. "

"What are you driving at?" demanded Grant, somewhat petulantly. "You arein a taciturn mood to-day, Linder. "

"Perhaps I am, Grant, and if so it comes from wondering how a man withas much brains as you have can be such a damned fool upon occasion. "

"Drop the riddles, Linder. Let me have it in the face. "

"It's just like this, Grant, old boy, " said Linder, getting up andputting his hand on his friend's shoulder, "I feel that I still have aninterest in the chap who saved all of me except what this empty sleevestands for, and it's that interest which makes me speak about somethingwhich you may say is none of my business. I was out here Monday night tosee you, and you were not at home. I came out again Wednesday, and youwere not at home. I came last night and you were not at home, and hadnot come back at midnight. Your horses were in the barn; you were notfar away. "

"Why didn't you telephone me?"

"If I hadn't cared more for you than I do for my job and the Big Ideathrown in I could have settled it that way. But, Grant, I do. "

"I believe you. But why this sudden worry over me? I was merely spendingthe evening at a neighbor's. "

"Yes--at Transley's. Transley was in town, and Mrs. Transley is--notresponsible--where you are concerned. "

"Linder!"

"I saw it all that night at dinner there. Some things are plain toeveryone--except those most involved. Now it's not my job to say to youwhat's right and wrong, but the way it looks to me is this: what's theuse of setting up a new code of morality about money which concerns, after all, only some of us, if you're going to knock down those thingswhich concern all of us?"

Grant regarded his foreman for some time without answering. "Iappreciate your frankness, Linder, " he said at length. "Your friendship, which I can never question, gives you that privilege. Man to man, I'mgoing to be equally frank with you. To begin with, I suppose you willadmit that Y. D. 's daughter is a strong character, a woman quite capableof directing her own affairs?"

"The stronger the engine the bigger the smash if there's a wreck. "

"It's not a case of wrecking; it's a case of trying to save somethingout of the wreck. Convention, Linder, is a torture-monger; it binds menand women to the stake of propriety and bids them smile while it snuffsout all the soul that's in them. We have pitted ourselves againstconvention in economic affairs; shall we not--"

"No! It was pure unselfishness which led you into the Big Idea. Thatisn't what's leading you now. "

"Well, let me put it another way. Transley is a clever man of affairs. He knows how to accomplish his ends. He applied the methods--somewhatmodified for the occasion--of a landshark in winning his wife. He makesa great appearance of unselfishness, but in reality he is selfish to thecore. He lavishes money on her to satisfy his own vanity, but as for herfiner nature, the real Zen, her soul if you like--he doesn't even knowshe has one. He obtained possession by false pretences. Which is themore moral thing--to leave him in possession, or to throw him out?Didn't you yourself hear him say that men who are worth their salt takewhat they want?"

"Since when did you let him set YOUR standards?"

"That's hardly fair. "

"I think it is. I think, too, that you are arguing against your ownconvictions. Well, I've had my say. I deliberately came out to-daywithout Murdoch so that I might have it. You would be quite justifiedin firing me for what I've done. But now I'm through, and no matter whatmay happen, remember, Linder will never have suspected anything. "

"That's like you, old chap. We'll drop it at that, but I must explainthat Zen is going to town to-night to meet Transley, and is leaving theboy with me. It is an event in my young life, and I have house-cleanedfor it appropriately. Come inside and admire my handiwork. "

Linder admired as he was directed, and then the two men fell into adiscussion of business matters. Eventually Grant cooked supper, and justas they had finished Mrs. Transley drove up in her motor. 

"Here we are!" she cried, cheerily. "Glad to see you, Mr. Linder. Wilsonhas his teddy-bear and his knife and his pyjamas, and is a little putout, I think, that I wouldn't let him bring the pig. "

"I shall try and make up the deficiency, " said Grant, smiling broadly, as the boy climbed to his shoulder. "Won't you come in? Linder, amonghis other accomplishments learned in France, is an excellent chaperon. "

"Thank you, no; I must get along. I shall call early in the morning, sothat you will not be delayed on Wilson's account. "

"No need of that; he can ride to the field with me on Prince. He is agreat help with the plowing. "

"I'm sure. " She stepped up to Grant and drew the boy's face down tohers. "Good-bye, dear; be a good boy, " she whispered, and Wilson wavedkisses to her as the motor sped down the road. 

