pose was to prolong his stay to the last possible
moment. But inadvertently his eye caught the name "Blake" on one of
the envelopes. His smile vanished; his jaw dropped.

"Why, Mr. Ashton, what is the matter?" said the girl.

"I--I beg your pardon," he replied. "I did not realize that--But it's
too absurd--it can't be! You did not mean what you said this
afternoon. It can't be you're writing to that man to come here."

"I am," she replied.

"But you can't--you must not. He's the very devil for doing impossible
things. He'll be sure to turn loose a flood on you--drown you
out--destroy your range!"

"If it can be done, the sooner we know it the better," she argued.
"Daddy says little, but it is becoming a monomania with him--the
dread. I wish to put an end to his suspense. Besides, if--if this Mr.
Blake is as remarkable as you and the reports say he is, it will be
interesting to meet him. My only fear is that so great an engineer
will not think it worth while to come to this out-of-the-way
section."

"The big four-flusher!" muttered Ashton.

"How you must dislike him! It makes me all the more curious to see
him."

"Does your father know about this letter?" queried Ashton.

"You forget yourself, sir," she said.

Meeting her level gaze, he flushed crimson with mortification. He
stood biting his lip, unable to speak.

She went on coldly: "I do not ask you to tell me the cause of your
hatred for Mr. Blake. I assume that you are a gentleman and will not
destroy my letter. But even if you should do so, it would mean only a
short delay. I shall write him again if I receive no reply to this."

Ashton's flush deepened. "I did not think you could be so hard. But--I
presume I deserved it."

"Yes, you did," she agreed, with no lessening of her coldness.

"I see you will not accept an apology, Miss Knowles. However, I give
you my word that I will deliver your letter to the postmaster at
Stockchute."

He started out, very stiff and erect. As he passed through the doorway
she suddenly relented and called after him: "Good night, Mr. Ashton!
Pleasant dreams!"

He wheeled and would have stepped back to reply had not Knowles spoken
to him from the darkness at the end of the porch: "This way, Ashton.
Kid is waiting to show you to the bunkhouse. You'll find a clean bunk
and new blankets. I've also issued you corduroy pants and a pair of
leather chaps from the commissary. Those city riding togs aren't
hardly the thing on