Now as he rode his new domain he smiled to
himself and thought that out of a modern college he had been set back
half a century. Here was the rule of might, if he was not mistaken.
Here was romance in its most vital and appealing form. Yes, he felt
himself lucky.

So he took up his life and his duties with a vim. He rode early and
late, took notes and gathered data for his first reports, and set up
for himself in Lost Valley a spreading antagonism.

If he rode herd on the range lands, the timber sections, there were
those who rode herd on him. Not a movement of his that was not
reported faithfully to Courtrey, not a coming or going that was not
watched from start to finish.

And the cattle king narrowed his eyes and listened to his lieutenants
with growing disapproval.

"Took up land, think?" he asked Wylackie Bob. "Homesteadin'?"

Wylackie shook his head.

"Ain't goin' accordin' to entry," he said, "no more'n th' cabin. Don't
see no signs of tillin'. He ain't fencin', nor goin' to fence, as near
as I can find out."

"Cattle?"

"No. Nor horses."

"Hogs, then?"

"No."

"Damn it! maybe it's sheep!" and the red flush rose in the bully's
dark cheeks.

"Don't think so. Seems like he's after somethin', but what it is I
can't make out."

But it was not long before the Stronghold solved the mystery, for
Kenset rode boldly in one day and introduced himself.

It was mid-afternoon, for the cabin in the glade lay a long way from
the Valley's head, and the whole big place lay silent as death in the
summer sun.

The Indian serving women were off in the depths somewhere, the few
_vaqueros_ left at home were out about the spreading corrals, and all
the men that counted at the ranch had ridden into Corvan early in the
day.

Only Ellen, pale as a flower, her sweet mouth drooping, sat listlessly
on the hard beaten earth at the eastern side of the squat house where
the spruce trees grew, her hands folded in her lap, a sunbonnet
covering the golden mass of her hair.

At the sound of his horse's hoofs on the stone-flagged yard Kenset saw
her start, half rise, fling a startled look at him and then sink back,
as if even the advent of a stranger was of slight import in the heavy
current of her dull life.

He came in close, drew up, and, with his hat in his hand, sat smiling
down at her. To Kenset it was more natural to smile than not to.

The girl, for she was scarce more, looked up at him and he saw at
once, even