do with steers and land, with hay and money and men. It was by
such things he measured success. And Zen was disposed to agree with him.
Why not? It was the only success she knew.

Transley was greeting them as they drew into camp.

"Glad to see you, Y.D.; honored to have a visit from you, Ma'am," he
said, as he helped them from the democrat, and gave instructions for the
care of their horses. "Supper is waiting, and the men won't be ready for
some time."

Y.D. shook hands with Transley cordially. "Zen an' me just thought we'd
run over and see how the wind blew," he said. "You got a good spot here
for a camp, Transley. But we won't go in to supper just now. Let the
men eat first; I always say the work horses should be first at the barn.
Well, how's she goin'?"

"Fine," said Transley, "fine," but it was evident his mind was divided.
He was glancing at Zen, who stood by during the conversation.

"I must try and make your daughter at home," he continued. "I allow
myself the luxury of a private tent, and as you will be staying over
night I will ask you to accept it for her."

"But I have my own tent with me, in the democrat," said Zen. "If you
will let the men pitch it under the trees where I can hear the water
murmuring in the night--"

"Who'd have thought it, from the daughter of the practical Y.D!"
Transley bantered. "All right, Ma'am, but in the meantime take my tent.
I'll get water, and there's a basin." He already was leading the way.
"Make yourself at home--Zen. May I call you Zen?" he added, in a lower
voice, as they left Y.D. at a distance.

"Everybody calls me Zen."

They were standing at the door of the tent, he holding back the flap
that she might enter. The valley was already in shadow, and there was no
sunlight to play on her hair, but her face and figure in the mellow
dusk seemed entirely winsome and adorable. There was no taint of Y.D.'s
millions in the admiration that Transley bent upon her.... Of course, as
an adjunct, the millions were not to be despised.

When the men had finished supper Transley summoned her. On the way to
the chuck-wagon she passed close to George Drazk. It was evident that
he had chosen a station with that result in view. She had passed by when
she turned, whimsically.

"Well, George, how's that Pete-horse?" she said.

"Up an comin' all the time, Zen," he answered.

She bit her lip over his familiarity, but she had no come-back. She had
given him the opening, by callin