vered with edge-grained fir, but
otherwise the cabin stood as it had for twenty years, the white-washed
logs glowing in the light of two bracket lamps and the reflections from
a wood fire which burned merrily in the stove. The skins of a grizzly
bear and a timber wolf lay on the floor, and two moose heads looked down
from opposite ends of the room. On the walls hung other trophies won by
Y.D.'s rifle, along with hand-made bits of harness, lariats, and other
insignia of the ranchman's trade.

The rancher took his guests' hats, and motioned each to a seat.
"Mother," he said, directing his voice into an adjoining room, "here's
the boys."

In a moment "Mother" appeared drying her hands. In her appearance were
courage, resourcefulness, energy,--fit mate for the man who had made the
Y.D. known in every big cattle market of the country. As Linder's eye
caught her and her husband in the same glance his mind involuntarily
leapt to the suggestion of what the offspring of such a pair must be.
The men of the cattle country have a proper appreciation of heredity....

"My wife--Mr. Transley, Mr. Linder," said the rancher, with a
courtliness which sat strangely on his otherwise rough-and-ready speech.
"I been tellin' her the fine job you boys has made in the hay fields,
an' I reckon she's got a bite of supper waitin' you."

"Y.D. has been full of your praises," said the woman. There was a touch
of culture in her manner as she received them, which Y.D.'s hospitality
did not disclose.

She led them into another room, where a table was set for five. Linder
experienced a tang of happy excitement as he noted the number. Linder
allowed himself no foolishness about women, but, as he sometimes sagely
remarked to George Drazk, you never can tell what might happen. He shot
a quick glance at Transley, but the contractor's face gave no sign. Even
as he looked Linder thought what an able face it was. Transley was not
more than twenty-six, but forcefulness, assertion, ability, stood in
every line of his clean-cut features. He was such a man as to capture at
a blow the heart of old Y.D., perhaps of Y.D.'s daughter.

"Where's Zen?" demanded the rancher.

"She'll be here presently," his wife replied. "We don't have Mr.
Transley and Mr. Linder every night, you know," she added, with a smile.

"Dolling up," thought Linder. "Trust a woman never to miss a bet."

But at that moment a door opened, and the girl appeared. She did not
burst upon them