pt me in that delightful school so many years, and now it's time for
repayment."

"Repayment seems to be exacted for everything in life," said Lowell
automatically, though he was too much astonished at the girl's remark to
tell whether his reply had been intelligible. Was it possible the "squaw
professor" had been misjudged all these years, and was living a life of
sacrifice in order that this girl might have every opportunity? Lowell
had not recovered from the astounding idea before they reached Talpers's
place. He stopped the automobile in front of the store, and the trader
came out.

"Mr. Talpers, meet Miss Ervin, daughter of our neighbor, Mr. Morgan,"
said the agent. "Miss Ervin will probably be coming over here after her
mail, and you might as well meet her now."

Talpers bobbed his head, but not enough to break the stare he had bent
upon the girl, who flushed under his scrutiny. As a matter of fact, the
trader had been too taken aback at the thought of a woman--and a young
and pretty woman--being related to the owner of Mystery Ranch to do more
than mumble a greeting. Then the vividness of the girl's beauty had
slowly worked upon him, rendering his speechlessness absolute.

"I don't like Mr. Talpers as well as I do some of your Indians," said
the girl, as they rolled away from the store, leaving the trader on the
platform, still staring.

"Well, I don't mind confiding in you, as I've confided in Bill himself,
that Mr. Talpers is something over ninety per cent undesirable. He is
one of the thorns that grow expressly for the purpose of sticking in the
side of Uncle Sam. He's cunning and dangerous, and constantly lowers the
reservation morale, but he's over the line and I can't do a thing with
him unless I get him red-handed. But he's postmaster and the only trader
near here, and you'll have to know him, so I thought I'd bring out the
Talpers exhibit early."

Helen laughed, and forgot her momentary displeasure as the insistent
appeal of the landscape crowded everything else from her mind. The white
road lay like a carelessly flung thread on the billowing plateau land.
The air was crisp with the magic of the upper altitudes. Gray clumps of
sagebrush stood forth like little islands in the sea of grass. A winding
line of willows told where a small stream lay hidden. The shadows of
late afternoon were filling distant hollows with purple. Remote
mountains broke the horizon in a serrated line. Prairie flowers scented