tons o' hay over in the South Y.D., an' you
boys better trail over there to-morrow an' pitch into it--that is, if
you're satisfied with the price I'm payin' you."

"The price is all right," said Transley, "and we'll hit the trail at
sun-up. There'll be no trouble--no confliction of interests, I mean?"

"Whose interests?" demanded the rancher, beligerently. "Ain't I the
father of the Y.D? Ain't the whole valley named for me? When it comes to
interests--"

"Of course," Transley agreed, "but I just wanted to know how things
stood in case we ran up against something. It's not like the old days,
when a rancher would rather lose twenty-five per cent. of his stock
over winter than bother putting up hay. Hay land is getting to be worth
money, and I just want to know where we stand."

"Quite proper," said Y.D., "quite proper. An' now the matter's under
discussion, I'll jus' show you my hand. There's a fellow named Landson
down the valley of the South Y.D. that's been flirtin' with that hay
meadow for years, but he ain't got no claim to it. I was first on the
ground an' I cut it whenever I feel like it an' I'm goin' to go on
cuttin' it. If anybody comes out raisin' trouble, you just shoo 'em off,
an' go on cuttin' that hay, spite o' hell an' high water. Y.D.'ll stand
behind you."

"Thanks," said Transley. "That's what I wanted to know."

CHAPTER II

The rancher had ridden into the Canadian plains country from below "the
line" long before barbed wire had become a menace in cattle-land. From
Pincher Creek to Maple Creek, and far beyond, the plains lay unbroken
save by the deep canyons where, through the process of ages, mountain
streams had worn their beds down to gravel bottoms, and by the
occasional trail which wandered through the wilderness like some
thousand-mile lariat carelessly dropped from the hand of the Master
Plainsman. Here and there, where the cutbanks of the river Canyons
widened out into sloping valleys, affording possible access to the
deep-lying streams, some ranchman had established his headquarters, and
his red-roofed, whitewashed buildings flashed back the hot rays which
fell from an opalescent heaven. At some of the more important fords
trading posts had come into being, whither the ranchmen journeyed twice
a year for groceries, clothing, kerosene, and other liquids handled as
surreptitiously as the vigilance of the Mounted Police might suggest.
The virgin prairie, with her strange, subtle facil