The Forester's Daughter: A Romance of the Bear-Tooth Range

  II

  A RIDE IN THE RAIN

  There are two Colorados within the boundaries of the state of that name,distinct, almost irreconcilable. One is a plain (smooth, dry,monotonous), gently declining to the east, a land of sage-brush,wheat-fields, and alfalfa meadows--a rather commonplace region now, givenover to humdrum folk intent on digging a living from the soil; but theother is an army of peaks, a region of storms, a spread of dark andtangled forests. In the one, shallow rivers trickle on their sandy way tothe Gulf of Mexico; from the other, the waters rush, uniting to make themighty stream whose silt-laden floods are slowly filling the Gulf ofCalifornia.

  If you stand on one of the great naked crests which form the dividingwall, the rampart of the plains, you can see the Colorado of tradition tothe west, still rolling in wave after wave of stupendous altitudes, eachrange cutting into the sky with a purple saw-tooth edge. The landscapeseems to contain nothing but rocks and towering crags, a treasure-housefor those who mine. But this is illusive. Between these purple heightscharming valleys wind and meadows lie in which rich grasses grow andcattle feed.

  On certain slopes--where the devastating miners have not yet played theirrelentless game--dark forests rise to the high, bold summits of thechiefest mountains, and it is to guard these timbered tracts, growingeach year more valuable, that the government has established its ForestService to protect and develop the wealth-producing power of thewatersheds.

  Chief among the wooded areas of this mighty inland empire of crag andstream is the Bear Tooth Forest, containing nearly eight hundred thousandacres of rock and trees, whose seat of administration is Bear ToothSprings, the small town in which our young traveler found himself.

  He carefully explained to the landlord of the Cottage Hotel that he hadnever been in this valley before, and that he was filled withastonishment and delight of the scenery.

  "Scenery! Yes, too much scenery. What we want is settlers," retorted thelandlord, who was shabby and sour and rather contemptuous, for the reasonthat he considered Norcross a poor consumptive, and a fool to boot--"oneof those chaps who wait till they are nearly dead, then come out hereexpecting to live on climate."

  The hotel was hardly larger than the log shanty of a railway-gradingcamp; but the meat was edible, and just outside the door roared BearCreek, which came down directly from Dome Mountain, and the youngEasterner went to sleep beneath its singing that night. He should havedreamed of the happy mountain girl, but he did not; on the contrary, heimagined himself back at college in the midst of innumerable freshmen,yelling, "Bill McCoy, Bill McCoy!"

  He woke a little bewildered by his strange surroundings, and when hebecame aware of the cheap bed, the flimsy wash-stand, the ugly wallpaper,and thought how far he was from home and friends, he not only sighed, heshivered. The room was chill, the pitcher of water cold almost to thefreezing-point, and his joints were stiff and painful from his ride. Whatfolly to come so far into the wilderness at this time.

  As he crawled from his bed and looked from the window he was stillfurther disheartened. In the foreground stood a half dozen framebuildings, graceless and cheap, without tree or shrub to give shadow orcharm of line--all was bare, bleak, sere; but under his window the streamwas singing its glorious mountain song, and away to the west rose theaspiring peaks from which it came. Romance brooded in that shadow, and onthe lower foot-hills the frost-touched foliage glowed like a mosaic ofjewels.

  Dressing hurriedly he went down to the small bar-room, whose litter ofduffle-bags, guns, saddles, and camp utensils gave evidence of thepresence of many hunters and fishermen. The slovenly landlord was poringover a newspaper, while a discouraged half-grown youth was sludging thefloor with a mop; but a cheerful clamor from an open door at the back ofthe hall told that breakfast was on.

  Venturing over the threshold, Norcross found himself seated at table withsome five or six men in corduroy jackets and laced boots, who were, infact, merchants and professional men from Denver and Pueblo out for fishand such game as the law allowed, and all in holiday mood. They joked thewaiter-girls, and joshed one another in noisy good-fellowship, ignoringthe slim youth in English riding-suit, who came in with an air of mingledmelancholy and timidity and took a seat at the lower corner of the longtable.

  The landlady, tall, thin, worried, and inquisitive, was NewEngland--Norcross recognized her type even before she came to him with aquestion on her lips. "So you're from the East, are you?"

