“Well,” said Hetty gravely, “if you had, just as long as you could remember, seen your father and his friends taking no pleasure, but working every day, and putting most of every dollar they made back into the ranch, you would find it quite difficult to believe that the man who meant to take it from them now they were getting old and wanted to rest and enjoy what they had worked for was doing good.”

Flora Schuyler nodded. “Yes,” she said, “I would. It’s quite an old trouble. There are two ways of looking at everything, and other folks have had to worry over them right back to the beginning.”

Then she suddenly tightened her grasp on the bridle, for the ringing of a rifle rose, sharp and portentous, from beyond the rise. The colour faded in her cheek, and Hetty leaned forward a trifle in her saddle, with lips slightly parted, as though in strained expectancy. No sound now reached them from beyond the low, white ridge that hemmed in their vision but a faint drumming of hoofs. Then Flora Schuyler answered the question in her companion’s eyes.

“I think it was only a warning,” she said.

She wheeled her horse and they rode on slowly, hearing nothing further, until the Range rose from behind the big birch bluff. Torrance had returned when they reached it, and Hetty found him in his office room.

“I met Larry on the prairie, and of course I talked to him,” she said. “I asked him why he had not been to the Range, and he seemed to think it would be better if he did not come.”

Torrance smiled drily. “Then I guess he showed quite commendable taste as well as good sense. You are still decided not to go back to New York, Hetty?”

“Yes,” said the girl, with a little resolute nod. “You see, I can’t help being young and just a little good-looking, but I’m Miss Torrance of Cedar all the time.”

Torrance’s face was usually grim, but it grew a trifle softer then. “Hetty,” he said, “they taught you a good many things I never heard of at that Boston school, but I’m not sure you know that all trade and industry is built upon just this fact: what a man has made and worked hard for is his own. Would anyone put up houses or raise cattle if he thought his neighbours could take them from him? Now there’s going to be trouble over that question here, and, though it isn’t likely, your father may be beaten down. He may have to do things that wouldn’t seem quite nice to a dainty young woman, and folks may denounce him; but it’s quite plain that if you stay here you will have to stand in with somebody.”

The girl, who was touched by the unusual tenderness in his eyes, sat down upon the table, and slipped an arm about his neck.

“Who would I stand in with but you?” she said. “We’ll whip the rustlers out of the country, and, whether it sounds nice at the time or not, you couldn’t do anything but the square thing.”

Torrance kissed her gravely, but he sighed and his face grew stern again when she slipped out of the room.

“There will not be many who will come through this trouble with hands quite clean,” he said.

It was during the afternoon, and Torrance had driven off again, when, as the two girls were sitting in the little room which was set apart for them, a horseman rode up to the Range, and Flora Schuyler, who was nearest the window, drew back the curtain.

“That man should sit on horseback always,” she said; “he’s quite a picture.”

Hetty nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Still, you told me you didn’t like him. It’s Clavering. Now, I wonder what he put those things on for – he doesn’t wear them very often – and whether he knew my father wasn’t here.”

Clavering would probably have attracted the attention of most young women just then, for he had dressed himself in the fashion the prairie stockriders were addicted to, as he did occasionally, perhaps because he knew it suited him. He had artistic perceptions, and could adapt himself harmoniously to his surroundings, and he knew Hetty’s appreciation of the picturesque. His sallow face showed clean cut almost to feminine refinement under the wide hat, and the blue shirt which clung about him displayed his slender symmetry. It was, however, not made of flannel, but apparently of silk, and the embroidered deerskin jacket which showed the squareness of his shoulders, was not only daintily wrought, but had evidently cost a good many dollars. His loose trousers and silver spurs were made in Mexican fashion: but the boldness of the dark eyes, and the pride that revealed itself in the very pose of the man, redeemed him from any taint of vanity.

He sat still until a hired man came up, then swung himself from the saddle, and in another few moments had entered the room with his wide hat in his hand.

“You find us alone,” said Hetty. “Are you astonished?”

“I am content,” said Clavering. “Why do you ask me?”

“Well,” said Hetty naïvely, “I fancied you must have seen my father on the prairie, and could have stopped him if you had wanted to.”

There was a little flash in Clavering’s dark eyes that was very eloquent. “The fact is, I did. Still, I was afraid he would want to take me along with him.”

Hetty laughed. “I am growing up,” she said. “Three years ago you wouldn’t have wasted those speeches on me. Well, you can sit down and talk to Flora.”

Clavering did as he was bidden. “It’s a time-honoured question,” he said. “How do you like this country?”

