ccess to him. You must
get on the right side of Jake, though. It requires finding--the right
side, I mean--but it is worth seeking."

Tresler smiled as he listened. He thoroughly agreed with the reference
to the difficulty of finding Jake's "right" side. He endeavored to
catch Diane's eye, but she avoided his gaze. As the rancher paused, he
broke in at once.

"I presume I start work in earnest to-morrow morning?"

The blind man shook his head. "No; better start in to-day. Our
agreement reads to-day; it must not be broken. You take your position
as one of the hands, and will be under the control of Jake Harnach."

"We can have tea first, though," put in Diane, who had followed her
father's words with what seemed unnecessary closeness.

"Tut, tut, child," he replied impatiently. "Yes, we will have tea.
'Tis all you think of. See to it, and bring Tresler a chair; I must
talk to him."

His words were a dismissal; and after Diane had provided a chair, she
retired into the house, leaving apprentice and master alone. And the
two men talked, as men will talk who have just come together from the
ends of the world. Tresler avoided the details of his journey; nor
did the blind man seem in any way interested in his personal affairs.
It was the news of men, and matters concerning the world, that they
discussed. And the rancher's information and remarks, and keen,
incisive questions, set the newcomer wondering. He watched the face
before him, the red, sightless eyes. He studied the quiet,
gentle-voiced man, as one may study an abstruse problem. The result
was disheartening. One long, weary expression of pain was all he
beheld; no lights and shades of emotion and interest. It was the face
of one grown patient under a lifelong course of suffering. Tresler had
listened to the bitter cursings against this man, but as the soft
voice and cultured expressions fell upon his ears, the easy-flowing,
pointed criticisms on matters of public interest, the broad
philosophy, sometimes faintly dashed with bitterness and cynicism, but
always sound, he found it hard to associate him with the significant
sobriquet of the ranch. Tea-time found him still wrestling with the
unsolved problem. But, with the advent of Diane with the table and
laden tray, he set it aside for future study.

For the next half-hour he transferred his attention to the relations
between father and daughter, as they chatted pleasantly of the
ranching prospects of the count