Linder took his departure soon after, and Grant was surprised to findhimself almost embarrassed in the presence of his little guest. The embarrassment, however, was all on his side. Wilson was greatlyinterested in the strange things in the house, and investigated themwith the romantic thoroughness of his years. Grant placed a collectionof war trophies that had no more fight in them at the child's disposal, and he played about until it was time to go to bed. 

Where to start on the bedtime preparations was a puzzle, but Wilsonhimself came to Grant's aid with explicit instructions about buttons andpins. Grant fervently hoped the boy would be able to reverse the processin the morning, otherwise--

Suddenly, with a little dexterous movement, the child divested himselfof all his clothing, and rushed into a far corner. 

"You have to catch me now, " he shouted in high glee. "One, two--"

Evidently it was a game, and Grant entered into the spirit of it, finally running Wilson to earth on the farthest corner of the kitchentable. To adjust the pyjamas was, as Grant confessed, a bigger job thanharnessing a four-horse team, but at length it was completed. 

"You must hear my prayer, Uncle Man-on-the-Hill, " said the boy. "Youhave to sit down in a chair. "

Grant sat down and with a strange mixture of emotions drew the littlechap between his knees as he listened to the long-forgotten prattle. He felt his fingers running through Wilson's hair as other fingers, nowlong, long turned to dust, had once run through his. . . . 

At the third line the boy stopped. "You have to tell me now, " heprompted. 

"But I can't, Willie; I have forgotten. "

"Huh, you don't know much, " the child commented, and glibly quoted theremaining lines. "And God bless Daddy and Mamma and teddy-bear and UncleMan-on-the-Hill and the pig. Amen, " he concluded, accompanying the lastword with a jump which landed him fairly in Grant's lap. His littlearms went up about his friend's neck, and his little soft cheek restedagainst a tanned and weather-beaten one. Slowly Grant's arms closedabout the warm, lithe body and pressed it to his in a new passion, strange and holy. Then he led him to the whim-room, turned down thewhite sheets in which no form had ever lain and placed the boy betweenthem, snuggled his teddy down by his side and set his knife properlyin view upon the dresser. And then he leaned down again and kissed thelittle face, and whispered, "Good night, little boy; God keep you safeto-night, and always. " And suddenly Grant realized that he had beenpraying. . . . 

He withdrew softly, and only partly closed the door; then he chose aseat where he could see the little figure lying peacefully on the whitebed. The last shafts of the setting sun were falling in amber wedgesacross the room. He picked up a book, thinking to read, but he could notkeep his attention on the page; he found his mind wandering back intothe long-forgotten chambers of its beginning, conjuring up from thefaint recollections of infancy visions of the mother he had hardlyknown. . . . After a while he tip-toed to the whim-room door and found thatWilson, with his arms firmly clasped about his teddy-bear, was deep inthe sleep of childhood. 

"The dear little chap, " he murmured. "I must watch by him to-night. Itwould be unspeakable if anything should happen him while he is under mycare. "

He felt a sense of warmth, almost a smothering sensation, and raised hishand to his forehead. It came down covered with perspiration. 

"It's amazingly close, " he said, and walked to one of the French windowsopening to the west. The sun had gone down, and a brooding darkness layover all the valley, but far up in the sky he could trace the outline ofa cloud. Above, the stars shone with an unwonted brightness, but belowall was a bank of blue-black darkness. The air was intensely still; inthe silence he could hear the wash of the river. Grant reflected thatnever before had he heard the wash of the river at that distance. 

"Looks like a storm, " he commented, casually, and suddenly feltsomething tighten about his heart. The storms of the foothill country, which occasionally sweep out of the mountains and down the valleys onthe shortest notice, had no terror for him; he had sat on horsebackunder an oilskin slicker through the worst of them; but to-night!Even as he watched, the distant glare of lightning threw the heavingproportions of the thundercloud into sharp relief. 

He turned to his chair, but found himself pacing the living-room withan altogether inexplicable nervousness. He had held the line many a badnight at the Front while Death spat out of the darkness on every hand;he had smoked in the faces of his men to cover his own fear and to shamethem out of theirs; he had run the whole gamut of the emotion of thetrenches, but tonight something more awesome than any engine of man wasgathering its forces in the deep valleys. He shook himself to throw offthe morbidness that was settling upon him; he laughed, and the echo cameback haunting from the silent corners of the house. Then he lit a lampand set it, burning low, in the whim-room, and noted that the boy slepton, all unconcerned. 