  "I've been at school there."

  "Well, I'm glad to see you. My folks came from York State. I don't oftenget any one from the _real_ East. Come out to fish, I s'pose?"

  "Yes," he replied, thinking this the easiest way out.

  "Well, they's plenty of fishing--and they's plenty of air, not much ofanything else."

  As he looked about the room, the tourist's eye was attracted by fouryoung fellows seated at a small table to his right. They wore roughshirts of an olive-green shade, and their faces were wind-scorched; buttheir voices held a pleasant tone, and something in the manner of thelandlady toward them made them noticeable. Norcross asked her who theywere.

  "They're forestry boys."

  "Forestry boys?"

  "Yes; the Supervisor's office is here, and these are his help."

  This information added to Norcross's interest and cheered him a little.He knew something of the Forest Service, and had been told that many ofthe rangers were college men. He resolved to make their acquaintance. "IfI'm to stay here they will help me endure the exile," he said.

  After breakfast he went forth to find the post-office, expecting a letterof instructions from Meeker. He found nothing of the sort, and this quitedisconcerted him.

  "The stage is gone," the postmistress told him, "and you can't get uptill day after to-morrow. You might reach Meeker by using the government'phone, however."

  "Where will I find the government 'phone?"

  "Down in the Supervisor's office. They're very accommodating; they'll letyou use it, if you tell them who you want to reach."

  It was impossible to miss the forestry building for the reason that ahandsome flag fluttered above it. The door being open, Norcross perceivedfrom the threshold a young clerk at work on a typewriter, while in acorner close by the window another and older man was working intently ona map.

  "Is this the office of the Forest Supervisor?" asked the youth.

  The man at the machine looked up, and pleasantly answered: "It is, butthe Supervisor is not in yet. Is there anything I can do for you?"

  "It may be you can. I am on my way to Meeker's Mill for a little outing.Perhaps you could tell me where Meeker's Mill is, and how I can best getthere."

  The man at the map meditated. "It's not far, some eighteen or twentymiles; but it's over a pretty rough trail."

  "What kind of a place is it?"

  "Very charming. You'll like it. Real mountain country."

  This officer was a plain-featured man of about thirty-five, with keen andclear eyes. His voice, though strongly nasal, possessed a note of manlysincerity. As he studied his visitor, he smiled.

  "You look brand-new--haven't had time to season-check, have you?"

  "No; I'm a stranger in a strange land."

  "Out for your health?"

  "Yes. My name is Norcross. I'm just getting over a severe illness, andI'm up here to lay around and fish and recuperate--if I can."

  "You can--you will. You can't help it," the other assured him. "Join oneof our surveying crews for a week and I'll mellow that suit of yours andmake a real mountaineer of you. I see you wear a _Sigma Chi_ pin. Whatwas your school?"

  "I am a 'Son of Eli.' Last year's class."

  The other man displayed his fob. "I'm ten classes ahead of you. My nameis Nash. I'm what they call an 'expert.' I'm up here doing someestimating and surveying for a big ditch they're putting in. I was ratherin hopes you had come to join our ranks. We sons of Eli are holding theconservation fort these days, and we need help."

  "My knowledge of your work is rather
vague," admitted Norcross. "Myfather is in the lumber business; but his point of view isn't exactlyyours."

  "He slays 'em, does he?"

  "He did. He helped devastate Michigan."

  "After me the deluge! I know the kind. Why not make yourself a sort ofvicarious atonement?"

  Norcross smiled. "I had not thought of that. It would help some, wouldn'tit?"

  "It certainly would. There's no great money in the work; but it's aboutthe most enlightened of all the governmental bureaus."

  Norcross was strongly drawn to this forester, whose tone was that of ahighly trained specialist. "I rode up on the stage yesterday with MissBerrie McFarlane."

  "The Supervisor's daughter?"

  "She seemed a fine Western type."

  "She's not a type; she's an individual. She hasn't her like anywhere I'vegone. She cuts a wide swath up here. Being an only child she's both sonand daughter to McFarlane. She knows more about forestry than her father.In fact, half the time he depends on her judgment."

