ttle to lead him to hope for a
free-and-easy chat across a breakfast-table.

"You strike me," said Terry abruptly and emphatically, "as a pretty
slick proposition."

"Why so?" asked Packard interestedly.

"Because," said Terry. For a moment he thought that she was going to
stop there. But after a thoughtful pause, during which she looked
straight at him with eyes which were meant to be merely clear and
judicial but which were just faintly troubled, she went on: "Because
you're a Packard, to begin with."

"Look here," protested young Packard equably, "I didn't think that of
you; honestly, I didn't. How are you and I ever going to get
anywhere . . . in the way of being friends, I mean . . . if you start
out by blaming me for what my disreputable old scamp of a grandfather
does?"

Terry sniffed openly.

"Forget that friendship gag before you think of it, will you?" she said
quickly. "Talking nice isn't going to get you anywhere with me and you
might as well remember that. It won't buy you anything to start in
telling me that I've got pretty eyes or a dimple, and I won't stand one
little minute for your pulling any of that girlie-stuff on me. . . . I
said, to begin with, you're a Packard. That ought to be enough, the
Lord knows! But it's not all."

"First thing," he suggested cheerfully, "are you going to ask me to
have breakfast with you?"

"Yes," she answered briefly. "Since you are here and since dad had you
stay all night. If you were the devil himself, I'd give you something
to eat."

"Being merely the devil's grandson," grinned Packard, "suppose I tuck
in and help? I'll set the table while you do the cooking."

"I don't bother setting any table," said Terry as tartly as she knew
how. "Besides, the coffee and bacon are both done and that's all the
cooking there is. You know where the bread and butter and sugar are.
Help yourself. There isn't any milk."

She poured her own coffee, made a sandwich of bacon and bread, and went
to sit as he had found her last night, on the table, her feet swinging.

Steve Packard had gone to sleep filled with high hopes last night, and
had awakened with a fresh, new zest in life this morning. Like the
cowboy in the ballad, he had wanted nothing in the world save to be
back on the range, and he had his wish, or would have it fully in a few
hours, when he had ridden to Ranch Number Ten. Fully appreciating
Terry's prejudices, he had meant to remember that she w