"Damn Linder, anyway!" he exclaimed presently. "I believe he shook meup more than I realized. He charged me with insincerity; me, who havealways made sincerity my special virtue. . . . Well, there may be somethingin it. "

A faint, indistinct growling, as of the grinding of mighty rocks, camedown from the distances. 

"The storm will be nothing, " he assured himself. "A gust of wind; aspatter of rain; perhaps a dash of hail; then, of a sudden, a skyso calm and peaceful one would wonder how it ever could have beendisturbed. " Even as he spoke the house shivered in every timber as thegale struck it and went whining by. 

He rushed to the whim-room, but found the boy still sleeping soundly. "Imust stay up, " he reasoned with himself; "I must be on hand in case heshould be frightened. "

Suddenly it occurred to Grant that, quite apart from his love forWilson, if anything should happen the child in his house a verydifficult situation would be created. Transley would demandexplanations--explanations which would be hard to make. Why was Wilsonthere at all? Why was he not at home with Sarah? Sarah away from home!Why had Zen kept that a secret?. . . How long had this thing been goingon, anyway? Grant feared neither Transley nor any other man, and yetthere was something akin to fear in his heart as he thought of thesepossibilities. He would be held accountable--doubly accountable--ifanything happened the child. Even though it were something quite beyondhis control; lightning, for example--

The gale subsided as quickly as it had come, and the sudden silencewhich followed was even more awesome. It lasted only for a moment; aflash of lightning lit up every corner of the house, bursting like whitefire from every wall and ceiling. Grant rushed to the whim-room and wasstanding over the child when the crash of thunder came upon them. Theboy stirred gently, smiled, and settled back to his sleep. 

Grant drew the blinds in the whim-room, and went out to draw them inthe living-room, but the sight across the valley was of a majesty soterrific that it held him fascinated. The play of the lightning wasincessant, and with every flash the little lakes shot back their whitereflection, and distant farm window-panes seemed heliographing to eachother through the night. As yet there was no rain, but a dense wall ofcloud pressed down from the west, and the farther hills were hidden evenin the brightest flashes. 

Turning from the windows, Grant left the blinds open. "Only cowardicewould close them, " he muttered to himself, "and surely, in addition tothe other qualities Linder has attributed to me, I am not a coward. Ifit were not for Willie I could stand and enjoy it. "

Presently rain began to fall; a few scattered drops at first, thenthicker, harder, until the roof and windows rattled and shook withtheir force. The wind, which had gone down so suddenly, sprang up again, buffeting the house as it rushed by with the storm. Grant stood in thewhim-room, in the dim light of the lamp turned low, and watched thesteady breathing of his little guest with as much anxiety as if somedread disease threatened him. For the first time in his life there cameinto Grant's consciousness some sense of the price which parents pay inthe rearing of little children. He thought of all the hours of sickness, of all the childish hurts and dangers, and suddenly he found himselfthinking of his father with a tenderness which was strange and new tohim. Doubtless under even that stern veneer of business interest hadbeat a heart which, many a time, had tightened in the grip of fear foryoung Dennison. 

As the night wore on the storm, instead of spending itself quicklyas Grant had expected, continued unabated, but his nervous tensiongradually relaxed, and when at length Wilson was awakened by anexceptionally loud clap of thunder he took the boy in his arms andsoothed his little fears as a mother might have done. They sat fora long while in a big chair in the living-room, and exchanged suchconfidences as a man may with a child of five. After the lad had droppedback into sleep Grant still sat with him in his arms, thinking. . . . 

And what he thought was this: He was a long while framing the exactthought; he tried to beat it back in a dozen ways, but it circled aroundhim, gradually closed in upon him and forced its acceptance. "Lindercalled me a fool, and he was right. He might have called me a coward, and again he would have been right. Linder was right. "

Some way it seemed easy to reach that conclusion while this littlesleeping form lay in his arms. Perhaps it had quickened into life thatennobling spirit of parenthood which is all sacrifice and love andself-renunciation. The ends which seemed so all-desirable a few hoursago now seemed sordid and mean and unimportant. Reaching out for somemeans of self-justification Grant turned to the Big Idea; that was his;that was big and generous and noble. But after all, was it his? The ideahad come in upon him from some outside source--as perhaps all ideasdo; struck him like a bullet; swept him along. He was merely the agencyemployed in putting it into effect. It had cost him nothing. He wasdoing that for society. Now was the time to do something that wouldcost; to lay his hand upon the prize and then relinquish it--for thesake of Wilson Transley!