  Norcross was interested, but did not want to take up valuable time. Hesaid: "Will you let me use your telephone to Meeker's?"

  "Very sorry, but our line is out of order. You'll have to wait a day orso--or use the mails. You're too late for to-day's stage, but it's only ashort ride across. Come outside and I'll show you."

  Norcross followed him to the walk, and stood in silence while his guideindicated the pass over the range. It all looked very formidable to theEastern youth. Thunderous clouds hung low upon the peaks, and the greatcrags to left and right of the notch were stern and barren. "I think I'llwait for the stage," he said, with candid weakness. "I couldn't make thattrip alone."

  "You'll have to take many such a ride over that range in the _night_--ifyou join the service," Nash warningly replied.

  As they were standing there a girl came galloping up to the hitching-postand slid from her horse. It was Berea McFarlane. "Good morning, Emery,"she called to the surveyor. "Good morning," she nodded at Norcross. "Howdo you find yourself this morning?"

  "Homesick," he replied, smilingly.

  "Why so?"

  "I'm disappointed in the town."

  "What's the matter with the town?"

  "It's so commonplace. I expected it to be--well, different. It's justlike any other plains town."

  Berrie looked round at the forlorn shops, the irregular sidewalks, thegrassless yards. "It isn't very pretty, that's a fact; but you can alwaysforget it by just looking up at the high country. When you going up tothe mill?"

  "I don't know. I haven't had any word from Meeker, and I can't reach himby telephone."

  "I know, the line is short-circuited somewhere; but they've sent a manout. He may close it any minute."

  "Where's the Supervisor?" asked Nash.

  "He's gone over to Moore's cutting. How are you getting on with thoseplats?"

  "Very well. I'll have 'em all in shape by Saturday."

  "Come in and make yourself at home," said the girl to Norcross. "You'llfind the papers two or three days old," she smiled. "We never know aboutanything here till other people have forgotten it."

  Norcross followed her into the office, curious to know more about her.She was so changed from his previous conception of her that he waspuzzled. She had the directness and the brevity of phrase of a businessman, as she opened letters and discussed their contents with the men.

  "Truly she _is_ different," thought Norcross, and yet she lost somethingby reason of the display of her proficiency as a clerk. "I wish she wouldleave business to some one else," he inwardly grumbled as he rose to go.

  She looked up from her desk. "Come in again later. We may be able toreach the mill."

  He thanked her and went back to his hotel, where he overhauled his outfitand wrote some letters. His disgust of the town was lessened by thepresence of that handsome girl, and the hope that he might see her atluncheon made him impatient of the clock.

  She did not appear in the dining-room, and when Norcross inquired of Nashwhether she took her meals at the hotel or not, the expert replied: "No,she goes home. The ranch is only a few miles down the valley.Occasionally we invite her, but she don't think much of the cooking."

  One of the young surveyors put in a word: "I shouldn't think she would.I'd ride ten miles any time to eat one of Mrs. McFarlane's dinners."

  "Yes," agreed Nash with a reflective look in his eyes. "She's a mightyfine girl, and I join the boys in wishing her better luck than marryingCliff Belden."

  "Is it settled that way?" asked Norcross.

  "Yes; the Supervisor warned us all, but even he never has any good wordsfor Belden. He's a surly cuss, and violently opposed to the service. Hisbrother is one of the proprietors of the Meeker mill, and they have alltried to bulldoze Landon, our ranger over there. By the way, you'll likeLandon. He's a Harvard man, and a good ranger. His shack is only ahalf-mile from Meeker's house. It's a pretty well-known fact that AlecBelden is part proprietor of a saloon over there that worries theSupervisor worse than anything. Cliff swears he's not connected with it;but he's more or less sympathetic with the crowd."

  Norcross, already deeply interested in the present and future of a girlwhom he had met for the first time only the day before, was quite readyto give up his trip to Meeker. After the men went back to work hewandered about the town for an hour or two, and then dropped in at theoffice to inquire if the telephone line had been repaired.

  "No, it's still dead."

  "Did Miss McFarlane return?"

  "No. She said she had work to do at home. This is ironing-day, Ibelieve."

  "She plays all the parts, don't she?"

