were a boy she would be riding on that sack of hay
tied to the "hounds" for a seat. But, being a girl, it had never
occurred to Brit that she might like to go,--might even be useful to
him on the trip.

"I suppose if I told dad I could drive that team as well as he can, he'd
just look at me and think I was crazy," she thought resentfully and gave
the broom a spiteful fling toward a presumptuous hen that had approached
too closely. "If I'd asked him to let me go along he'd have made some
excuse--oh, I'm beginning to know dad! He thinks a woman's place is in
the house--preferably the kitchen. And here I've thought all my life
that cowgirls did nothing but ride around and warn people about stage
holdups and everything! I'd just like to know how a girl would ever have
a chance to know what was going on in the country, unless she heard the
men talking while she poured their coffee. Only this bunch don't talk at
all. They just gobble and go."

She went in then and shut the door with a slam. Up on the ridge Al
Woodruff lowered his small binocular and eased away from the spot where
he had been crouching behind a bush. Every one on the Quirt ranch was
accounted for. As well as if he had sat at their breakfast table Al knew
where each man's work would take him that day. As for the girl, she was
safe at the ranch for the day, probably. If she did take a ride later
on, it would probably be up the ridge between the Quirt and Thurman's
ranch, and sit for an hour or so just looking. That ride was beginning
to be a habit of hers, Al had observed, so that he considered her
accounted for also.

He made his way along the side hill to where his horse was tied to a
bush, mounted and rode away with his mind pretty much at ease. Much more
at ease than it would have been had he read what was in Lorraine's mind
when, she slammed that door.

Up above Sugar Spring was timber. By applying to the nearest Forest
Supervisor a certain amount could be had for ranch improvements upon
paying a small sum for the "stumpage." The Quirt had permission to cut
posts for their new fence which Al Woodruff had reported to his boss.

As he drove up the trail, which was in places barely passable for a
wagon, Brit was thinking of that fence. The Sawtooth would object to it,
he knew, since it cut off one of their stock trails and sent them around
through rougher country. Just what form their objection would take,
Brit did not know. Deep in his intrepid soul he