Spring found the construction of the valley line well advanced, and the grades nearing the lands of the Dunning ranch. Right-of-way men had been working for months with Lance Dunning, over the line, and McCloud had been called frequently into consultation to adjust the surveys to objections raised by Dicksie’s cousin to the crossing of the ranch lands. Even when the proceedings had been closed, a strong current of discontent set from the managing head of the Stone Ranch. Rumors of Lance Dunning’s dissatisfaction often reached the railroad people. Vague talk of an extensive irrigation scheme planned by Sinclair for the Crawling Stone Valley crept into the newspapers, and it was generally understood that Lance Dunning had expressed himself favorably to the enterprise.

Dicksie gave slight heed to matters as weighty as these. She spent much of her time on horseback, with Jim under the saddle; and in Medicine 132 Bend, where she rode with frequency, Marion’s shop became her favorite abiding-place. Dicksie ordered hats until Marion’s conscience rose and she practically refused to supply any more. But the spirited controversy on this point, as on many others––Dicksie’s haughtiness and Marion’s restraint, quite unmoved by any show of displeasure––ended always in drawing the two closer to each other.

At home Dicksie’s fancies at that time ran to chickens, and crate after crate of thoroughbreds and clutch after clutch of eggs were brought over the pass from far-away countries. But the coyotes stole the chickens and kept the hens in such a state of excitement that they could not be got to sit effectively. Nest after nest Dicksie had the mortification of seeing deserted at critical moments and left to furred prowlers of the foothills and canyons. Once she had managed to shoot a particularly bold coyote, only to be overcome with remorse at seeing its death-struggle. She gained reputation with her cousin and the men, but was ever afterward assailed with the reflection that the poor fellow might have been providing for a hungry family. Housekeeping cares rested lightly on Dicksie. Puss had charge of the house, and her mistress concerned herself more with the setting of Jim’s shoes than with the dust on the elk heads 133 over the fireplace in the dining-room. Her Medicine Bend horseshoer stood in much greater awe of her than Puss did, because if he ever left a mistake on Jim’s heels Dicksie could, and would, point it coldly out.

One March afternoon, coming home from Medicine Bend, she saw at some distance before her a party of men on horseback. She was riding a trail leading from the pass road that followed the hills, and the party was coming up the bridge road from the lower ranch. Dicksie had good eyes, and something unusual in the riding of the men was soon apparent to her. Losing and regaining sight of them at different turns in the trail, she made out, as she rode among the trees, that they were cowboys of her own ranch, and riding, under evident excitement, about a strange horseman. She recognized in the escort Stormy Gorman, the ferocious foreman of the ranch, and Denison and Jim Baugh, two of the most reckless of the men. These three carried rifles slung across their pommels, and in front of them rode the stranger.

Fragments of the breakfast-table talk of the morning came back to Dicksie’s mind. The railroad graders were in the valley below the ranch, and she had heard her cousin say a good deal on a point she cared little about, as to where the railroad 134 should cross the Stone Ranch. Approaching the fork of the two roads toward which she and the cowboys were riding, she checked her horse in the shade of a cottonwood tree, and as the party rode up the draw she saw the horseman under surveillance. It was George McCloud.

Unluckily, as she caught a glimpse of him she was conscious that he was looking at her. She bent forward to hide a momentary confusion, spoke briskly to her horse, and rode out of sight. At Marion’s she had carefully avoided him. Her precipitancy at their last meeting had seemed, on reflection, unfortunate. She felt that she must have appeared to him shockingly rude, and there was in her recalling of the scene an unconfessed impression that she had been to blame. Often when Marion spoke of him, which she did without the slightest reserve and with no reference as to whether Dicksie liked it or not, it had been in Dicksie’s mind to bring up the subject of the disagreeable scene, hoping that Marion would suggest a way for making some kind of unembarrassing amends. But such opportunities had slipped away unimproved, and here was the new railroad superintendent, whom their bluff neighbor Sinclair never referred to other than as the college guy, being brought apparently as a prisoner to the Stone Ranch.

Busied with her thoughts, Dicksie rode slowly along the upper trails until a long dÉtour brought her around the corrals and in at the back of the house. Throwing her lines to the ground, she alighted and through the back porch door made her way unobserved to her room. From the office across the big hall she heard men’s voices in dispute, and she slipped into the dining-room, where she could hear and might see without being seen. The office was filled with cowboys. Lance Dunning, standing with a cigar in his hand and one leg thrown over a corner of the table, was facing McCloud, who stood before him with his hand on a chair. Lance was speaking as Dicksie looked into the room, and in curt tones: “My men were acting under my orders.”

“You have no right to give such orders,” McCloud said distinctly, “nor to detain me, nor to obstruct our free passage along the right of way you have agreed to convey to us under our survey.”

“Damn your survey! I never had a plat of any such survey. I don’t recognize any such survey. And if your right-of-way men had ever said a word about crossing the creek above the flume I never would have given you a right of way at all.”

