After leaving the cañon where they had camped, Rob and Harriet drove through a region of utter desolation. The road wound about among crags and needles of that rose high into the air. Then came the flats—a stretch of meadow that lay sunken between the north and south watersheds—and after that a sharp down a narrow trail cut in the face of the mountain to the bottom of Spring cañon.  
The snow-swollen stream filled most of the narrow floor of the cañon; the road was a succession of mudholes through which Rob forced the struggling horses. A thick wall of along the stream kept the travelers from seeing more than a few feet ahead; the gray walls of the shut off the sunlight and echoed noisily to the shouting creek. To that ride up the cañon was a nightmare of terrifying . Then it ended; they were out on level ground, sunshine streamed along the valley below them, and across the prairie the Sawtooth Mountains stood shoulder to shoulder, with their summits radiant in the snowy .
 
"At last!" sighed Harry.
 
"Not quite," Rob answered. "We go up a little before we reach the . It's on the bench, close to the hills—not on the prairie down there. It's only five miles more."
 
Turning presently, the road wound along the base of the hills, which were very low here, with only an occasional steep butte out from the range. On the other side the ground fell away gradually to the prairie floor, which was brilliant with its hundreds of acres of young grain, land, pasture, and sagebrush. Harriet was gazing down at the plains, when Rob's voice made her look around sharply.
 
"There! Now you can see the ranch."
 
"Trees!" she exclaimed.
 
"Yes, the only big of quaking asp left on this side of the prairie. Every one round here knows that big fellow at the top. There's a real stream, too. With those for a starter it won't take us long to make a home."
 
There was a new note in Rob's voice—something more than the boyish kindness that had made him so lovable a chum. For a moment Harriet felt very far from him. Then a wave of nobler feeling swept over her. Of course Rob was absorbed in his homestead. Who would not be—owner of 160 acres, and master of his own ?
 
Soon Rob left the road and drove through the brush along the edge of a wet, green meadow toward the cañon that opened out from the hills. Along the steep slopes of the hill, trees , and down the cañon a mountain stream came . At the upper edge of the meadow Rob drew up, unhitched the horses, and[Pg 22] pitched the tent in the shelter of a spreading of willows.
 
Two weeks later, Harry was in the tent, deep in a struggle with her first pie. The cookbook was open before her on the table, on which cups, spoons, and plates were in .
 
"Bobs, is that you?" she called, as she heard footsteps outside. "Do look here! This pie crust is such a mess!"
 
She had arrived at a point where she needed encouragement. The morning was passing; the tent was very hot; flies everywhere, and her dough-covered hands could not grasp and tuck away the curl that was the end of her nose.
 
"If you want pies," she went on, "you'd better send for one of your cowboy cooks to come and make them. I can't."
 
"Excuse me, ma'am. Can I help?"
 
At the sound of the strange voice Harriet turned, dismayed. In the of the tent stood a dark, slender man eying her questioningly. In his khaki shirt, neckerchief, silver-trimmed leather "chaps" and broad-brimmed hat he was all that Harry had imagined a cowboy should be. There was something familiar to her in his dark-eyed face; and when he said, "Is Mr. Holliday here? I'm fetching in a bunch of colts—Jones is my name," she remembered at once.
 
 
 
"Mr. Holliday is not here, but please come in, Mr. Jones," she said. "I am his sister."
 
Jones came into the tent and sat down on a box near the door.
 
"How do you like Idaho?" he asked.
 
"I'd like it better if I'd learned to make pies before I came," Harry replied, with a rueful glance at her sticky hands. "Rob has told me how well all the men out in this country can cook. It makes me feel so stupid not to be able to. Rob has tried to show me how to make sour-dough bread and frijole beans—with red peppers and garlic, you know. Aren't they awful? Rob likes them, though."
 
"They ain't so bad," said Jones gravely, turning his hat in his hands and glancing oddly at the girl from under his .
 
"Well, maybe not, when you're very, very hungry. I can manage to cook them, but pie—look at it!" She viciously the , sticky paste. "I guess I'll just throw it away and start fresh."
 
"Oh, I wouldn't waste it! Ain't you got it a little wet, mebbe?"
 
"Is that it? What must I do? I'm sure you are laughing in your sleeve at me."
 
"Not much. I remember what an all-fired mess I had layin' round when I first into pie makin'. But now if I was you and you told me to turn that there into hot bread and take a new layout for the pie, I reckon I'd try it."
 
"Thank you!" Harry laughed. "If I were you,[Pg 24] Mr. Jones, and you were I, and I saw you in this fix, do you know what I'd do? Offer to show me—you—how to do it."
 
With a smile, Jones laid his hat under the table, dipped some water into the hand basin, washed his hands, and came over to the table.
 
"I'll grease the pans," Harry said. "The apples are ready. And there! I forgot all about the fire. This business of putting in wood every five minutes——"
 
She put wood into the stove, filled the kettle, stirred the beans, and greased the pans; all the while she watched the new cook as he worked.
 