“There’s something in its bigness that gets hold of one,” said Miss Schuyler. “One feels free out here on these wide levels in the wind and sun.”

Clavering nodded, and Flora Schuyler fancied from his alertness that he had been waiting for an opportunity. “It would be wise to enjoy it while you can,” he said. “In another year or two the freedom may be gone, and the prairie shut off in little squares by wire fences. Then one will be permitted to ride along a trail between rows of squalid homesteads flanked by piles of old boots and provision-cans. We will have exchanged the stockrider for the slouching farmer with a swarm of unkempt children and a slatternly, scolding wife then.”

“You believe that will come about?” asked Miss Schuyler, giving him the lead she felt he was waiting for.

Clavering looked thoughtful. “It would never come if we stood loyally together, but – and it is painful to admit it – one or two of our people seem quite willing to destroy their friends to gain cheap popularity by truckling to the rabble. Of course, we could spare those men quite well, but they know our weak points, and can do a good deal of harm by betraying them.”

“Now,” said Hetty, with a sparkle in her eyes, “you know quite well that if some of them are mistaken they will do nothing mean. Can’t they have their notions and be straight men?”

“It is quite difficult to believe it,” said Clavering. “I will tell you what one or two of them did. There was trouble down at Gordon’s place fifty miles west, and his cow-boys whipped off a band of Dutchmen who wanted to pull his fences down. Well, they came back a night or two later with a mob of Americans, and laid hands on the homestead. We are proud of the respect we pay women in this country, Miss Schuyler, but that night Mrs. Gordon’s and her daughters’ rooms were broken into, and the girls turned out on the prairie. It was raining, and I believe they were not even allowed to provide themselves with suitable clothing. Of course, nothing of that kind could happen here, or I would not have told you.”

Hetty’s voice was curiously quiet as she asked, “Was nothing done to provoke them?”

“Yes,” said Clavering, with a dry smile, “Gordon shot one of them; but is it astonishing? What would you expect of an American if a horde of rabble who held nothing sacred poured into his house at night? Oh, yes, he shot one of them, and would have given them the magazine, only that somebody felled him with an axe. The Dutchman was only grazed, but Gordon is lying senseless still.”

There was an impressive silence, and the man sat still with the veins on his forehead a trifle swollen and a glow in his eyes. His story was also accurate, so far as it went; but he had, with a purpose, not told the whole of it.

“You are sure there were Americans among them?” asked Hetty, very quietly.

“They were led by Americans. You know one or two of them.”

“No,” said Hetty, almost fiercely. “I don’t know. But Larry wasn’t there?”

Clavering shook his head, but there was a curious incisiveness in his tone. “Still, we found out that his committee was consulted and countenanced the affair.”

“Then Larry wasn’t at the meeting,” said Miss Torrance. “He couldn’t have been.”

Clavering made her a little and very graceful inclination. “One would respect such faith as yours.”

Miss Schuyler, who was a young woman of some penetration, deftly changed the topic, and Clavering came near to pleasing her, but he did not quite succeed, before he took his departure. Then Hetty glanced inquiringly at her companion.

Flora Schuyler nodded. “I know just what you mean, and I was mistaken.”

“Yes?” said Hetty. “Then you like him?”

Miss Schuyler shook her head. “No. I fancied he was clever, and he didn’t come up to my expectations. You see, he was too obvious.”

“About Larry?”

“Yes. Are you not just a little inconsistent, Hetty?”

Miss Torrance laughed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I am, of course, quite angry with Larry, but nobody else has a right to abuse him.”

Flora Schuyler said nothing further, and while she sat in thoughtful silence Clavering walked down the hall with Hetty’s maid. He was a well-favoured man, and the girl was vain. She blushed when he looked down on her with a trace of admiration in his smile.

“You like the prairie?” he said.

She admitted that she was pleased with what she had seen of it, and Clavering’s assumed admiration became bolder.

“Well, it’s a good country, and different from the East,” he said. “There are a good many more dollars to be picked up here, and pretty women are quite scarce. They usually get married right off to a rancher. Now I guess you came out to better yourself. It takes quite a long time to get rich down East.”

The girl blushed again, and when she informed him that she had a crippled sister who was a charge on the family, Clavering smiled as he drew on a leather glove.

“You’ll find you have struck the right place,” he said. “Now I wonder if you could fix a pin or something in this button shank. It’s coming off, you see.”

The girl did it, and when he went out found a bill lying on the table where he had been standing. The value of it somewhat astonished her, but after a little deliberation she put it in her pocket.

“If he doesn’t ask for it when he comes back I’ll know he meant me to keep it,” she said.