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Ruth. ā€œThereā€™s somethinā€™ Iā€™d like to say to you. Itā€™s business. If youā€™d rather hear it privateā€”ā€

ā€œI think there is nothingā€”ā€ she began.

ā€œWell,ā€ he said, ā€œIā€™ve got to leave here.ā€

Ruthā€™s face grew long. Uncle Jepson gagged on a mouthful of smoke. Aunt Martha ceased knitting. Masten alone seemed unmoved, but an elated gleam was in his eyes.

ā€œIsnā€™t that a rather sudden decision, Mr. Vickers?ā€ questioned Ruth after a silence.

ā€œWell, mebbe it is, to you,ā€ said Vickers, with some embarrassment. ā€œBut the fact is, Iā€™ve been thinkinā€™ of goinā€™ for a long timeā€”about a year to be exact. I was goinā€™ before your uncle died, but I kept holdinā€™ on because he wanted me to. You see, maā€™am, Iā€™ve got a mother back East. Sheā€™s been poorly for quite a while now, anā€™ has been wantinā€™ me to come. Iā€™ve been puttinā€™ it off, but itā€™s got to the point where it canā€™t be put off any longer. I got a letter from her doctor the other day, anā€™ he says that she canā€™t last a heap longer. Soā€”Iā€™m goinā€™.ā€

ā€œThatā€™s too bad,ā€ sympathized Ruth. ā€œYou ought to go, and go quickly.ā€

ā€œIā€™m aiminā€™ to, maā€™am. But Iā€™ve got to tell you somethinā€™ before I go. Me anā€™ your uncle was pretty thick; he trusted me a heap.ā€

ā€œYes,ā€ said Ruth; ā€œhe told me that he liked and trusted you.ā€

ā€œWell, youā€™ll understand then. A couple of months before he cashed in, we was talkinā€™ of him goinā€™. He knowed it, maā€™am. We was talkinā€™ about the ranch. He knowed I wanted to leave. ā€˜Whatā€™ll I do for a range boss when youā€™re gone?ā€™ he asked me. ā€˜I wonā€™t go till you ainā€™t here any more,ā€™ I tells him. Anā€™ he grinned. ā€˜Iā€™m goinā€™ to leave the Flyinā€™ W to my niece, Ruth Harkness of Poughkeepsie,ā€™ he says. ā€˜Iā€™d like her to stay anā€™ run itā€”if she likes it here. Youā€™ll be gone then, anā€™ who in Sam Hill will be range boss then?ā€™ I told him I didnā€™t have no thoughts on the subject, anā€™ he continues: ā€˜Rex Randerson, Vickersā€”heā€™ll be range boss. Do you understand? If you was to pull your freight right now, Rex Randerson would be range boss as soon as I could get word over to him. Anā€™ if youā€™ve got any say-so after Iā€™m gone, anā€™ Ruth wants to keep the ranch, you tell her thatā€”that Bill Harkness wants Rex Randerson to be range boss after Wes Vickers donā€™t want it any more.ā€™ Thatā€™s what he said, maā€™am; themā€™s his very words.ā€

Ruth looked at Masten. He was staring stonily out into the plains. Ruthā€™s cheeks reddened, for she felt that she knew his thoughts. But still, Randerson hadnā€™t really used him ill at the river, and besides, he had apologized, and it seemed to her that that should end the incident. Also, she still felt rather resentful toward Masten for his attitude toward Tom Chavis after she had complained. And also, lurking deep in her unsophisticated mind was a most feminine impulse to sting Masten to jealousy. She looked up to meet Vickersā€™ gaze, fixed curiously upon her.

ā€œCould you recommend this manā€”Randerson?ā€ she asked.