"And by God I'll do it!" he exclaimed, springing to his feet. He carriedthe child back to his bed, and then turned again to watch the stormthrough the windows. It seemed to be subsiding; the lightning, althoughstill almost continuous, was not so near. The air was cooling off andthe rain was falling more steadily, without the gusts and splatterswhich marked the storm in its early stages. And as he looked out overthe black valley, lighted again and again by the glare of heaven'sartillery, Grant became conscious of a deep, mysterious sense of peace. It was as though his soul, like the elements about him, caught in aparoxysm of elemental passion, had been swept clean and pure in the fireof its own upheaval. 

"What little incidents turn our lives!" he thought. "That boy; in somestrange way he has been the means of bringing me to see things as theyare--which not even Linder could do. The mind has to be fertilized forthe thought, or it can't think it. He brought the necessary influence tobear. It was like the night at Murdoch's house, the night when the BigIdea was born. Surely I owe that to Murdoch, and his wife, and PhyllisBruce. "

The name of Phyllis Bruce came to him with almost a shock. He had beenso occupied with his farm and with Zen that he had thought but little ofher of late. As he turned the matter over in his mind now he felt thathe had used Phyllis rather shabbily. He recalled having told Murdoch tosend for her, but that was purely a business transaction. Yet he feltthat he had never entirely forgotten her, and he was surprised to findhow tenderly the memory of her welled up within him. Zen's vision hadbeen clearer than his; she had recognized in Phyllis Bruce a party tohis life's drama. "The second choice may be really the first, " she hadsaid. 

Grant lit a cigar and sat down to smoke and think. The matter of Phyllisneeded prompt settlement. It afforded a means to burn his bridgesbehind him, and Grant felt that it would be just as well to cut off allpossibility of retreat. Fortunately the situation was one that could beexplained--to Phyllis. He had come out West again to be sure of himself;he was sure now; would she be his wife? He had never thought that lineout to a conclusion before, but now it proved a subject very delightfulto contemplate. 

He had told himself, back in those days in the East, that it would notbe fair to marry Phyllis Bruce while his heart was another's. He hadbelieved that then; now he knew the real reason was that he had allowedhimself to hope, against all reason, that Zen Transley might yet be his. He had harbored an unworthy desire, and called it a virtue. Well--thedie was cast. He had definitely given Zen up. He would tell Phylliseverything. . . . That is, everything she needed to know. 

It would be best to settle it at once--the sooner the better. He wentto his desk and took out a telegraph blank. He addressed it to Phyllis, pondered a minute in a great hush in the storm, and wrote, "I am sure now. May I come? Dennison. "

This done he turned to the telephone, hurrying as one who fears for theduration of his good resolutions. It was a chance if the line was notout of business, but he lifted the receiver and listened to the thump ofhis heart as he waited. 

Presently came a voice as calm and still as though it spoke from anotherworld, "Number?"

He gave the number of Linder's rooms in town; it was likely Linder hadremained in town, but it was a question whether the telephone bell wouldwaken him. He had recollections of Linder as a sound sleeper. But evenas this possibility entered his mind he heard Linder's phlegmatic voicein his ear. 

"Oh, Linder! I'm so glad I got you. Rush this message to PhyllisBruce. . . . Linder?. . . Linder!"

There was no answer. Nothing but a hollow, empty sound on the wire, asthough it led merely into the universe in general. He tried to call theoperator, but without success. The wire was down. 

He turned from it with a sense of acute impatience. Was this an omen ofobstacles to bar him now from Phyllis Bruce? He had a wild thought ofsaddling a horse and riding to town, but at that moment the storm camedown afresh. Besides, there was the boy. 

Suddenly came a quick knock at the door; the handle turned, and adrenched, hatless figure, with disheveled, wet hair, and white, drawnface burst in upon him. It was Zen Transley. 

