"We'll beat any cow-pony workin' on the round-up," declared the soft-voiced twin as he coiled up the stake-rope and tied it on to his saddle.

It was four o'clock in the afternoon of the same day. School had been dismissed and the dozen children of various sizes were straggling homeward. Hope stood beside her horse patiently waiting for the twins to go, but they seemed in no particular hurry. She listened absent-mindedly to the boys' conversation.

"An' another thing about this pony o' mine, he'll never slack up on a rope," continued Dan. "Once you've got a rope on a steer he'll never budge till the cinch busts off the saddle. He'll just sit right back on his haunches an' pull. Yes, sir; you'd think he knew just as much as a man!"

Dave grunted. "He's all right 'nough, only he'll bust the bridle if you tie him, an' he won't stand without bein' tied. He'll buck if he's cinched too tight or gets too much to eat, an' he ain't fit for a lady to ride, nohow. He's an Indian pinto to boot, a regular fool calico pony! Now my horse is an all 'round good one, an' so gentle any lady can ride him, just like any sensible horse ought to be."

"Yes, that's all he's good for, is to stand 'round an' look pretty, like some o' these here bloods—an' them pretty soldiers over to the post. I notice when there's any real work to be done, Mr. Dude ain't in it. Oh, he can stand 'round an' look pretty all right, but the pinto's the best all 'round, an's got the most sense!"

Their discussion seemed at an end, for the soft-voiced twin having fastened the rope securely, walked around to the other side of his pinto and had just turned the stirrup toward him, preliminary to mounting, when the other boy grasped him roughly by the collar, throwing him backward to the ground.

"That's my lariat; you hand it over here!" he exclaimed gruffly; thereupon the soft-voiced twin picked himself up, very carefully brushed the dust from his sleeve, and answered slowly, in a particularly sweet tone:

"I ain't a-goin' to fight you here in front of the teacher. That's my rope. Go an' get it if you want it! But she's got yourn. I saw her pick it up by mistake this mornin'. You've tied up your dude cayuse twice with her'n to-day. Must have somethin' the matter with your eyes. I ain't a-goin' to lick you er fight with you, but I'm goin' to get even with you for this!"

"Here's your rope," said Hope, taking it from her saddle and handing it to the boy. Dave took it shamefacedly, throwing her rope on the ground, then hid himself on the opposite side of his pony. In an instant the soft-voiced twin picked up the teacher's stake-rope, coiled it, and tied it on to her saddle.

The girl stood to one side watching him. She wondered at his quickness. He must have inherited something of his grandmother's acuteness. But her sympathy turned to the other boy—big, clumsy, rough Dave. He was standing out of sight behind his horse, embarrassed by his own error. Hope felt sorry for him. She had already found it very difficult to keep peace between these boys and herself. Each day brought some new ruffle that required all her wit to smooth over.

The soft-voiced twin handed the bridle reins to her, then turned to his own horse, which had wandered away toward more tempting pasture. The girl thanked him, and walked over to Dave. He looked at her sullenly, a certain dogged obstinacy in his eyes. She had intended to say something kind to him, instead she spoke indifferently, yet to the point.

"Go home with Dan the same as usual. Say nothing about it, but get my rifle and meet me here at the school in two hours—six o'clock. There is a big flock of chickens that fly over that point every evening."

The boy made no reply, but his face changed noticeably, and he jumped on his horse, calling his twin to hurry up; but the soft-voiced boy had no notion of leaving his teacher, so Dave, with a savage whoop, ran his pony to the top of the hill, leaving the school-house and his uncomfortable feelings far in the background.

"Why don't you go with him?" asked the girl.

"I'm waitin' for you," replied the boy.

"But I'm not going just now. You'd better run along with Dave."

"I ain't in no hurry."

"Aren't you? Well, that is good, for I just happened to think of something. I want you to go down to Pete La Due's place where they are branding, and hang around awhile and keep your ears open. There will be a lot of breeds there, and some of those men over on Crow Creek, and maybe something will be said that we ought to know about. You understand. You are my faithful scout, you know. And another thing—don't try to pay Dave back for what he did. He's sorry enough about it."

