The winter was long and harsh, with scarcely a single Chinook to temper the intense cold. To Nettie, vainly seeking to cope with the work, the noise and the disorder, which the shutting in of a dozen husky youngsters must inevitably entail, and to Cyril Stanley, conscientiously at work in the purebred camp of the Bar Q, the Alberta winter had never seemed so long and grim. Cyril, however, found an outlet for the new feelings that he did not find hard to analyze. An Ontario-born boy, of pure Scotch ancestry, he was both sentimental and practical. Though he had met her but once, he was certain that Nettie was the only girl in the world for him, and with a canny eye to the near future, he began immediately to prepare for the realization of his dreams. It did not take Cyril long to make application for the quarter-section homestead land, which lay midway between the Day place and Dr. McDermott's original homestead. The savings of several years were prudently expended upon barbed wire and fence post.

Though the best rider and roper of the Bar Q, and in line for the post of foreman of that tempestuous ranch, Cyril's faith was in the grain land, and he purposed to develop his homestead as soon as he could afford to do so. By sacrificing a certain amount of his pay, he could leave the Bar Q in the slack seasons and put in a certain amount of work each year upon his place. Already he possessed a few head of cattle and horses, and he planned to trade some of these for implements. He would begin the building of the house in the summer, after the fencing was done. The boy's thoughts dwelt long and tenderly upon that house all winter long. He had the heart and home hunger of the man in the ranching country, who has come little into contact with women, yet craves their companionship. Cyril's longing was the keener in that he now found himself in love for the first time in his life. He pictured Nettie in the house he would build, saw her moving about preparing their meal, thrilled at the thought of their eyes meeting and the touch of her hand in his. How she would light up the place.

Dreams these—dreams that kept the once easy-tongued Cyril dumb and still, and aroused the good-natured questions of the fellows in the bunkhouses. Little cared Cyril for their jokes. He knew that spring would soon be there, and then——

Spring, in fact, came early that year, ushered in miraculously on the wings of a magnificent Chinook, which blew without ceasing for four days and nights, its warm breath thawing the land so lately rigid with cold.

Nettie, driving along the road in the Doctor's democrat, turned about in the seat to stare, with mild wonder, at the three rolls of barbed wire and the heaped-up willow fence posts that were piled on the unbroken quarter by which they were now passing.

"My!" said Nettie, "looks like someone's took up this quarter. D'you know Who they are, doc?"

"Let's see. Seems to me I did hear that a Bar Q hand had staked here."

At the word "Bar Q," such a rush of color flooded the girl's face that, had the doctor been less intent upon driving the lagging team at a speed they were totally unused to, he might have surprised the girl's secret. But Dr. McDermott's eyes were fastened steadily ahead to where, across the bald prairie, his own first home in Alberta thrust its blunt head against the skyline. He was in a hurry to reach that long deserted shack.

From up the grade the figure of a horseman stood out in silhouette against the sun. Nettie's heart began to beat so wildly that she was obliged to grip the sleeve of the doctor's coat.

"That's right," he growled. "Hold on tight. These roads are a mortal disgrace—a disgrace to the community. Hello, there!"

Whip up, he hailed the rider, stopping long enough to give Cyril an opportunity to join them.

"How do, doc! Business good?"

The rider had awkwardly lifted his wide hat, but his eyes lighted up as he saw the other occupant of the cart, and over the girl's cheeks there came a flush like the dawn.

"C'n I do anything for you, doc? Everything all right?"

"Nothing's right. Look at this road. It's an eternal disgrace—a disgrace to the community."

Dr. McDermott cursed heartily and without stint.

"Should've made the grade in quarter the time."

"Where you bound for? Shall I ride along with you?"

"You may. Might need you. Sick wom—" He started to say "woman" and then curiously changed, and blurted out angrily, "Lady over there."

"You don't say. Not at your old dump? Well, what's she doin' there? Shall I go ahead, doc?"

"She owns the place. Don't know what happened, or when she arrived. Drove by this morning. Saw the door down and the nails off the window. Went in, and—Well, it's a sick woman—a very sick woman! Get up, you, Mack!"

He growled angrily at the lagging horses.

Cyril rode close to the left-hand side of the democrat, his fur chapps at times brushing the girl. They looked at each other, flushed, turned away and looked back. For some time they rode along in an electric silence, tongue-tied but happy. Conversation at last bubbled forth, but of that which filled their young hearts to the brim no word was said; they talked of the common everyday topics of the ranching country.

"Well, how's things at D. D. D.?"

"Not too bad. How's things at Bar Q?"

"Jake-a-loo. Stock in plumb good shape. Two hundred and eighty calves dropped already. Expectin' all of two thousand this spring."

"Two thousand calves! Oh, my! That's an awful sight of cattle." She sighed. "We just got six head."

"That's not too bad. Bull Langdon started with less than that. I got twenty head of my own. Hope to ketch up with the Bull by'n by."

They laughed heartily at that. Not so much because of the wit and brilliance of the remark, but because their hearts were young, the spring had come, the sun was overhead and it was good to hear each other's voices and to look into each other's eyes.

"What's your brand?"

"Mine? You don't say you never seen it yet?"

Again they went off into a happy gale of laughter.