“There were never but two lines run below the creek; after you raised objection I ran them both, and both were above the flume.”

“Well, you can’t put a grade there. I and some of my neighbors are going to dam up that basin, and the irrigation laws will protect our rights.”

“I certainly can’t put a grade in below the flume, and you refuse to talk about our crossing above it.”

“I certainly do.”

“Why not let us cross where we are, and run a new level for your ditch that will put the flume higher up?”

“You will have to cross below the flume where it stands, or you won’t cross the ranch at all.”

McCloud was silent for a moment. “I am using a supported grade there for eight miles to get over the hill within a three-tenths limit. I can’t drop back there. We might as well not build at all if we can’t hold our grade, whereas it would be very simple to run a new line for your ditch, and my engineers will do it for you without a dollar of expense to you, Mr. Dunning.”

Lance Dunning waved his hand as an ultimatum. “Cross where I tell you to cross, or keep off the Stone Ranch. Is that English?”

“It certainly is. But in matter of fact we must cross on the survey agreed on in the contract for a right-of-way deed.”

“I don’t recognize any contract obtained under false representations.”

“Do you accuse me of false representations?”

Lance Dunning flipped the ash from his cigar. “Who are you?”

“I am just a plain, every-day civil engineer, but you must not talk false representations in any contract drawn under my hand.”

“I am talking facts. Whispering Smith may have rigged the joker––I don’t know. Whoever rigged it, it has been rigged all right.”

“Any charge against Whispering Smith is a charge against me. He is not here to defend himself, but he needs no defence. You have charged me already with misleading surveys. I was telephoned for this morning to come over to see why you had held up our work, and your men cover me with rifles while I am riding on a public road.”

“You have been warned, or your men have, to keep off this ranch. Your man Stevens cut our wires this morning–––”

“As he had a perfect right to do on our right of way.”

“If you think so, stranger, go ahead again!”

“Oh, no! We won’t have civil war––not right away, at least. And if you and your men have threatened and browbeaten me enough for to-day, I will go.”

“Don’t set foot on the Stone Ranch again, and don’t send any men here to trespass, mark you!”

“I mark you perfectly. I did not set foot willingly on your ranch to-day. I was dragged on it. Where the men are grading now, they will finish their work.”

“No, they won’t.”

“What, would you drive us off land you have already deeded?”

“The first man that cuts our wires or orders them cut where they were strung yesterday will get into trouble.”

“Then don’t string any wires on land that belongs to us, for they will certainly come down if you do.”

Lance Dunning turned in a passion. “I’ll put a bullet through you if you touch a barb of Stone Ranch wire!”

Stormy Gorman jumped forward with his hand covering the grip of his six-shooter. “Yes, damn you, and I’ll put another!”

“Cousin Lance!” Dicksie Dunning advanced swiftly into the room. “You are under our own roof, and you are wrong to talk in that way.”

Her cousin stared at her. “Dicksie, this is no place for you!”

“It is when my cousin is in danger of forgetting he is a gentleman.”

“You are interfering with what you know nothing about!” exclaimed Lance angrily.

“I know what is due to every one under this roof.”

“Will you be good enough to leave this room?”

“Not if there is to be any shooting or threats of shooting that involve my cousin.”

“Dicksie, leave the room!”

There was a hush. The cowboys dropped back. Dicksie stood motionless. She gave no sign in her manner that she heard the words, but she looked very steadily at her cousin. “You forget yourself!” was all she said.

“I am master here!”

“Also my cousin,” murmured Dicksie evenly.

“You don’t understand this matter at all!” declared Lance Dunning vehemently.

“Nothing could justify your language.”

“Do you think I am going to allow this railroad company to ruin this ranch while I am responsible here? You have no business interfering, I say!”

“I think I have.”

“These matters are not of your affair!”

“Not of my affair?” The listeners stood riveted. McCloud felt himself swallowing, and took a step backward with an effort as Dicksie advanced. Her hair, loosened by her ride, spread low upon her head. She stood in her saddle habit, with her quirt still in hand. “Any affair that may lead my cousin into shooting is my 140 affair. I make it mine. This is my father’s roof. I neither know nor care anything about what led to this quarrel, but the quarrel is mine now. I will not allow my cousin to plunge into anything that may cost him his life or ruin it.” She turned suddenly, and her eyes fell on McCloud. “I am not willing to leave either myself or my cousin in a false position. I regret especially that Mr. McCloud should be brought into so unpleasant a scene, because he has already suffered rudeness at my own hands–––”

McCloud flushed. He raised his hand slightly.

“And I am very sorry for it,” added Dicksie, before he could speak. Then, turning, she withdrew from the room.

“I am sure,” said McCloud slowly, as he spoke again to her cousin, “there need be no serious controversy over the right-of-way matter, Mr. Dunning. I certainly shall not precipitate any. Suppose you give me a chance to ride over the ground with you again and let us see whether we can’t arrive at some conclusion?”

But Lance was angry, and nursed his wrath a long time. 141