Life was pleasant for Nettie Day at the Bar Q, where, in the pink and white gingham house dresses supplied by Mrs. Langdon, she looked prettier every day.

The clean and spacious ranch house, shining with sunlight, was a revelation to the girl who had lived all of her life in the two rooms of the poor shack with her parents and her nine little brothers and sisters.

It flattered the vanity of Bull Langdon to have a "show place" on the Banff National Highway. He had built the main ranch house upon the crest of a hill that commanded the road to Banff, and the wide, rambling buildings, ornate in design and brightly painted, had been placed where they would show up well from the road, so that all who traveled along the highway would slow up for a view of the Bar Q.

Nettie's advent was both a surprise and a joy to the wife of the cattleman, who took a childish pride in at last "keeping a girl."

For a number of years the Bar Q had maintained a cook car, whither the "hands" went for "grub." It was on such a vehicle that Angela Loring had served. Now a thin and musty smelling Chinaman dominated the car, a shrinking, silent figure, who banged down the chow before the men, and paid no heed to protest or squabble, save when the "boss" came in, when Chum Lee became frenziedly busy. In winter, the Chinaman was moved to the Pure-Bred Bull camp at Barstairs, and the men left at the foothill ranch, "batched" in the bunkhouses.

Though the main cooking was done on the cook car, there yet remained an enormous amount of work at the ranch house, for besides the housework, the bread and butter for the ranch were made there by Mrs. Langdon. She "put down" the pork in brine, cured and smoked it; made hundreds of pounds of lard, sausage meat, headcheese, corned beef and other meat products. She made the soap, looked after the poultry and vegetable garden, she canned quantities of fruit and vegetables for the winter months. She was always working, always running hither and thither about the house, hurrying to "have things ready," for her husband had a greedy appetite, and her mind was exclusively occupied in devising ways and means of propitiating and pacifying him.

Of late, however, her health had been visibly failing. The long years of hard work, the tragedy of the yearly still-born baby, life and association with the overbearing cattleman had gradually taken their toll of the strength of Bull Langdon's wife.

Bull was what is known in the cattle world as a "night rider." In the earlier days it was said he did all of his "dirty work" at night, moving and driving bunches of cattle under cover of darkness. Rivalry, strife and bitter enmity are a commonplace of life in the cattle country, and the Bull vented his vindictive spite upon his neighbors by slipping their herds out of pastures and corrals, and driving them over the tops of canyon and precipice. Those incursions were, however, events of the past. The cowman was cautious now that he had arrived at a place of security and power. Rustling and stealing were dangerous undertakings in those days when the trails had turned into highways, and small ranches were beginning to dot the edges of the range. Moreover, the mounted police were less easy to influence and intimidate than the former Indian agents had been.

Night riding had remained one of his habits, however, and one that told heavily upon the wife, who would always wait up for his return, with supper always ingratiatingly ready.

For some time symptoms of a coming breakdown had been ominously evident to Mrs. Langdon, but she persistently fought against the prospect of becoming an invalid. She had an ingenuous faith, imbibed from tracts and books that had drifted into her hands in her teaching days; she denied the existence of evil, pain or illness in the world, and when it pushed its ugly fist into her face, or wracked her frail body, she had a little formula that she bravely recited over and over again, like an incantation, in which she asserted that it was an error; that she was in the best of health, and that everything in the world was good and beautiful and in the image of God. Whether she deluded herself or not, it is certain that this desperate philosophy, if such it could be called, was the crutch that had upheld her and kept her sane throughout the turbulent years of her life with Bull Langdon, so that she had never lost her faith in mankind, and had remained curiously innocent of wrong.

She hailed Nettie's coming, therefore, as a "demonstration" of her faith, and welcomed the strong, willing, cheerful girl with a grateful heart and open arms.

It was pleasant for a change, to take things easy; to have all the heavier work done by the tall, competent girl, and, better than the relief from the hard labor, was the companionship of another woman in the ranch house. Only a woman who has been isolated long from her own sex can appreciate what it means when another woman comes into her life.