The boy's face took on a shrewd, determined expression, causing him at once to look years older. For an instant Hope imagined that he resembled his aged grandmother, old White Blanket, the "witch."

"I'll go over there," he replied, "an' I'll see what I can find out, but about Dave—I'll get even with him if it takes me ten years. He needs teachin'."

"We all do," said the girl thoughtfully. "I have begun a series of lessons myself—on humanity. No, on sympathy, on what is expected of a womanly woman. We're lucky when we have a good teacher, aren't we? But it's pretty hard to learn what doesn't come natural. Remember Dave isn't like you. He wasn't made like you, and never will be like you. Think of this, and don't be hard on him, that's a good boy."

The soft-voiced twin smiled sweetly, and mounting his horse, remarked:

"I expect I'd better be movin' over there if I'm goin' to find out anything to-day."

"Yes," said Hope, pleased that he should leave her at last. "I think you're right. Be sure to come home before bedtime and report."

The boy dug his heels into the pinto's sides, starting off on a bound. She watched him, absent-mindedly, until he disappeared over the hill-top, then she rode away at a lively canter toward the sheep-man's ranch.

A horseman came rapidly toward her before she reached Livingston's gate. It was a slender, boyish figure, who sat his horse with remarkable ease and grace. The girl frowned savagely when she saw him, but only for an instant. He waved his hat above his dark head and called to her from the distance. His voice possessed a rich musical ring which might have stood for honesty and youthful buoyancy.

When Hope met him she was smiling. In fun she passed rapidly, seeing which he wheeled his horse about, caught up with her, and leaning far over, grasped the bridle, bringing her horse to a stand-still beside him. It was an old trick of his boyhood. The girl's ringing laughter reached a small group of men at work with shovels upon the rise of a green knoll not far away. They stopped work and listened, but the notes died away and nothing more could be heard.

"That wasn't fair, Syd!" she cried. "I thought you'd forgotten it. I was going to run you a race."

"Rowdy's thin, he couldn't run. A stake-rope don't agree with him, and I'll bet he hasn't seen an oat since you've been here," he answered, growing sober. "Hopie, dear, leave these breeds and go home, that's a good girl! I can't bear to have you stay there. You've been up here a week and you look thin already. I'll bet you're starving right now! Come, own up, aren't you hungry?"

"I hadn't thought of it," replied Hope. "But now that you remind me, I believe I am—the least bit. A steady diet of eggs—boiled in their own shells, is apt to make one hungry at times for a good dinner. But what's the difference? I feel fine. It certainly agrees."

"But that's terrible! Eggs! Eggs only—eggs in the shell. Haven't you brought yourself to meat, bread, and potatoes yet? Eggs only! It's a joke, Hope, but somehow I can't feel amused. I've eaten eggs for a meal or two, around those places, but a week of it! Hope, your father wants you. Go home to him!"

"No; you see it's this way, Sydney, I couldn't if I would, and I wouldn't if I could. I couldn't because father told me to stay until the school term ended, and I wouldn't because—I like it here. It's new and exciting. I feel just like a boy does in going out into the world for the first time. You know how that is, Syd, how you roamed about for months and months. You had your fling and then you were satisfied."

"I know," said Carter softly, stroking her horse's neck. "But you had such a free 'fling' there at the ranch, what else could you want? You had your choice between the ranch and New York. You could travel if you wished. Surely there was nothing left to be desired. You can't make me believe that you really like it up here among these breeds, teaching a handful of stupid children their A B C's! I can't see the attraction. Clarice Van Rensselaer with the Cresmonds and that little jay Englishman, Rosehill, are due at the ranch this week. You like Clarice; go home, Hope, and look after things there. You're needed, and you know it. Do go, that's a good girlie!"

"Don't say anything more about it to me, Sydney. I can't go, I'm not going, and I want to forget for this one summer about the ranch and everyone on it."