CHAPTER XXII

"Zen!"

"How is he--how is Wilson?" she demanded, breathlessly. 

"Sound as a bell, " he answered, alarmed by her manner. The self-assuredZen was far from self-assurance now. "Come, see, he is asleep. "

He led her into the whim-room and turned up the lamp. The lad wassleeping soundly, his teddy-bear clasped in his arms, his little pinkand white face serene under the magic skies of slumberland. Grantexpected that Zen would throw herself upon the child in her agitation, but she did not. She drew her fingers gently across his brow, then, turning to Grant, "Rather an unceremonious way to break into your house, " she said, with alittle laugh. "I hope you will pardon me. . . . I was uneasy about Wilson. "

"But tell me--how--where did you come from?"

"From town. Let me stand in your kitchen, or somewhere. "

"You're wet through. I can't offer you much change. "

"Not as wet as when you first met me, Dennison, " she said, with a smile. "I have a good waterproof, but my hat blew off. It's somewhere on theroad. I couldn't see through the windshield, so I put my head out, andaway it went. "

"The hat?"

Then both laughed, and an atmosphere that had been tense began to settleback to normal. Grant led her out to the living-room, removed her coat, and started a fire. 

"So you drove out over those roads?" he said, when the smoke began tocurl up around the logs. "You had your courage. "

"It wasn't courage, Dennison; it was terror. Fear sometimes makes onewonderfully brave. After I saw Frank off I went to the hotel. I had aroom on the west side, and instead of going to bed I sat by the windowlooking out at the storm and at the wet streets. I could see theflashes of lightning striking down as though they were aimed at definiteobjects, and I began to think of Wilson, and of you. You see, it was thefirst night I had ever spent away from him, and I began to think. . . . 

"After a while I could bear it no longer, and I rushed down and out tothe garage. There was just one young man on night duty, and I'm surehe thought me crazy. When he couldn't dissuade me he wanted to send adriver with me. You know I couldn't have that. "

She was looking squarely at him, her face strangely calm andemotionless. Grant nodded that he followed her reasoning. 

"So here I am, " she continued. "No doubt you think me silly, too. Youare not a mother. "

"I think I understand, " he answered, tenderly. "I think I do. "

They sat in silence for some time, and presently they became aware ofa grey light displacing the yellow glow from the lamp and the ruddyreflections of the fire. "It is morning, " said Grant. "I believe thestorm has cleared. "

He stood beside her chair and took her hand in his. "Let us watch thedawn break on the mountains, " he said, and together they moved to thewindows that overlooked the valley and the grim ranges beyond. Alreadyshafts of crimson light were firing the scattered drift of clouds faroverhead. . . . 

"Dennison, " she said at length, turning her face to his, "I hope youwill understand, but--I have thought it all over. I have not hidden myheart from you. For the boy's sake, and for your sake, and for the sakeof 'a scrap of paper'--that was what the war was over, wasn't it?--"

"I know, " he whispered. "I know. "

"Then you have been thinking, too?. . . I am so glad!" In the growinglight he could see the moisture in her bright eyes glisten, and itseemed to him this wild, daring daughter of the hills had never beenlovelier than in this moment of confession and of high resolve. 

"I am so glad, " she repeated, "for your sake--and for my own. Now, again, you are really the Man-on-the-Hill. We have been in the valley oflate. You can go ahead now with your high plans, with your Big Idea. Youwill marry Miss Bruce, and forget. "

"I shall remember with chastened memory, but I shall never forget, " hesaid at length. "I shall never forget Zen of the Y. D. And you--what willyou do?"

"I have the boy. I did not realize how much I had until to-night. Suddenly it came upon me that he was everything. You won't understand, Dennison, but as we grow older our hearts wrap up around our childrenwith a love quite different from that which expresses itself inmarriage. This love gives--gives--gives, lavishly, unselfishly, askingnothing in return. "

"I think I understand, " he said again. "I think I do. "

They turned their eyes to the mountains, and as they looked the firstshafts of sunlight fell on the white peaks and set them dazzling likemighty diamond-points against the blue bosom of the West. Slowly theflood of light poured down their mighty sides and melted the mauveshadows of the valley. Suddenly a ray of the morning splendor shotthrough the little window in the eastern wall of the living-room andfell fairly upon the woman's head, crowning her like a halo of theMadonna. 

