aning of
life trickled into her consciousness as she sat there watching the
flickering lights of the town--something of the meaning of it all--the
struggle of these new residents twanged a hidden chord of sympathy and
understanding in her. She was able to visualize them as she sat there.
Faces flashed before her--strong, stern, eager; the owner of each a-thrill
with his ambition, going forward in the march of progress with definite
aim, planning, plotting, scheming--some of them winning, others losing,
but all obsessed with a feverish desire of success. The railroad, the
town, the ranches, the new dam, the people--all were elements of a
conflict, waged ceaselessly. She sat erect, her blood tingling. Blows were
being struck, taken.

"Oh," she cried, sharply; "it's a game! It's the spirit of the nation--to
fight, to press onward, to win!" And in that moment she was seized with a
throbbing sympathy for Trevison, and filled with a yearning that he might
win, in spite of Corrigan, Hester Harvey, and all the others--even her
father. For he was a courageous player of this "game." In him was typified
the spirit of the nation.

* * * * *

Rosalind might have added something to her thoughts had she known of the
passions that filled Trevison when, while she sat on the porch of the Bar
B ranchhouse, he mounted Nigger and sent him scurrying through the mellow
moonlight toward Manti. He was playing the "game," with justice as his
goal. The girl had caught something of the spirit of it all, but she had
neglected to grasp the all-important element of the relations between men,
without which laws, rules, and customs become farcical and ridiculous. He
was determined to have justice. He knew well that Judge Graney's mission
to Washington would result in failure unless the deed to his property
could be recovered, or the original record disclosed. Even then, with a
weak and dishonest judge on the bench the issue might be muddled by a mass
of legal technicalities. The court order permitting Braman to operate a
mine on his property goaded him to fury.

He stopped at Hanrahan's saloon, finding Lefingwell there and talking with
him for a few minutes. Lefingwell's docile attitude disgusted him--he said
he had talked the matter over with a number of the other owners, and they
had expressed themselves as being in favor of awaiting the result of his
appeal. He left Lefingwell, not trusting himself to ar