"It's a circle on the left rib. Gotter look out. Bar Q's pretty much the same. All the Bull's got to do to my circle is make a click to turn it into a Q and brand a bar above that. Pretty easy, huh?"

"Oh-h, but he wouldn't do a thing like that!"

She was startled, palpably alarmed in his behalf, and that alarm was sweet and dear to him.

"Wouldn't he, though! Sa-ay, where've you been living all your days that you never heard how the Bull got his herd?"

"Oh, my, I did hear once, b-but I didn't suppose that now he's so rich and owns half the cattle in the country, that he'd do such things any more."

"Oh, wouldn't he, though! Just give'm half a chance. He's got the habit, you see, and habits is like our skin. They stick to us."

Again they laughed merrily at this witticism.

"Orders are," went on Cyril, expanding under the girl's flattering attention and the shy admiration that shone from her wide blue eyes, "to lick in any and all stuff runnin' loose around the country, unbranded stuff, and stuff where the brand ain't clear. He give me the tip himself. Said there'd be a five to the rider for every head rolled in. Of course, I'm not losin' sleep about my stuff. I know just where they are on the range, you betchu, and I'm not leavin' them out o' sight too long. Thinkin' of tradin' them in, anyway, for—for—lumber and implements."

"Lumber?" she repeated innocently.

"Yep. Goin' to build."

As his gaze sank deeply into Nettie's, her heart rose up and stood still in her breast.

"Wh-what are you building?" she asked in a breathless whisper, so that he had to bend down from his horse to catch the question, and the answer came with a boy's rich laugh:

"A home, girl!"

After that ecstatic sentence, and as if to relieve some of his pent-up joy, Cyril rode forward at a quick canter, raced on ahead and back again, bringing up beside the slow-traveling democrat.

The click of the doctor's whip, swinging above the horses' heads, became the only sound in the vast silence of the prairie. Dr. McDermott was considering the advisability of replacing his veterans which had given him such long and valiant service over many years; their feeble gait, though greatly to the taste of the engrossed young people, aroused the indignation and wrath of the harassed doctor. Just then a Ford, racing along the road at breakneck speed, jumped airily over a hole and splashed a stream of thick, black slimy mud over the slowly moving democrat and its occupants; it was the last straw in the cup of Dr. McDermott's fury. There and then he vowed to pension the ancient geldings, and get himself one of those infernal machines that had of late been at once his torment and his temptation.

Ever and anon, Cyril would ride a bit ahead, and as if to perform for the girl's especial benefit, Bat, his mount, would rear up on his front or hind feet, plunge and buck recklessly, and perform other thrilling gyrations to the delight of his admiring audience of one. His wild tricks, however, could not feaze the rider, who sat firm and graceful, holding the peppery young broncho under complete and careless control. The horse, a youngster of five, grown impatient at their lagging pace along the trail, pulled and snorted in his efforts to race ahead of the slow, plugging veterans.

"Oh, my," said Nettie—he was riding close again—"he's an awful spirited animal, isn't he? Aren't you the least bit afraid?" And then as he smiled at the idea, she added with the most simple and unfeigned admiration: "You ride just as if nothing—no kind of horse—could ever unseat you."

His chest swelled with pride, and he beamed down upon her.

"'Bout time I knew how to ride. Been ridin' sence I was a two-year-ole."

He offered another sally that brought forth the young laughter that so rejoiced his ears:

"Say, didn't you notice that I'm a bowleg?"

Nettie looked at the brilliantly clad legs in their orange-colored fur chapps, under which their shape was utterly hidden. Their eyes met and again they burst out laughing as if they had just heard the funniest joke in the world.

They had turned now into the road allowance which ran directly up to where the log cabin stood on the edge of the land. Something in the stillness, the solitary look of that lone cabin planted on the bare floor of the prairie sobered them, and they looked at the house with apprehension. Inside, they knew, was an English woman—a "lady" had said the doctor, and she was very sick.

Silently they dismounted. Dr. McDermott walked ahead of the trio, the cowpuncher leading his horse and keeping close to the girl.

As they stepped into the dim shadows of the bare room, the figure on the hard, home-made bed sat up suddenly. The face was thin and pinched, with spots of hectic color on either high cheek-bone. The woman's bright eyes were fixed upon them, full of suspicion and fierce challenging. Her hair had been cut to the scalp; jagged and unlovely it covered her head in grotesque tufts as if forcing its way out despite the murderous shears. Crouched against the wall, she looked strangely like some wild thing at bay.

Nettie's first impulse of shock and fear gave way to one of overwhelming pity as she moved toward the bed. The bright, defiant eyes met her own, and the woman moistened her dry lips:

"What do you want in my house? Who are you?"

"I'm Nettie Day," said the girl simply, "and I just want to help you."

"I don't want any help," cried the woman violently. "All I want is to be let alone."

The exertion, the violence of her reply brought on a fit of coughing that left her panting and too weak to resist the hands that tenderly lifted and held her. When the spasm had passed, she lay inert in Nettie's arms, but when she opened her eyes again, they widened with a strange light as they stared up fixedly at the pitying face bent above her. The dry lips quivered, something that was pitifully like a smile broke over the sick woman's face. She whispered:

"Why, you look—like—my mother did!"