  "She sure does; and she plays one part as well as another. She can ropeand tie a steer or bake a cake as well as play the piano."

  "Don't tell me she plays the piano!"

  Nash laughed. "She does; but it's one of those you operate with yourfeet."

  "I'm relieved to hear that. She seems almost weirdly gifted as it is."After a moment he broke in with: "What can a man do in this town?"

  "Work, nothing else."

  "What do you do for amusement?"

  "Once in a while there is a dance in the hall over the drug-store, and onSunday you can listen to a wretched sermon in the log church. The rest ofthe time you work or loaf in the saloons--or read. Old Nature has doneher part here. But man--! Ever been in the Tyrol?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, some day the people of the plains will have sense enough to usethese mountains, these streams, the way they do over there."

  It required only a few hours for Norcross to size up the valley and itspeople. Aside from Nash and his associates, and one or two familiesconnected with the mill to the north, the villagers were poor,thriftless, and uninteresting. They were lacking in the picturesquequality of ranchers and miners, and had not yet the grace oftown-dwellers. They were, indeed, depressingly nondescript.

  Early on the second morning he went to the post-office--which was alsothe telephone station--to get a letter or message from Meeker. He foundneither; but as he was standing in the door undecided about taking thestage, Berea came into town riding a fine bay pony, and leading ablaze-face buckskin behind her.

  Her face shone cordially, as she called out: "Well, how do you stack upthis morning?"

  "Tip-top," he answered, in an attempt to match her cheery greeting.

  "Do you like our town better?"

  "Not a bit! But the hills are magnificent."

  "Anybody turned up from the mill?"

  "No, I haven't heard a word from there. The telephone is still out ofcommission."

  "They can't locate the break. Uncle Joe sent word by the stage-driverasking us to keep an eye out for you and send you over. I've come to takeyou over myself."

  "That's mighty good of you; but it's a good deal to ask."

  "I want to see Uncle Joe on business, anyhow, and you'll like the ridebetter than the journey by stage."

  Leaving the horses standing with their bridle-reins hanging on thegrou
nd, she led the way to the office.

  "When father comes in, tell him where I've gone, and send Mr. Norcross'spacks by the first wagon. Is your outfit ready?" she asked.

  "Not quite. I can get it ready soon."

  He hurried away in pleasant excitement, and in twenty minutes was at thedoor ready to ride.

  "You'd better take my bay," said Berea. "Old Paint-face there is a littlenotional."

  Norcross approached his mount with a caution which indicated that he hadat least been instructed in range-horse psychology, and as he gatheredhis reins together to mount, Berrie remarked:

  "I hope you're saddle-wise."

  "I had a few lessons in a riding-school," he replied, modestly.

  Young Downing approached the girl with a low-voiced protest: "Yououghtn't to ride old Paint. He nearly pitched the Supervisor the otherday."

  "I'm not worried," she said, and swung to her saddle.

  The ugly beast made off in a tearing sidewise rush, but she smilinglycalled back: "All set." And Norcross followed her in high admiration.

  Eventually she brought her bronco to subjection, and they trotted offtogether along the wagon-road quite comfortably. By this time the youthhad forgotten his depression, his homesickness of the morning. The valleywas again enchanted ground. Its vistas led to lofty heights. The air wasregenerative, and though a part of this elation was due, no doubt, to thepower of his singularly attractive guide, he laid it discreetly to theclimate.

  After shacking along between some rather sorry fields of grain for a mileor two, Berea swung into a side-trail. "I want you to meet my mother,"she said.

  The grassy road led to a long, one-story, half-log, half-slab house,which stood on the bank of a small, swift, willow-bordered stream.

  "This is our ranch," she explained. "All the meadow in sight belongs tous."

  The young Easterner looked about in astonishment. Not a tree bigger thanhis thumb gave shade. The gate of the cattle corral stood but a few feetfrom the kitchen door, and rusty beef-bones, bleaching skulls, and scrapsof sun-dried hides littered the ground or hung upon the fence. Exteriorlythe low cabin made a drab, depressing picture; but as he alighted--uponBerea's invitation--and entered the house, he was met by a sweet-faced,brown-haired little woman in a neat gown, whose bearing was not in theleast awkward or embarrassed.

