nk-and-white little Lucy Dalles and her
ambitions were far in the background of his mind. Jerkline Jo was a
beautiful girl--as different in her beauty from Lucy Dalles as is day
from night. Her hair was dark and heavy, and crowned a low, broad
brow. Her skin was now tanned a rich mahogany, but was clear and
flawless, and her bare arms were round and brown. Her confident poise,
her sturdy shoulders, showed character and strength far above the
ordinary. She was a man's woman, was Jerkline Jo Modock, and only a
man among men might hope to become her mate. She wore a broad-brimmed
Stetson with a horsehair band, a blue-flannel man's shirt, worn leather
chaps for comfort, and riding boots. A holstered six-shooter hung
close at hand, the ivory-handled butt of the big weapon ready to her
grasp. Here was a wonderful woman, and Hiram Hooker knew it, and knew,
too, that here at last was the adventure girl who, in his dreams up
there on Wild-cat Hill in the big woods of the North had been beckoning
him to come and work for her, to fight for her--to die for her if fate
should so decree.

CHAPTER XIV

A WIRE TO JULIA

"I wanted you to tell me something about yourself, Hiram," said
Jerkline Jo. "That's why I called you. What a giant of a man you are!
Tell me about Wild-cat Hill and the big woods of Mendocino. I've never
been so far north in California."

She seated herself on the stool, and Hiram sat cross-legged on the
floor of the freight rack. Ahead the many silvery bells, hung on steel
bows over the hames of each of Jo's white beauties, jingled merrily as
the wagon rolled on into the illimitable desert.

Hiram began to talk, and gradually he grew eloquent, for at soul he was
a poet. He told of the grandeur of the big, solemn redwoods, of the
ice-cold creeks that plunged riotously through the mysterious
fastnesses of great forests. He told of his dead father and mother,
asleep forever between the big bull pines on Wild-cat Hill. He told of
his cramped, starved life, of his hopes and vague ambitions and his
dreams.

She listened silently, deeply interested, her dark eyes glowing upon
him, her chin cupped by a strong brown hand. His simplicity was new
and refreshing. Soon she realized that no ordinary mind lay dormant
back of the well-formed forehead of this tender-hearted backwoodsman.
His talk showed that he had read a great deal and had somehow grasped
the significance of it all. Several times her e