a fellow would swear that a blonde
manicure girl comes here twice a week," he said idly. "Where is the
schoolhouse going to be built? Why not put it just at the foot of the
ridge, at Cottonwood Spring? That's out of sight of the road, and if
the notice said 'Cottonwood Spring', folks would know where to head
for. It's close to the line of your land, isn't it, dad? A
yard--corral-size--fenced around the place would keep the cattle off
the doorstep, and they could water there just the same. If we're going
to do it, why not do it right?"

"I guess we could get down there with a load," Tom assented easily.
"I'd ruther have it on my land anyways."

"Don't think, Tom Lorrigan, that we'd ever take it back from Mary
Hope. No matter how Scotty acts up. But if they ever gave her the
double-cross and got some one else to teach--why it might be nice to
know it's our schoolhouse, on our land." Belle pulled her hand away
from Lance and went over to the piano. "It's all done but the
shingling," she said cheerfully. "Come on, Lance, see if you can sing
'Asleep in the Deep.' And then show me what you mean by saying you can
yodel now better than when I licked you the time you and Duke chased
the colt through the corral fence!"

"All done but the shingling--and I ain't got 'em bought yet!" grumbled
Tom, but was utterly disregarded in the sonorous chords of Belle's
prelude to the song.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LANCE RIDES AHEAD

At fifteen minutes to four on a certain Tuesday afternoon, the first
really pleasant day after the day of tearing, whooping wind that had
blown Tom into the role of school bully, Lance loped out upon the
trail that led past the Whipple shack a mile and a quarter farther on.
Ostensibly his destination was the town of Jumpoff, although it was
not the time of day when one usually started from the Devil's Tooth
ranch to the post-office, with three unimportant letters as an excuse
for the trip.

As he rode Lance sang lustily a love song, but he was not thinking
especially of Mary Hope. In two years more than one California girl
had briefly held his fancy, and memory of Mary Hope had slightly
dimmed. In his pocket were two letters, addressed to two California
towns. One letter had Miss Helene Somebody inscribed upon it, and on
the other was Miss Mildred Somebody Else. The love song, therefore,
had no special significance, save that Lance was young and perfectly
normal and liked the idea of love, without being