Part 7 (2/2)

”I must try and make your daughter at home,” he continued. ”I allow myself the luxury of a private tent, and as you will be staying over night I will ask you to accept it for her.”

”But I have my own tent with me, in the democrat,” said Zen. ”If you will let the men pitch it under the trees where I can hear the water murmuring in the night--”

”Who'd have thought it, from the daughter of the practical Y.D!”

Transley bantered. ”All right, Ma'am, but in the meantime take my tent.

I'll get water, and there's a basin.” He already was leading the way.

”Make yourself at home--Zen. May I call you Zen?” he added, in a lower voice, as they left Y.D. at a distance.

”Everybody calls me Zen.”

They were standing at the door of the tent, he holding back the flap that she might enter. The valley was already in shadow, and there was no sunlight to play on her hair, but her face and figure in the mellow dusk seemed entirely winsome and adorable. There was no taint of Y.D.'s millions in the admiration that Transley bent upon her.... Of course, as an adjunct, the millions were not to be despised.

When the men had finished supper Transley summoned her. On the way to the chuck-wagon she pa.s.sed close to George Drazk. It was evident that he had chosen a station with that result in view. She had pa.s.sed by when she turned, whimsically.

”Well, George, how's that Pete-horse?” she said.

”Up an comin' all the time, Zen,” he answered.

She bit her lip over his familiarity, but she had no come-back. She had given him the opening, by calling him ”George.”

”You see, I got quite well acquainted with Mr. Drazk when he came back to hunt for a horse blanket which had mysteriously disappeared,” she explained to Transley.

They ascended the steps which led from the ground into the wagon. The table had been reset for four, and as the shadows were now heavy in the valley, candles had been lighted. Y.D. and his daughter sat on one side, Transley on the other. In a moment Linder entered. He had already had a talk with Y.D., but had not met Zen since their supper together in the rancher's house.

”Glad to see you again, Mr. Linder,” said the girl, rising and extending her hand across the table. ”You see we lost no time in returning your call.”

Linder took her hand in a frank grasp, but could think of nothing in particular to say. ”We're glad to have you,” was all he could manage.

Zen was rather sorry that Linder had not made more of the situation.

She wondered what quick repartee, shot, no doubt, with double meaning, Transley would have returned. It was evident that, as her father had said, Linder was second best. And yet there was something about his shyness that appealed to her even more than did Transley's superb self-confidence.

The meal was spent in small talk about horses and steers and the merits of the different makes of mowing machines. When it was finished Transley apologized for not offering his guests any liquor. ”I never keep it about the camp,” he said.

”Quite right,” Y.D. agreed, ”quite right. Booze is like fire; a valuable thing in careful hands, but mighty dangerous when everybody gets playin'

with it. I reckon the gra.s.s is gettin' pretty dry, Transley?”

”Mighty dry, all right, but we're taking every precaution.”

”I'm sure you are, but you can't take precautions for other people. Has anybody been puttin' you up to any trouble here?”

”Well, no, I can't exactly say trouble,” said Transley, ”but we've got notice it's coming. A chap named Grant, foreman, I think, for Landson, down the valley, rode over last night, and invited us not to cut any hay hereabouts. He was very courteous, and all that, but he had the manner of a man who'd go quite a distance in a pinch.”

”What did you tell him?”

”Told him I was working for Y.D., and then asked him to stay for supper.”

”Did he stay?” Zen asked.

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