"I am wasting my breath, but yet," he looked at her searchingly, "I don't understand you in this. I see no attraction here for you. Why, even the hunting isn't good! I'll not admit that there is any attraction for you in this Englishman over here. You've known dozens of them, and you've always expressed an aversion to every one. I'm not going to be scared of one lone Englishman!" He grasped her hand and his face darkened. "Hope, if I thought you would ever care for him I'd——"

She interrupted:

"You need not finish that! Show a little manhood! Oh, Syd, a moment ago you were my dear old companion—my brother, and now——If you knew how I detest you in this! It is not yourself—your dear self, at all, but the very devil that has taken possession of you. Sydney, are you sure there isn't something the matter with your brain? Do you realize how awful it seems? Doesn't it make you feel ashamed of yourself when you think of all the sweetness of our past life? It makes me, Syd. Sometimes at night before I go to sleep I think of the way you've acted lately, and I can feel a hot flush creep all over my face. It makes me so ashamed! I've grown up with you for my brother, I think of you always as my brother, and this makes a new person out of you—a person whom I neither love nor respect. Syd, dear Syd, forget it and I will never think of it again, for I will have my brother back. I loved you, Sydney, you and father, better than anyone else in this world. And now——" She turned her head away from him and began to cry quietly. In an instant he was filled with commiseration and tenderness.

"Don't, Hope!" he exclaimed, bending close to her. "I can't stand anything like that! Don't cry. I'm sorry, girlie. I've been a fool, a brute, a low-lived beggar, but I can't stand tears from you! Here you're hungry, starving, living among a lot of breeds, and I've added more to your misery. It's all a mistake. I know now when I see you crying—don't do it, dear! You've never cried since you were a baby, and now you're such a great big girl. The other feeling's all gone. I guess it must have been because you were the only girl out here and I let myself think of you that way until it grew on me. But you are my sister—my dear little pard!"

He had dismounted and stood beside her. Now he reached up and took her hands away from her face. She was ashamed of her tears, as people are who seldom cry, and hastily mopped her face with her handkerchief.

"I'm so glad, Syd, dear!" she exclaimed in a moment, then reached down and kissed him. "What a baby you must think I am!"

"Your tears woke me up, dear; don't be sorry. Maybe some time they'll make a man out of me."

"Nonsense! you were a man all the time, only you didn't know it. You don't know how happy I was all at once when you called me 'pard' again. I knew then I had my brother back."

The young fellow mounted his horse again. His own eyes were suspiciously moist.

"And I have my sister, which seems better than anything to me," he said. Then they both laughed.

"I was going to the Englishman's," said Hope, "to see if I could help any about the poor herder who was shot."

"They're burying him now," announced her cousin, "right around the bend of this hill just inside the fence. Do you want to go over there?"

"Yes, I think I do," she replied. "I want to ask Mr. Livingston when the little German girl is expected to arrive and what is going to be done about her."

"The herder's sister?" asked Sydney.

"No, his sweetheart. Just think, Sydney, his little sweetheart, who is on her way to marry him! Isn't it sad? Who will meet her and who will tell her, I wonder, and what will she do? How are such things managed, I wonder. Isn't it terrible, Syd?"

"Some beggars around here shot the poor fellow, Livingston told me. The whole bunch ought to be hanged for it."

"It was a cowardly thing to do!" exclaimed the girl.

"Sheep in a cattle country, the same old story. I imagine old Harris is a pretty strong element here. They've driven out a couple of bands already. Someone ought to put Livingston next. But he probably scents the situation now from this occurrence. He is one of the kind who trusts everyone. I met him last fall in town when he first came out here. He has put a lot of money into this business, and I'd like to see him make it a go. He'll have something to learn by experience."

"Isn't it too bad he didn't invest in cattle?" deplored Hope.

"Yes, though they say there's bigger returns in sheep." He pointed ahead. "You can't see the men, but they're just around that point of rocks, though they must be about through with the job by now."

"You'll go along, won't you? Then you can ride back to the school-house with me. I'm going to meet one of the twins there at six o'clock, and we're going to see if we can get some chickens."

"If you will promise to bring the chickens over to the camp and let the cook get you up a good, square meal," he replied. "Jim will be back before dark."

"If I shouldn't happen to get any birds," she asked, "does the invitation still hold good?"

"Pard!" he reproved.