"I'd rather organize a fresh of dough," he said apologetically. "Makin' it over would be like tryin' to make a cow out of a cayuse that's been half broke to a buggy."
 
In a few minutes he had the pie pans lined, and looked about him for the filling. "Apples, you said, didn't you?"
 
Harry to a basin with dried fruit that she had soaked but had not cooked. "Those are the apples I meant to use."
 
Jones hesitated and grinned. "You wasn't cal'latin' to make them into a pie without bilin' 'em first? It'd be like chewin' on gun waddin! Ain't you got no canned goods?"
 
From the pile of groceries, dishes, chicken feed, and bedding that Rob had dumped into a corner until he could find time to put up shelves, Harry produced a[Pg 25] can of peaches. "This place is in the worst mess," she declared. "We've been here just about two weeks, and Rob is so busy getting post holes dug while the ground is soft that he hasn't time even to think how we live."
 
"A homesteader has to think of his critters first. Did you say you had the garlic in those beans? They'd ought to bile some smarter if they're for dinner."
 
When Rob came home at noon, tired, hungry, and expecting a meal of soggy bread and experimental beans, he found dinner waiting for him; the open oven door revealed delicious brown biscuits and an odorous pie. Harry, cool and calm, was setting the table.
 
"So you got here at last, did you?" Rob said in greeting to Jones.
 
"Yes, but it's a wonder," Jones replied. "The road's so comin' through the hills that a fellow meets hisself comin' back three times on the way over."
 
"Did you bring in the horses?"
 
"Sure. I've got 'em in those trees up yonder. Thought I'd better see you before I put 'em in the corral." He shot a quick glance at Rob.
 
"No, you don't want 'em there. I've got the glen fenced. There are so many trees in there that it will be cool and protected for the colts, too. Well, let's have dinner, sis; I'm hungry enough to chew nails."
 
"You'll have just time to wash while I'm dishing up," Harry reminded him.
 
She had taken pains to set the table attractively—with clean napkins from her little store of , with[Pg 26] the butter on butter plates, and with a glass of water at each place.
 
After much splashing outside, Rob reappeared. "Now for grub!" he exclaimed, down on the cracker box. "Come along!" he cried to Jones, who, standing before the looking-glass, was carefully parting his black hair. "Your top's all right."
 
"You certainly didn't bother to brush yours," Harry said, with a glance at Rob's wet and hair.
 
"Oh, it'll do!" Rob hastily his hair flat. "Come along, Jones. That's the trouble with these Western financiers," he added in a loud aside to Harry. "They think too much of their looks." He glanced round the table. "This all the beans you've got, sis?" he asked, eying the small dish in which Harry had served the beans.
 
"No." Harry pointed to the saucepan on the stove.
 
"Ah! Good work. Beans, Jones? Sure." Rob ladled out huge platefuls for Harry and Jones, swung the saucepan from the stove to the table, helped himself generously, and then calmly set the saucepan down on his clean napkin. "Now, a little condensed milk for the coffee," he said, "then anchor and away."
 
"I'll have to open a fresh can," Harry said, jumping up. "I threw out the other."
 
As she went to get it, she failed to see her brother's eyebrows lift in surprise. He said nothing, however, and his dinner hungrily.
 
"Sis couldn't even turn a flapjack when she first came out," he said to Jones as between them they [Pg 27]demolished beans and biscuits. "Never mind, sis, you've earned your salt teaching, and if you keep on like this you'll soon be worth your salt to me."
 
He teasingly, cheerfully unconscious of the fact that Harry's cheeks were flaming with . Just when Rob should have been nicest, before a stranger, he was particularly !
 
In a very cold and manner she credit for the pie and biscuits, but Rob was so busy eating that he did not notice the in her voice. As soon as dinner was over he got up, reached for his hat, and said, "Come on, Jones, let's go up to the glen."
 
They stepped outside the tent. Harry heard Rob say in a low voice, "I've been looking for you this long while. Have any trouble getting through?"
 
"Not much. I didn't give any one a chance to ask questions."
 
She heard no more and was soon thinking about other things—chiefly about how Rob had changed since coming West. She washed the dishes, straightened up the tent, and was just hanging up her , when she heard the men coming back, still talking earnestly.
 
"It's the only way," Rob was saying. "You can't be sure that these fellows will not find out; and if you can say that—see?"
 
The next moment they entered the tent. "Where's the ink, Harry?" he asked. As she went to her trunk, he added, "Give us a sheet of paper, too. That's it. Let's go outside, Jones; it's cooler there."
 
They sat down on the shady side of the tent. Harry[Pg 28] heard them talking long and low. After a while Rob came inside, put down the pen and ink, and went out again. Shortly , Jones rode away.
 
Harry waited, hoping that Rob would come in and tell her what they had been talking about; but he did not. Going to the door, she saw him driving along the fence line, unloading the posts that he had cut that morning in Spring Creek cañon.
 