  "This is Mr. Norcross, the tourist I told you about," explained Berrie.

  Mrs. McFarlane extended her small hand with friendly impulse. "I'm veryglad to meet you, sir. Are you going to spend some time at the Mill?"

  "I don't know. I have a letter to Mr. Meeker from a friend of mine whohunted with him last year--a Mr. Sutler."

  "Mr. Sutler! Oh, we know him very well. Won't you sit down?"

  The interior of the house was not only well kept, but presented manyevidences of refinement. A mechanical piano stood against the log wall,and books and magazines, dog-eared with use, littered the table; andNorcross, feeling the force of Nash's half-expressed criticism of his"superior," listened intently to Mrs. McFarlane's apologies for thecondition of the farmyard.

  "Well," said Berea, sharply, "if we're to reach Uncle Joe's for dinnerwe'd better be scratching the hills." And to her mother she added: "I'llpull in about dark."

  The mother offered no objection to her daughter's plan, and the youngpeople rode off together directly toward the high peaks to the east.

  "I'm going by way of the cut-off," Berrie explained; and Norcross,content and unafraid, nodded in acquiescence. "Here is the line," shecalled a few minutes later, pointing at a sign nailed to a tree at thefoot of the first wooded hill.

  The notice, printed in black ink on a white square of cloth, proclaimedthis to be the boundary of the Bear Tooth National Forest, and pleadedwith all men to be watchful of fires. Its tone was not at all that of astrong government; it was deprecatory.

  The trail, hardly more than a wood road, grew wilder and lonelier as theyclimbed. Cattle fed on the hillsides in scattered bands like elk. Hereand there a small cabin stood on the bank of a stream; but, for the mostpart, the trail mounted the high slopes in perfect solitude.

  The girl talked easily and leisurely, reading the brands of the ranchers,revealing the number of cattle they owned, quite as a young farmer wouldhave done. She seemed not to be embarrassed in the slightest degree bythe fact that she was guiding a strange man over a lonely road, and gaveno outward sign of special interest in him till she suddenly turned toask: "What kind of a slicker--I mean a raincoat--did you bring?"

  He looked blank. "I don't believe I brought any. I've a leathershooting-jacket, however."

  She shrugged her shoulders and looked up at the sky. "We're in for astorm. You'd ought 'o have a slicker, no fancy 'raincoat,' but a realold-fashioned cow-puncher's oilskin. They make a business of sheddingrain. Leather's no good, neither is canvas; I've tried 'em all."

  She rode on for a few minutes in silence, as if disgusted with his folly,but she was really worrying about him. "Poor chap," she said to herself."He can't stand a chill. I ought to have thought of his slicker myself.He's helpless as a baby."

  They were climbing fast now, winding upward along the bank of a stream,and the sky had grown suddenly gray, and the woodland path was dark andchill. The mountains were not less beautiful; but they were decidedlyless amiable, and the youth shivered, casting an apprehensive eye at thethickening clouds.

  Berea perceived something of his dismay, and, drawing rein, dismounted.Behind her saddle was a tightly rolled bundle which, being untied andshaken out, proved to be a horseman's rainproof oilskin coat. "Put thison!" she commanded.

  "Oh no," he protested, "I can't take your coat."

  "Yes you can! You must! Don't you worry about me, I'm used to weather.Put this on over your jacket and all. You'll need it. Rain won't hurt_me_; but it will just about finish you."

  The worst of this lay in its truth, and Norcross lost all his pride ofsex for the moment. A wetting would not dim this girl's splendid color,nor reduce her vitality one degree, while to him it might be adeath-warrant. "You could throw me over my own horse," he admitted, in akind of bitter admiration, and slipped the coat on, shivering with coldas he did so.

  "You think me a poor excuse of a trailer, don't you?" he said, ruefully,as the thunder began to roll.

  "You've got to be all made over new," she replied, tolerantly. "Stay herea year and you'll be able to stand anything."

