one, but lots
of our cattle have been disappearing for months and I want to consult
with some of our neighboring ranchmen about it. Jean Bruce, do please
stop making that noise," Jack demanded, her bad humor flashing out at
Jean.

Jean brought her music to an end with a loud crash, and then came over
and sat down cross-legged on a rug by the fire in front of Ruth.

"Don't waste your time arguing with Jack, Cousin Ruth," Jean advised.
"When she says she ought to do a thing, she means she intends to do it.
It is perfectly absurd for Jack to insist that she has any business at
the round-up, for she knows perfectly well that Jim can attend to
everything. It is nobody in the world but old Dan Norton who is stealing
our cattle and it seems to me we had better not have any more trouble
with him, until more important affairs are settled."

"I entirely agree with you, Jean," said Cousin Ruth severely. "Jack, you
are not old enough to decide such matters for yourself."

Jack did not answer. She directed a single angry glance at Jean, but
Jean was hard to quarrel with. She made the most irritating speeches and
then looked as innocent as a lamb. Frieda had stolen up to Jack and
slipped her hand in her sister's. It frightened Frieda terribly when
people quarreled, and Jack saw that her little sister's eyes were full
of tears.

Jack walked over and sat down in a big chair, drawing little Frieda up
in her lap and there was an uncomfortable silence in the room until
feet sounded along the hall and a knock came at the living-room door.

"Why it's Jim!" Jean exclaimed in surprise, scrambling to her feet. "I
wonder what brings him up to the ranch house to-night? We have seen
hardly anything of him since Cousin Ruth arrived!"

Ruth bent her head lower over her work. It was true. She need not have
feared Mr. Colter's influence with the ranch girls, for he had not been
to the Lodge, except on business, since she undertook to chaperon them.
He was very polite to her, but he seemed afraid to speak in her
presence. Ruth wondered if she seemed as much of an old maid to him as
he had thought her at first.

"Jim, what's up? You are a swell to-night," Jean teased. "Did you think
we were giving a party?"

Jim did look different. He wore a stiff white shirt instead of a soft
flannel one and could hardly turn his head in his starched linen collar.

Frieda flew to him with a little cry of welcome.

"What's the matter, baby?" Jim demanded,