tiny alcove off to the right seemed to
lead to another part of the long low house. The windows were brightly
curtained, and all the furniture had a look of endurance and permanence--a
manly room, she thought. Yet how ironical this appearance of firmness and
stability was, in view of the reason of their visit! He had said he must
give the place up. What a wrench it would be for him!

Women seldom like to see a bachelor--particularly a young bachelor--living
in such solid comfort. As Lucia went up the stairs, she saw little touches
she could give to the place. But she had to confess that the improvements
she could suggest were not at all important. If two men could get along so
well without feminine society, perhaps one of them didn't miss her much,
after all!

CHAPTER III

WHEREIN UNCLE HENRY SPEAKS HIS MIND--AS USUAL

It was high noon, two days later. Gilbert again had been about the ranch
looking things over. He had his dreamy moments, but he was far too
practical to let the poet in him rule his life. One sensed, by the most
cursory glance, that here was a type of virile young American who could not
only dream, but make his dreams come true. No idler he! And he had no use
for idlers. He had dared to come to this far country, establish himself on
a ranch, and seek to win out in the face of overwhelming odds.

How many other young men had staked all on a single game--and lost. That
was one of the finest qualities of the Americans who migrated to this vast
section of the country. They were always good losers, as well as modest
winners. The land was rich in possibilities, as Sturgis had told Pell; and
though the hot season lasted interminably and caused one's spirits, as well
as one's hopes, to droop, there were enchanting spring days and bright,
colorful, dwindling autumns when the air was keen and clear, and life was a
song with youth for its eternal theme.

Men with families bore the hardest burdens in their early struggle for
success. Gilbert, being single, had less to worry about than many another;
but his Uncle Henry was a handicap. For Uncle Henry used his invalid's
chair much as a king might use his throne--a vantage place from which to
hurl his tyrannous speeches. And there was no come-back. Uncle Henry had
reigned too long to be fearful of any retort from any mere subject who
walked about on two firm legs. For ten years he had held court, moving his
little throne about with sudden jerks. When things