he proprietors of the Meeker mill, and they have all
tried to bulldoze Landon, our ranger over there. By the way, you'll like
Landon. He's a Harvard man, and a good ranger. His shack is only a
half-mile from Meeker's house. It's a pretty well-known fact that Alec
Belden is part proprietor of a saloon over there that worries the
Supervisor worse than anything. Cliff swears he's not connected with it;
but he's more or less sympathetic with the crowd."

Norcross, already deeply interested in the present and future of a girl
whom he had met for the first time only the day before, was quite ready
to give up his trip to Meeker. After the men went back to work he
wandered about the town for an hour or two, and then dropped in at the
office to inquire if the telephone line had been repaired.

"No, it's still dead."

"Did Miss McFarlane return?"

"No. She said she had work to do at home. This is ironing-day, I
believe."

"She plays all the parts, don't she?"

"She sure does; and she plays one part as well as another. She can rope
and tie a steer or bake a cake as well as play the piano."

"Don't tell me she plays the piano!"

Nash laughed. "She does; but it's one of those you operate with your
feet."

"I'm relieved to hear that. She seems almost weirdly gifted as it is."
After a moment he broke in with: "What can a man do in this town?"

"Work, nothing else."

"What do you do for amusement?"

"Once in a while there is a dance in the hall over the drug-store, and on
Sunday you can listen to a wretched sermon in the log church. The rest of
the time you work or loaf in the saloons--or read. Old Nature has done
her part here. But man--! Ever been in the Tyrol?"

"Yes."

"Well, some day the people of the plains will have sense enough to use
these mountains, these streams, the way they do over there."

It required only a few hours for Norcross to size up the valley and its
people. Aside from Nash and his associates, and one or two families
connected with the mill to the north, the villagers were poor,
thriftless, and uninteresting. They were lacking in the picturesque
quality of ranchers and miners, and had not yet the grace of
town-dwellers. They were, indeed, depressingly nondescript.

Early on the second morning he went to the post-office--which was also
the telephone station--to get a letter or message from Meeker. He found
neither; but as he was standing in the door undecided about taking the
stage, Berea cam