"It is morning on the mountains--and on you!" Grant exclaimed. "Zen, youare very, very beautiful. " He raised her hand and pressed her fingers tohis lips. 

As they stood watching the sunlight pour into the valley a sharp knocksounded on the door. "Come, " said Dennison, and the next moment itswung open and Phyllis Bruce entered, followed immediately by Linder. Aquestion leapt into her eyes at the remarkable situation which greetedthem, and she paused in embarrassment. 

"Phyllis!" Grant exclaimed. "You here!"

"It would seem that I was not expected. "

"It is all very simple, " Grant explained, with a laugh. "Little WillieTransley was my guest overnight. On account of the storm his motherbecame alarmed, and drove out from the city early this morning for him. Mrs. Transley, let me introduce Miss Bruce--Phyllis Bruce, of whom Ihave told you. "

Zen's cordial handshake did more to reassure Phyllis than any amount ofexplanations, and Linder's timely observation that he knew Wilson wasthere and was wondering about him himself had valuable corroborativeeffect. 

"But now--YOUR explanations?" said Grant. "How comes it, Linder?"

"Simple enough, from our side. When I got back to town last night Ifound Murdoch highly excited over a telegram from Miss Bruce that shewould arrive on the 3 a. M. Train. He was determined to wait up, butwhen the storm came on I persuaded him to go home, as I was sure I couldidentify her. So I was lounging in my room waiting for three o'clockwhen I got your telephone call. All I could catch was the fact that youwere mighty glad to get me, and had some urgent message for Miss Bruce. Then the connection broke. "

"I see. And you, of course, assured Miss Bruce that I was beingmurdered, or meeting some such happy and effective ending, out here inthe wilderness. "

"Not exactly that, but I reported what I could, and Miss Bruce insistedupon coming out at once. The roads were dreadful, but we had daylight. Also, we have a trophy. "

Linder went out and returned in a moment with a sadly bedraggled hat. 

"My poor hat!" Zen exclaimed. "I lost it on the way. "

"It is the best kind of evidence that you had but recently come over theroad, " said Linder, significantly. 

"I think no more evidence need be called, " said Phyllis. "May I lay offmy things?"

"Certainly--certainly, " Grant apologized. "But I must introduce one moreexhibit. " He handed her the telegram he had written during the night. "That is the message I wanted Linder to rush to you, " he said, and asshe read it he saw the color deepen in her cheeks. 

"I'm going to get breakfast, Mr. Grant, " Zen announced with a suddenburst of energy. "Everybody keep out of the kitchen. "

"Guess I'll feed up for you, this morning, old chap, " said Linder, beating a retreat to the stables. 

And when Phyllis had laid aside her coat and hat and had straightenedher hair a little in the glass above the mantelpiece she walked straightto Grant and put both her hands in his. "Let me see this boy, WillieTransley, " she said. 

Grant led her into the whim-room, where the boy still slept soundly, and drew aside the blinds that the morning light might fall about him. Phyllis bent over the child. "Isn't he dear?" she said, and stooped andkissed his lips. 

Then she stood up and looked for what seemed to Grant a very long timeat the panorama of grandeur that stretched away to the westward. 

"When may I expect an answer, Phyllis?" he said at length. "You knowwhy my question has been so long delayed. I shall not attempt to excusemyself. I have been very, very foolish. But to-day I am very, very wise. May I also be very, very happy?"

He had taken her hands in his, and as she did not resist he drew hergently to him. 

"Little Willie christened me The Man-on-the-Hill, " he whispered. "I havetried to live on the hill, but I need you to keep me from falling off. "

"What about your settlement plan? I thought you wanted me for that. "

"We will give our lives to that, together, Phyllis, to that, and tomaking this house a home. If God should give us--"

He did not finish the thought, for the form of Phyllis Bruce trembledagainst his, and her lips had murmured "Yes. ". . . 

"Mr. Grant! Mr. Grant! The telephone is ringing, " called the clear voiceof Zen Transley. "Shall I take the message?"

"Please do, " said Dennison, inwardly abjuring the efficiency of thelineman who had already made repairs. 

"It's Mr. Murdoch, and he's highly excited, and he says have you PhyllisBruce here. "

"Tell him I have, and I'm going to keep her. "