ofs at
it.

"Nig, you ol' duffer, git in hyeh where you b'long! Can't you see that
that there's a _lady!_" came a voice, unmistakably feminine. And the dog,
still growling, but submissive, drew off.

Ruth urged the pony on and rode the remaining distance to the door. A
girl, attired in a ragged underskirt and equally ragged waist of some
checkered material, and a faded house-apron that was many sizes too small
for her, stood in the open doorway, watching. She was bare-footed, her
hair was in tumbling disorder, though Ruth could tell that it had been
combed recently. But the legs, bare almost to the knees, were clean,
though brown from tan, and her face and arms glowed pink and spotless, in
spite of the rags. In her eyes, as she watched Ruth, was a strange
mixture of admiration and defiance.

"Dad ain't hyeh this mornin'," she volunteered as Ruth climbed off her
pony.

"I came to see you," said Ruth, smiling. She threw the reins over the
pony's head and advanced, holding out a hand. "I am Ruth Harkness," she
added, "the new owner of the Flying W. I have been here almost a month,
and I just heard that I had a neighbor. Wont you shake hands with me?"

"I reckon," said the girl. Reluctantly, it seemed, she allowed Ruth to
take her hand. But she drew it away immediately. "I've heard of you," she
said; "you're a niece of that ol' devil, Bill Harkness." She frowned. "He
was always sayin' dad was hookin' his doggoned cattle. Dad didn't steal
'em--ol' Bill Harkness was a liar!" Her eyes glowed fiercely. "I reckon
you'll be sayin' the same thing about dad."

"No indeed!" declared Ruth. "Your dad and I are going to be friends. I
want to be friends with you, too. I am not going to charge your dad with
stealing my cattle. We are going to be neighbors, and visit each other. I
want to know your dad, and I want you to come over to the Flying W and
get acquainted with my aunt and uncle. Aren't you going to invite me
inside? I would if you came to visit me, you know." She smiled winningly.

The girl flushed, and cast a glance at the interior of the cabin, which,
Ruth had already noted through the open door, was scantily furnished but
clean. Then the girl led the way in, motioned Ruth to a chair near a
rough-topped table, and stood over beside a cast-iron stove, her hands
hanging at her sides, the fingers crumpling the cloth of the ragged
apron. Her belligerence had departed; she seemed now to be beginning to
realize that this vis