er? You've
been peering in all directions, and you look as if you hadn't found what
you were hunting for. You weren't expecting to find soda fountains and
candy stores on the prairie, were you?"

Cordelia smiled and shook her head.

"Of course not, Mr. Hartley! I was looking for the blue bonnets--the
flowers, you know. Genevieve said they grew wild all through the prairie
grass."

"And so they do--specially, early in the spring, my dear. I wish you
could see them, then."

"I wish I could--Genevieve has told me so much about them. She says
they're the state flower. I thought they had such a funny name; I wanted
to pick one, if I could. She says they're lovely, too."

"They are, indeed, and I wish you could see them when they are at their
best," rejoined Mr. Hartley; then he turned to Bertha, who had been
listening with evident interest. "In the spring it's a blue ocean, Miss
Bertha--I wish you could see the wind sweep across it then! And I wish
you could smell it, too," he added with a laugh. "I reckon you wouldn't
think it much like your salty, fishy east wind," he finished,
twinkling.

"Oh, but we just love that salty, fishy east wind, every time we go near
the shore," retorted a chorus of loyal Eastern voices; and Mr. Hartley
laughed again.

In the ranch wagon behind them, Genevieve was doing the honors of the
prairie right royally. Here, there, and everywhere she was pointing out
something of interest. In the ranch wagon, too, the marvelous hush and
charm of limitless distance had wrought its own spell; and all had
fallen silent.

It was Alma Lane who broke the pause.

"What are all those deep, narrow paths, such a lot of them, running
parallel to the wheel tracks?" she asked curiously. "I've been watching
them ever since we left Bolo. They are on both sides, too."

"They're made by the cattle," answered Genevieve; "such a lot of them,
you know, traveling single file on their way to Bolo. Bolo is a 'cow
town'--that is, they ship cattle to market from there."

"Poor things," sighed Elsie, sympathetically. "I saw some yesterday from
the train. I thought then I never wanted to eat another piece of
beefsteak--and I adore beefsteak, too."

Genevieve sobered a little.

"I know it; I know just how you feel. I hate that part--but it's
business, I suppose. I reckon I hate business, anyhow--but I love the
ranch! I can't get used to the branding, either."

"What's that?" asked Elsie.

Genevieve shook her he