never really had to work. Now I must learn to earn
a living. It's very good of you, Mr. Knowles, but--there's that veal.
If only you'll let me work out what I owe you."

"You don't owe me a cent for the yearling," gruffly replied the
cowman. "Don't know what I could put you at, anyway."

"Might use him to shoo off the rattlers and jackrabbits from in front
the mowing machine," suggested Gowan.

"Mr. Ashton can ride," interposed the girl, with a friendliness of
tone that brought Gowan to a thin-lipped silence.

"That's something," said Knowles, gazing speculatively at the slim
aristocratic figure of the tenderfoot. "You're not built for pitching
hay, but like as not you have the makings of a puncher. Ever throw a
rope?"

"Never. I shall start practicing the art--at once."

"No, not until you and Kid have had dinner," gayly contradicted the
girl. "We've had ours. But Yuki always has something ready. Kid, if
you'll show Mr. Ashton where to wash, I'll tell Yuki."

She darted through the open doorway into the house. At a curt nod from
Gowan, Ashton followed him around to the far side of the house,
leaving Knowles in the act of hastily reloading his pipe. Under a
lean-to that covered a door in the side of the house was a barrel of
water and a bench with two basins. On a row of pegs above hung a
number of towels, all rumpled but none dirty.

Gowan pointed to a box of unused towels, and proceeded to lather and
wash himself. Ashton took a towel, and after rinsing out the second
washbasin, made as fastidious a toilet as the scant conveniences of
the place would permit. There were combs and a fairly good mirror
above the soap shelf. Gowan went in by the side door, without waiting
for his companion. Ashton presently followed him, having looked in
vain for a razor to rid himself of his two days' growth of beard.

The long table told him that he had entered the ranch mess-hall, or
rather, dining-room. Though the table was covered with oilcloth and
the rough-hewn logs of the outer walls were lime-plastered only in the
chinks, the seats were chairs instead of benches, and between the gay
Mexican _serape_ drapes of the clean windows hung several well-done
water color landscapes, appropriately framed in unbarked pine. On the
oiled deal floor were scattered half a dozen Navajo rugs.

Gowan had taken a seat at one end of the table. As Ashton sat down at
the neatly laid place opposite him, a silent, smiling, deft-handed Jap
cam