esting loosely upon his knees, his head bowed, and his boot-heel
digging a rude trench in the hard-packed earth.

The sight of him incensed her suddenly. Once more she wished that she
might get at his brain and squeeze out his thoughts; and it never
occurred to her that she would probably have found them extremely
commonplace thoughts that strayed no farther than his own little
personal business of life, and that they would easily be translated to
the dollar sign. His attitude was one of gloomy meditation, and her
own mood supplied the subject. She watched him for a minute or two,
and his abstraction was so deep that he did not feel her presence.

"Uncle Carl, just how much did the Lazy A cost you?" she asked so
abruptly that she herself was surprised at the question. "Or putting
it another way, just how many dollars and cents did you spend in
defending dad?"

Carl started, which was perfectly natural, and glared at her, which was
natural also, when one considers that Jean had without warning opened a
subject tacitly forbidden upon that ranch. His eyes hardened a little
while he looked at her, for between these two there was scant affection.

"What do you want to know for?" he countered, when she persisted in
looking at him as though she was waiting for an answer.

"Because I've a right to know. Some time,--within four years,--I mean
to buy back the Lazy A. I want to know how much it will take." Until
that moment Jean had merely dreamed of some day buying it back. Until
she spoke she would have named the idea a beautiful, impossible desire.

"Where you going to get the money?" Carl looked at her curiously, as if
he almost doubted her sanity.

"Rob a bank, perhaps. How much will it take to square things with you?
Of course, being a relative, I expect to be cheated a little. So I am
going to adopt sly, sleuth-like methods and find out just how much dad
owed you before--it happened, and just how much the lawyers charged,
and what was the real market value of the outfit, and all that. Dad
told me--dad told me that there was something left over for me. He
didn't explain--there wasn't time, and I--couldn't listen to
dollar-talk then. I've gone along all this time, just drifting and
getting used to facts, and taking it for granted that everything is all
right--"

"Well, what's wrong? Everything is all right, far as I know. I can
see what you're driving at--"

"And I'm a pretty fair driver, too," Jean cu