ā€œWhy, maā€™am, heā€™s got the best reputation of any man in these parts!ā€

ā€œBut is he efficient?ā€

ā€œMeaninā€™ does he know his business? Well, I reckon. Heā€™s got the best head for range work of any man in the country! Heā€™s square, maā€™am. Anā€™ there ainā€™t no man monkeyinā€™ with him. Iā€™ve knowed him for five years, anā€™ I ainā€™t ever knowed him to do a crooked trick, exceptinā€™ā€ā€”and here he scratched his head and grinned reminiscentlyā€”ā€œwhen he gets the devil in him which he does occasionally, maā€™amā€”anā€™ goes to jokinā€™, maā€™am. But theyā€™re mostly harmless jokes, maā€™am; heā€™s never hurt nobody, bad. But he got a level headā€”a heap leveler than a lot of folks thatā€”ā€

ā€œI think Tom Chavis would make a good range boss, Ruth,ā€ said Masten. He did not look at her, and his words were expressionless.

ā€œMister man,ā€ said Vickers evenly, ā€œwhat do you know about Tom Chavis?ā€

Masten looked quickly at Vickers, and as quickly looked away, his face slowly reddening.

ā€œHeā€™s foreman now, isnā€™t he?ā€ he said. ā€œIt seems that Harkness trusted him that much.ā€

ā€œThereā€™s a first time for every man to go wrong, Mister,ā€ said Vickers.

Mastenā€™s voice was almost a sneer.

ā€œWhy donā€™t you tell Chavis that?ā€

ā€œIā€™ve told him, Misterā€”to his face.ā€ Vickersā€™ own face was growing dark with wrath.

ā€œYou were range boss after Harknessā€™ death,ā€ persisted Masten. ā€œWhy didnā€™t you discharge Chavis?ā€

ā€œIā€™m askinā€™ the new boss for permission to do it now,ā€ declared Vickers. ā€œItā€™ll be a good wind-up for my stay here.ā€

ā€œWe shall keep Chavis for the present,ā€ said Ruth. ā€œHowever,ā€ she added firmly, ā€œhe shall not be range boss. I do not like him.ā€

Vickers grinned silent applause. And again Uncle Jepson had trouble with his pipe. Aunt Martha worked her knitting needles a little faster. Mastenā€™s face paled, and the hand that held the cigar quickly clenched, so that smoking embers fell to the porch floor. Whatever his feelings, however, he retained his self-control.

ā€œOf course, it is your affair, Ruth,ā€ he said. ā€œI beg your pardon for offering the suggestion.ā€

But he left them shortly afterward, lighting a fresh cigar and walking toward the bunkhouse, which was deserted, for Chavis and Pickett had gone to a distant part of the range.

Thus Masten did not see Vickers, when a little later he came out on the porch with his war-bag. He said good-bye to Aunt Martha and Uncle Jepson, and then he took Ruthā€™s hand and held it long.

ā€œYouā€™ll never go a heap wrong when you use your own judgment, girl,ā€ he said. ā€œIā€™m ridinā€™ over to the Diamond H to tell Randerson about his new job. Donā€™t make no mistake, girl. Rex Randerson is square. Anā€™ if any trouble comes sneakinā€™ around you, take it to Rex; heā€™ll stick on the right side till hell freezes over.ā€


ā€œI am Ruth Harkness, the new owner of the Flying Wā€
CHAPTER VI A MAN AND HIS JOB

Just what Ruthā€™s sensations were the next morning she could not have told. She could correctly analyze one emotion: it was eager anticipation. Also, she could account for itā€”she wanted to see Randerson. But her reason for wanting to see him was a mystery that she could not fathom, though between the time of arising and the moment when she got downstairs she devoted much thought to it. She knew she did not like Randerson well enough to wish to see him merely on that accountā€”that was ridiculous, in spite of the vivid recollection of him that still lingered with her, for she had met him only once, and she assured herself that she was too practical-minded to fall in love with anyone at first sight. Yet by afternoon Ruth had tired of waiting; she had no special reason for certainty that Randerson would arrive that day, and so she went riding. She went alone, for Masten seemed to have hidden himselfā€”at least, she could not find him. She rode to the break in the wall of the canyon that he had told her about, found it, sent her pony through it and over a shallow crossing, emerging at length in a tangle of undergrowth in a wood through which wound a narrow bridle path. She followed this for some distance, and after a while came to a clearing. A little adobe house stood near the center of the clearing. Ruth halted her pony, and was debating whether to call out or to ride boldly up, when a dog came out of the door of the cabin, growling, its hair bristling belligerently. The dog was big, black, and undoubtedly savage, for the pony instantly wheeled, and when the dog came closer, lashed out with both hind hoofs at it.