  Remounting, she again led the way with cheery cry. The rain came dashingdown in fitful, misty streams; but she merely pulled the rim of hersombrero closer over her eyes, and rode steadily on, while he followed,plunged in gloom as cold and gray as the storm. The splitting crashes ofthunder echoed from the high peaks like the voices of siege-guns, and thelightning stabbed here and there as though blindly seeking some hiddenfoe. Long veils of falling water twisted and trailed through the valleyswith swishing roar.

  "These mountain showers don't last long," the girl called back, her faceshining like a rose. "We'll get the sun in a few minutes."

  And so it turned out. In less than an hour they rode into the warm lightagain, and in spite of himself Norcross returned her smile, though hesaid: "I feel like a selfish fool. You are soaked."

  "Hardly wet through," she reassured him. "My jacket and skirt turn waterpretty well. I'll be dry in a jiffy. It does a body good to be wet oncein a while."

  The shame of his action remained; but a closer friendship wasestablished, and as he took off the coat and handed it back to her, heagain apologized. "I feel like a pig. I don't see how I came to do it.The thunder and the chill scared me, that's the truth of it. Youhypnotized me into taking it. How wet you _are_!" he exclaimed,remorsefully. "You'll surely take cold."

  "I never take cold," she returned. "I'm used to all kinds of weather.Don't you bother about me."

  Topping a low divide the youth caught a glimpse of the range to thesoutheast, which took his breath. "Isn't that superb!" he exclaimed."It's like the shining roof of the world!"

  "Yes,
that's the Continental Divide," she confirmed, casually; but thelyrical note which he struck again reached her heart. The men she knewhad so few words for the beautiful in life. She wondered whether thisman's illness had given him this refinement or whether it was native tohis kind. "I'm glad he took my coat," was her thought.

  She pushed on down the slope, riding hard, but it was nearly two o'clockwhen they drew up at Meeker's house, which was a long, low, stonestructure built along the north side of the road. The place wasdistinguished not merely by its masonry, but also by its picket fence,which had once been whitewashed. Farm-wagons of various degrees of decaystood by the gate, and in the barn-yard plows and harrows--deeply buriedby the weeds--were rusting forlornly away. A little farther up the streamthe tall pipe of a sawmill rose above the firs.

  A pack of dogs of all sizes and signs came clamoring to the fence,followed by a big, slovenly dressed, red-bearded man of sixty orthereabouts.

  "Hello, Uncle Joe," called the girl, in offhand boyish fashion. "How areyou _to-day_?"

  "Howdy, girl," answered Meeker, gravely. "What brings you up here thistime?"

  She laughed. "Here's a boarder who wants to learn how to raise cattle."

  Meeker's face lightened. "I reckon you're Mr. Norcross? I'm glad to seeye. Light off and make yourself to home. Turn your horses into thecorral, the boys will feed 'em."

  "Am I in America?" Norcross asked himself, as he followed the slouchy oldrancher into the unkempt yard. "This certainly is a long way from NewHaven."

  Without ceremony Meeker led his guests directly into the dining-room, along and rather narrow room, wherein a woman and six or seven roughlydressed young men were sitting at a rudely appointed table.

  "Earth and seas!" exclaimed Mrs. Meeker. "Here's Berrie, and I'll betthat's Sutler's friend, our boarder."

  "That's what, mother," admitted her husband. "Berrie brought him up."

  "You'd ought 'o gone for him yourself, you big lump," she retorted.

  Mrs. Meeker, who was as big as her husband, greeted Norcross warmly, andmade a place for him beside her own chair.

  "Highst along there, boys, and give the company a chance," she commanded,sharply. "Our dinner's turrible late to-day."

  The boys--they were in reality full-grown cubs of eighteen or twenty--didas they were bid with much noise, chaffing Berrie with blunt humor. Thetable was covered with a red oil-cloth, and set with heavy blue-and-whitechina. The forks were two-tined, steel-pronged, and not very polished,and the food was of the simplest sort; but the girl seemed at homethere--as she did everywhere--and was soon deep in a discussion of theprice of beef, and whether it was advisable to ship now or wait a month.

  Meeker read Sutler's letter, which Norcross had handed him, and, afterdeliberation, remarked: "All right, we'll do the best we can for you, Mr.Norcross; but we haven't any fancy accommodations."

  "He don't expect any," replied Berrie. "What he needs is a littleroughing it."

