nd
appealingly. "Don't be clever, Flo. Come here quite close, and be nice to
me. This thing is worrying me horribly; and I'm ashamed of myself and--of
everybody. Oh, I know I'm a failure. I couldn't sing to please folks and I
sent Jake Cheyne away, while now, when the trouble's come, I'm too mean
even to stand behind my father as I meant to do. Flo, you'll stay with me.
I want you."

Miss Schuyler, who had not seen Hetty in this mood before, petted her,
though she said very little, for she felt that the somewhat unusual
abasement might, on the whole, be beneficial to her companion. So there
was silence in the room, broken only by the snapping of the stove and the
faint moaning of the bitter wind about the lonely building, while Miss
Schuyler sat somewhat uncomfortably on the arm of Hetty's chair with the
little dusky head pressed against her shoulder. Hetty could not see her
face or its gravity might have astonished her. Miss Schuyler had not
spoken quite the truth when, though she had only met him three times, she
admitted that Hetty knew Larry Grant better than she did. In various
places and different guises Flora Schuyler had seen the type of manhood he
stood for, but had never felt the same curious stirring of sympathy this
grave, brown-faced man had aroused in her.

A hound bayed savagely, and Hetty lifted her head. "Strangers!" she said.
"Bowie knows all the cattle-boys. Who can be coming at this hour?"

The question was not unwarranted, for it was close on midnight, but Flora
Schuyler did not answer. She could hear nothing but the moan of the wind,
the ranch was very still, until once more there came an angry growl. Then,
out of the icy darkness followed the sound of running feet, a hoarse cry,
and a loud pounding at the outer door.

Hetty stood up, trembling and white in the face, but very straight. "Don't
be frightened, Flo," she said. "We'll whip them back to the place they
came from."

"Who is it?" asked Miss Schuyler.

Again the building rang to the blows upon the outer door; but Hetty's
voice was even, and a little contemptuous.

"The rustlers!" she said.

There was a trampling below, and a corridor beneath the girls vibrated
with the footsteps of hurrying men, while Torrance's voice rose faintly
through the din; a very unpleasant silence, until somebody rapped upon the
door. Flora Schuyler felt her heart throbbing painfully, and gasped when
Torrance looked in. His lean face was very stern.

"Put