ā€œNig, you olā€™ duffer, git in hyeh where you bā€™long! Canā€™t you see that that thereā€™s a lady!ā€ came a voice, unmistakably feminine. And the dog, still growling, but submissive, drew off.

Ruth urged the pony on and rode the remaining distance to the door. A girl, attired in a ragged underskirt and equally ragged waist of some checkered material, and a faded house-apron that was many sizes too small for her, stood in the open doorway, watching. She was bare-footed, her hair was in tumbling disorder, though Ruth could tell that it had been combed recently. But the legs, bare almost to the knees, were clean, though brown from tan, and her face and arms glowed pink and spotless, in spite of the rags. In her eyes, as she watched Ruth, was a strange mixture of admiration and defiance.

ā€œDad ainā€™t hyeh this morninā€™,ā€ she volunteered as Ruth climbed off her pony.

ā€œI came to see you,ā€ said Ruth, smiling. She threw the reins over the ponyā€™s head and advanced, holding out a hand. ā€œI am Ruth Harkness,ā€ she added, ā€œthe new owner of the Flying W. I have been here almost a month, and I just heard that I had a neighbor. Wont you shake hands with me?ā€

ā€œI reckon,ā€ said the girl. Reluctantly, it seemed, she allowed Ruth to take her hand. But she drew it away immediately. ā€œIā€™ve heard of you,ā€ she said; ā€œyouā€™re a niece of that olā€™ devil, Bill Harkness.ā€ She frowned. ā€œHe was always sayinā€™ dad was hookinā€™ his doggoned cattle. Dad didnā€™t steal ā€™emā€”olā€™ Bill Harkness was a liar!ā€ Her eyes glowed fiercely. ā€œI reckon youā€™ll be sayinā€™ the same thing about dad.ā€

ā€œNo indeed!ā€ declared Ruth. ā€œYour dad and I are going to be friends. I want to be friends with you, too. I am not going to charge your dad with stealing my cattle. We are going to be neighbors, and visit each other. I want to know your dad, and I want you to come over to the Flying W and get acquainted with my aunt and uncle. Arenā€™t you going to invite me inside? I would if you came to visit me, you know.ā€ She smiled winningly.

The girl flushed, and cast a glance at the interior of the cabin, which, Ruth had already noted through the open door, was scantily furnished but clean. Then the girl led the way in, motioned Ruth to a chair near a rough-topped table, and stood over beside a cast-iron stove, her hands hanging at her sides, the fingers crumpling the cloth of the ragged apron. Her belligerence had departed; she seemed now to be beginning to realize that this visit was really meant to honor her, and she grew conscious of her rags, of the visible signs of poverty, of the visitorā€™s raiment, gorgeous in comparison with her ownā€”though Ruthā€™s was merely a simple riding habit of brown corduroy.

Ruth had set out for this visit with a definite intention: she wanted to discover just how the girl and her father lived, and if conditions were as she suspected she was determined to help them. Conditions were worse than she had expected, but her face gave no indication. Perhaps Ruthā€™s wisdom was not remarkable where men were concerned, but she had a wealth of delicacy, understanding and sympathy where her own sex was in question. She stayed at the cabin for more than an hour and at the end of that time she emerged, smiling happily, her arm around the girl, with the girlā€™s pledge to visit her soon and an earnest invitation to come again. Best of all, she had cleverly played upon the feminine instinct for fine raiment, slyly mentioned a trunk that she had brought with her from the East, packed to the top with substantial finery which was not in the least needed by herā€”an incumbrance, ratherā€”and which, she hinted, might become the property of another, if suitable in

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