e life she had
always known or the lure of the new life which beckoned.

Suddenly, without having sought it, the explanation of her recent
contentment bubbled to the surface of the girl's consciousness, and she
turned and gazed at Harris. Night after night she had sat here with
old Cal Warren and discussed the details of their work and after his
passing her evenings had been hours of restlessness. Now Harris, the
partner, had crept into the father's place,--had in a measure filled
the void.

Harris rose and flicked the ash from his cigarette, suppressing the
desire to take her in his arms, for he knew that time had not yet come.
As he opened the door to leave an eddy of steam curled in at the
opening as the warm air of the room battled on the threshold with the
thirty-below temperature of the outside world. She heard the hissing
crunch of his boots on the frozen crust--and reached for Deane's
Christmas letter to reread it for perhaps the fifth time.

During the night a chinook poured its warm breath over the hills and
morning found the snow crumpling before it. The surface was a pulpy
mass intersected by rivulets. Water trickled from the eaves of the
buildings and there was a breath of spring in the air; false assurance
for those who knew, for it was inevitable that, once the chinook had
passed, bitter frost would clamp down once more.

Such days, however, inspire plans for spring and Billie rode with
Harris through the lower field as he pointed out the various fence
lines and the lay of the ditches and laterals which would carry water
to irrigate the meadow, all these to be installed as soon as winter
should lose its grip.

As Harris outlined his plans his words were tinged with optimism and he
allowed no hint of possible disaster to creep into his speech. But the
girl was conscious of that hovering uncertainty, the feeling that the
months of peace were but to lure her into a false sense of security and
that Slade would pounce on the Three Bar from all angles at once
whenever the time was right.

She found some consolation in the fact that Lang's men no longer rode
through her range at will, but skirted it in their trips to and from
the Breaks. She attributed this solely to Harris's precautions in the
matter of outguards, for of all those within a hundred miles she was
perhaps the single one who had not heard of the sinister rumor that was
cutting Lang and his men off from the rest of the world.

Men we