Harry felt hurt and irritated. Slowly something hardened in her throat, and setting her lips, she sat down with her mending. When, after a while, Rob came up to get a fresh bag of water, she did not look up or speak.
 
But Rob was too full of his own thoughts to notice Harry's mood. He drew a cracker box to the table, reached for a of wrapping paper, and was soon deep in figuring. "Twenty-four, six, thirty. Six tons of alfalfa. How many hundred of and wheat and oats will it take to winter the stock on, I wonder?" He thrust his legs out under the table, ran his hands through his hair, and stared at the figuring before him.
 
"Yes, I ought to have three hundred dollars at least, before snow flies," he said. "I will, too, if I stick on the job and nothing happens."
 
"If nothing happens," Harry repeated, with a short laugh. "Does anything ever happen out here, pleasant or otherwise?"
 
"Eh? What's started you off? I mean, if the work goes well and we don't get a of some kind.[Pg 29] Three hundred dollars will see us through the winter, all right."
 
"'Us!' Don't count me in, please."
 
"Well, you have got a , sis," said Rob, in some surprise. "What's the matter now? I thought you were here for a year. In fact, I was just going to ask you if you don't want to homestead here."
 
"Me? Homestead? Never!"
 
"Why not? I didn't say anything about it before, because I wanted first to see whether you liked it and whether it agreed with you. You're taking hold fine, and I believe we'd make a big thing of it together. There's a hundred and sixty on the coulee just east of the next butte. You've been over it?"
 
"Yes," Harry admitted. She remembered the swale, the strip of green meadow, the springs breaking from the hillside; it did not compare in value with Rob's land, but it was a good "hundred and sixty."
 
For a moment Harry had a vision of herself as a ranch owner: riding a cow pony, planting and selling crops, building up a of her own, perhaps. Then came swiftly a picture of herself standing alone in the doorway of the cabin, as she had seen the women standing in their watching the train pass their lonely prairie homes. Yes, it would be that way with her, while Rob was off with Jones or some other man. She shook her head.
 
"I couldn't! I've no money. I can't make any out here. What should I do for clothes and things? It[Pg 30] took all I made at home, teaching, to keep me properly dressed."
 
"You wouldn't need such things here; you'd be a lot better off without them, if you're going to wear yourself out getting them. In a few years you'd have a farm worth something—you and I together could do a lot. As it is, some old cow-puncher'll settle it up, or a sheepman'll grubstake a Mex to prove up on it for him, and the sheep'll eat out the whole range. It wouldn't take you long to , only fourteen months, and then, if you didn't like it, you could hike back East. Of course it would cost you two hundred dollars to prove up, but you could make that easily by teaching a district school."
 
Again Harry hesitated. She remembered suddenly the young school-teacher whom she had met on the train, and who was giving up a good salary to come out and homestead.
 
"If I have to spend all I'd make teaching merely to prove up, I don't see that I'd be any better off than if I went back home. If I could do something to earn money to put into the ranch it might be worth while."
 
"Quit throwing things out before they're half used; that would save some money, anyway."
 
Rob brusquely. He hated to find fault with Harry, but he had wanted to speak before this about her , and now she was giving him an excuse.
 
"Really, Rob, I don't know what you mean." Her[Pg 31] tone showed that her pride was hurt. "I thought I was very economical."
 
"It's not very economical to throw out a tin of milk that's only been used twice—and to cut fresh bacon for fry fat, when there's an old rind hanging on the wall. It's those little things that count up in the long run. I'm not kicking, but since you said you'd like to help, that's as good a way as any."
 
"And yet you suggest my staying out here. Really, if I'm such a poor manager as you say, I think I'd better go back at once."
 
"What's the use of talking like that? I guess it's lonesomeness that makes you . You ought to get out and see some of the other ranchwomen. Why don't you go over to Robinson's. It's only three miles from here, and she'd be to death to have you go to see her."
 
"Why doesn't she come first? She's been here longer than I have."
 
"They don't pay much attention to that formal sort of nonsense out here," said Rob. "If you were sick they'd come and nurse you for a week; but most of them have a raft of children, and chores to do besides."
 
Whistling cheerfully, he went out to his work. Harriet flushed with anger. How rude Rob was! But what could be expected when he had lived so long among these rough Westerners?
 
Yet under her she felt that he was right and that she was wrong. She had not realized it before.[Pg 32] At home her mother and elder sister had provided for the household; and what Harry earned she had, quite as a matter of course, spent upon herself; of course she had had to go without many things that other girls had, and so had thought herself very economical. Rob's economy was not like that. She saw now how often he saved money by fashioning something that she would have thought it necessary to buy—or by getting further use out of something that she would have thrown away. She knew that his was the real spirit of economy.
 
Nevertheless, she was angry with him, and began to write a homesick letter to her mother. She was deep in a of her , when a voice interrupted her.
 
"This Holliday's ranch?" it inquired.