  "There's plinty of that to be had," said one of the herders, who satbelow the salt. "'is the soft life I'm nadin'."

  "Pat's strong on soft jobs," said another; and Berea joined the laughwhich followed this pointless joke. She appeared to be one of them, andit troubled Norcross a little. She had so little the sex feeling anddemanded so few of the rights and privileges of a girl. The men alladmired her, that was evident, almost too evident, and one or two of theolder men felt the charm of her young womanhood too deeply even to meether eyes; but of this Norcross was happily ignorant. Already in these twodays he had acquired a distinct sense of proprietorship in her, a feelingwhich made him jealous of her good name.

  Meeker, it turned out, was an Englishman by way of Canada, and this washis second American wife. His first had been a sister to Mrs. McFarlane.He was a man of much reading--of the periodical sort--and the bigsitting-room was littered with magazines both English and American, andhis talk abounded in radical and rather foolish utterances. Norcrossconsidered it the most disorderly home he had ever seen, and yet it wasnot without a certain dignity. The rooms were large and amply providedwith furniture of a very mixed and gaudy sort, and the table was spreadwith abundance.

  One of the lads, Frank Meeker, a dark, intense youth of about twenty, wasBerea's full cousin. The others were merely hired hands, but they alleyed the new-comer with disfavor. The fact that Berrie had brought himand that she seemed interested in him added to the effect of the smartriding-suit which he wore. "I'd like to roll him in the creek," mutteredone of them to his neighbor.

  This dislike Berrie perceived--in some degree--and to Frank she privatelysaid: "Now you fellows have got to treat Mr. Norcross right. He's beenvery sick."

  Frank maliciously grinned. "Oh, we'll treat him _right_. We won't do athing to him!"

  "Now, Frank," she warned, "if you try any of your tricks on him you'llhear from me."

  "Why all this worry on your part?" he asked, keenly. "How long since youfound him?"

  "We rode up on the stage day before yesterday, and he seemed so kind o'blue and lonesome I couldn't help trying to chirk him up."

  "How will Cliff take all this chirking business?"

  "Cliff ain't my guardian--yet," she laughingly responded. "Mr. Norcrossis a college man, and not used to our ways--"

  "_Mister_ Norcross--what's his front name?"

  "Wayland."

  He snorted. "Wayland! If he gets past us without being called 'pasty'he's in luck. He's a 'lunger' if there ever was one."

  The girl was shrewd enough to see that the more she sought to soften thewind to her Eastern tenderfoot the more surely he was to be shorn, so shegave over her effort in that direction, and turned to the old folks. ToMrs. Meeker she privately said: "Mr. Norcross ain't used to rough ways,and he's not very rugged, you ought 'o kind o' favor him for a while."

  The girl herself did not understand the vital and almost painful interestwhich this young man had roused in her. He was both child and poet toher, and as she watched him trying to make friends with the men, herindignation rose against their clownish offishness. She understood fullythat his neat speech, his Eastern accent, together with his tailor-cutclothing and the delicacy of his table manners, would surely mark him forslaughter among the cow-hands, and the wish to shield him made her facegraver than anybody had ever seen it.

  "I don't feel right in leaving you here," she said, at last; "but I mustbe ridin'." And while Meeker ordered her horse brought out, she walked tothe gate with Norcross at her side.

  "I'm tremendously obliged to you," he said, and his voice was vibrant."You have been most kind. How can I repay you?"

  "Oh, that's all right," she replied, in true Western fashion. "I wantedto see the folks up here, anyhow. This is no jaunt at all for me." And,looking at her powerful figure, and feeling the trap-like grip of hercinch hand, he knew she spoke the truth.

  Frank had saddled his own horse, and was planning to ride over the hillwith her; but to this she objected. "I'm going to leave Pete here for Mr.Norcross to ride," she said, "and there's no need of your going."

  Frank's face soured, and with instant perception of the effect herrefusal might have on the fortunes of the stranger, she reconsidered.

  "Oh, come along! I reckon you want to get shut of some mean job."

  And so she rode away, leaving her ward to adjust himself to his new andstrange surroundings as best he could, and with her going the wholevalley darkened for the convalescent.