sed to say that
sleep was restful. It builds up worn-out tissue and all. One of these
nights, when you can find time, give it a trial and see whether that's
true."

Dave laughed. The mother in this young woman would persistently out. "I
get plenty of sleep, Miss Joyce. Most people sleep too much."

"How much do you sleep?"

"Sometimes more, sometimes less. I average six or seven hours, maybe."

"Maybe," she scoffed.

"Hard work doesn't hurt men. Not when they're young and strong."

"I hear you're trying to work yourself to death, sir," the girl charged,
smiling.

"Not so bad as that." He answered her smile with another for no reason
except that the world was a sunshiny one when he looked at this trim and
dainty young woman. "The work gets fascinating. A fellow likes to get
things done. There's a satisfaction in turning out a full day and in
feeling you get results."

She nodded sagely, in a brisk, business-like way. "I know. Felt it myself
often, but we have to remember that there are other days and other people
to lend a hand. None of us can do it all. Dad thinks you overdo. So he
told me to ask you to supper for to-morrow night. Bob will be there too."

"I say thanks, Miss Joyce, to your father and his daughter."

"Which means you'll be with us to-morrow."

"I'll be with you."

But he was not. Even as he made the promise a shadow darkened the
doorsill and Bob Hart stepped into the office.

His first words were ominous, but before he spoke both of those looking
at him knew he was the bearer of bad news. There was in his boyish face
an unwonted gravity.

"Fire in the chaparral, Dave, and going strong."

Sanders spoke one word. "Where?"

"Started in Bear Canon, but it's jumped out into the hills."

"The wind must be driving it down toward the Jackpot!"

"Yep. Like a scared rabbit. Crawford's trying to hold the mouth of the
canon. He's got a man's job down there. Can't spare a soul to keep it
from scootin' over the hills."

Dave rose. "I'll gather a bunch of men and ride right out. On what side
of the canon is the fire running?"

"East side. Stop at the wells and get tools. I got to rustle dynamite and
men. Be out soon as I can."

They spoke quietly, quickly, decisively, as men of action do in a crisis.

Joyce guessed the situation was a desperate one. "Is Dad in danger?" she
asked.

Hart answered. "No--not now, anyhow."

"What can I do to help?"

"We'll have hundreds of men in the field p