ght to have kids even if he don't have ideas. I often told
Iron Skull that. But he said he couldn't ask a woman to live the way he
had to. I always told him a woman would stand anything if you loved her
enough."

Jim nodded. Iron Skull's life in many ways seemed a personal reproach to
Jim for his own way of living.

The work at the abutments absorbed Jim until late afternoon; absorbed
him and cheered him. About five o'clock he started off to call on Pen,
and tell her about the Secretary's letter. He found her plodding up the
road toward the tent house with a pile of groceries in her arms.

"I missed the regular delivery," she replied to his protests as he took
the packages from her, "and I love to go down to the store, shopping.
It's like a glorified cross-roads emporium. All the hombres and their
wives and the 'rough-necks' and their wives and the Indians. Why it's
better than a bazaar!"

Jim laughed. "Pen, you are a good mixer. You ought to have my job. You'd
make more of it than I do."

"That reminds me," said Pen. "Jim, that man Fleckenstein is going to run
for United States Senator. He's going to promise the ranchers that he'll
get the government to remit the building charges on the dam. Will that
hurt you?"

"Where did you hear this?" asked Jim.

"Fleckenstein and Oscar came up this morning and they talked it over
with Oscar. Sara was guarded in what he said before me, but I believe
he's going to get campaign money back East. Why should he, Jim?"

She eyed Jim anxiously. There was hardly a moment of the day that the
thought of the responsibility that Iron Skull had placed on her
shoulders was not with her. But she was resolved to say nothing to Jim
until she had a vital suggestion to make to him.

Jim looked at the shimmering lavenders and grays of the desert. It had
come. A frank step toward repudiation. A blow at the fundamental idea of
the Service. That was to be the next move of the Big Enemy. And what had
Sara to do with it? All thought of the Secretary's letter left Jim. He
must see Sara. But Penelope must not be unduly worried. He turned to her
with his flashing smile.

"Some sort of peanut politics, Pen. Is Sara alone now? I'll go talk to
him."

As if in answer Sara's voice came from the tent which they were almost
upon. "Pen, come here!"

Pen did not quicken her pace. "I don't like to change speeds going up a
steep grade," she called.

"You hustle when I call you!" roared Sara.

Jim pul