tly have been called "a cattle king," only
Prince Morrell was not the sort of man who likes to see his name in
print.

Indeed, there was a good reason why Helen's father had not wished to
advertise himself. That old misfortune, which had borne so heavily upon
his mind and heart when he came to die, had made him shrink from
publicity.

However, business at Sunset Ranch had prospered both before and since Mr.
Morrell's death. The money had rolled in and the bank accounts which had
been put under the administration of Big Hen Billings and the lawyer at
Elberon, increased steadily.

Big Hen was a generous-handed administrator and guardian. Of course, the
foreman of the ranch was, perhaps, not the best person to be guardian of a
sixteen-year-old girl. He did not treat her, in regard to money matters,
as the ordinary guardian would have treated a ward.

Big Hen didn't know how to limit a girl's expenditures; but he knew how to
treat a man right. And he treated Helen Morrell just as though she were a
sane and responsible man.

"There's a thousand dollars in cash for you, Snuggy," he had said. "I got
it in soft money, for it's a fac' that they use that stuff a good deal in
the East. Besides, the hard money would have made a good deal of a load
for you to tote in them leetle war-bags of yourn."

"But shall I ever need a thousand dollars?" asked Helen, doubtfully.

"Don't know. Can't tell. Sometimes ye need money when ye least expect it.
Ye needn't tell anybody how much you've got. Only, it's _there_--and a
full pocket is a mighty nice backin' for anybody to have.

"And if ye find any time ye want more, jest telegraph. We'll send ye what
they call a draft for all ye want. Cut a dash. Show 'em that the girl from
Sunset Ranch is the real thing, Snuggy."

But she had only laughed at this. It never entered Helen Morrell's mind
that she should ever wish to "cut a dash" before her relatives in New
York.

She had filed a telegram to Mr. Willets Starkweather, on Madison Avenue,
before the train arrived, saying that she was coming. She hoped that her
relatives would reply and she would get the reply en route.

When her father died, she had written to the Starkweathers. She had
received a brief, but kindly worded note from Uncle Starkweather. And it
had scarcely been time yet, so Helen thought, for Aunt Eunice or the girls
to write.

But could Helen have arrived at the Madison Avenue mansion of Willets
Starkweather at the sa