prairie, with its boundless sweep
of unknown soil, the shanty seemed a radiant palace.

"Supper's all ready, Willard!" called Blanche, and the tired man's heart
leaped with joy to hear the tender, familiar cadence of her voice. It
was her happy voice, and when she used it men were her slaves.

Bailey came out with one of the land-seekers.

"Go in to supper, boys; we'll take care of the teams," was his hearty
command.

The tired freighters gladly did as they were bid, and, scooping up some
water from a near-by hollow on the sod, hurriedly washed their faces and
sat down to a supper of chopped potatoes, bacon and eggs, and tea (which
Blanche placed steaming hot upon the table), in such joy as only the
weary worker knows.

Mrs. Burke was in high spirits. The novelty of the trip, the rude
shanty, with its litter of shavings, and its boxes for chairs, the
bundles of hay for beds, gave her something like the same pleasure a
picnic might have done. It appealed to the primeval in her. She forgot
her homesickness and her vague regrets, and her smiles filled her
husband with content.

Rivers and the others soon came in, and after supper there was a great
deal of energetic talk. The young land-seekers were garrulous with
delight over their claims, which they proudly exalted above the stumps
and stones of the farms "back home."

"Why, it took three generations of my folks to clear off forty acres of
land," said one of them. "They just wore themselves out on it. I told
Hank he could have it, and I'd go West and see if there wasn't some land
out there which wouldn't take a man's lifetime to grub out and smooth
down. And I've found it."

Rivers had plainly won the friendship of Mrs. Burke, for they were
having a jolly time together over by the table, where he was helping to
wash the dishes. He had laughing, brown eyes, and a pleasant voice, and
was one of the most popular of the lawyers and land-agents in Boomtown.
There was a boyish quality in him which kept him giving and taking
jocular remarks.

Bailey sometimes said: "Rivers would shine up to a seventy-year-old
Sioux squaw if she was the only woman handy, but he don't mean anything
by it--it's just his way. He's one o' the best-hearted fellers that ever
lived." Others took a less favorable view of the land-agent, and refused
to trust him.

Bailey assumed command. "Now, fellers," he said, "we'll vamoose the
ranch while Mrs. Burke turns in." He opened the way to the st