Nettie would place a rocking chair for her mistress on the back veranda, bring the basket of mending, and with her slow, shy smile, say:

"Now, Mrs. Langdon, you fall to on them socks, and leave me to do the work."

This Mrs. Langdon would do, and Nettie would bring her work on to the veranda, the one sewing or crocheting, the other churning and working the butter, kneading the bread or preparing the vegetables for the day. Work thus became a pleasure, and Mrs. Langdon's soft voice chattering of many happy topics made a pleasant accompaniment to their work. If Nettie went indoors to work, Mrs. Langdon soon followed her. She took pride in teaching Nettie her own special recipes, and they would both laugh and exclaim over the mistakes or success of the girl, who was all eagerness to learn. Slowly a feeling warmer than mere friendship drew the two women together.

Although it was against the rules for the Bar Q "hands" to come to the ranch house, save when summoned by the Bull, or on some special errand, Nettie's presence there was widely known and commented upon, and many were the ingenious devices invented by the men to obtain a sight of or a word with the girl. Bull, however, was more than ever on the watch for an infraction of this rule, and more than one employee found himself fired for loitering in the neighborhood of the ranch house or suffered the indignity and pain of a blow from the boss's heavy hand. Harvest time came at last to the prairie, where Bull Langdon had a great grain ranch, and thither the owner of the Bar Q departed to superintend the harvesting operations.

From time immemorial lovers have found a way to meet, and Cyril and Nettie were not long in solving their own problem.

Nettie Would slip from the house after supper, for Mrs. Langdon went early to bed, as farmers do. Between the house and a clump of willows there was a small field, behind it a deep coulee, where the wild raspberries and gooseberries grew in profusion. There, hidden by the thick growth, Nettie would go to pick berries, stopping ever and anon to listen for a sound that only she and Cyril understood, the long-drawn whistle that was like the call of an oriole. At the sound of that musical note, Nettie would stop picking, and, with parted lips, shining eyes and beating heart, she would wait for her lover to come to her in the deep bush.

This was the season when the daylight lingered far into the night; when the soft light of the late sun lay romantically upon the still and sleeping land. Young Cyril and Nettie would sit on a knoll, with the berry bushes all about and above and below them, and with clasped hands, thrilling at each other's nearness, they would murmur their joyful confidences and hopes.

Cyril was what the country folk would have described as "slow" with girls, and Nettie was as innocent as a child. She had never had companions of her own age, not even a girl friend, and Cyril was her first "beau." This simple holding of hands was rapture for these two, an exciting adventure that made them tremble with a vague longing for something more. With the clumsy shyness of the country boy who has known no women, it had taken Cyril two weeks to find courage and power to put his arm awkwardly about the girl's waist. That daring progress, full of joyous excitement, was the prelude to something he had not foreseen. The close pressure of the girl's warm young body against his, the involuntary raising of her face, as it almost touched his own, brought the inevitable consequence. For the first time in either of their lives they kissed. Lost in that single, ever closer embrace, time and place, knowledge of all else on earth, vanished from their minds as, amidst the dense berry bushes, they clung ecstatically together.

Upon their blissful dream, a harsh voice broke. Even as they drew apart, still heavy with the lassitude of the new rapture they had but just discovered, they dimly recognized the voice of Bull Langdon. From somewhere in the direction of the corrals, he was calling for his "hands." They could hear him cursing, and knew he must have ridden up noiselessly, and annoyed at finding no one about the place was venting his temper in this fashion.

"Oh, my!" murmured Nettie, drawing half out of Cyril's arms and unconsciously leaning towards him, "he'll be wantin' you, Cyril."

"Let'm want," said the boy, hungry again to feel the touch of those warm lips upon his own. "I'm not workin' nights for no man, and if he ain't satisfied, I guess I can quit any old time now. You say the word when, Nettie. I'm ready for you, girl. And Nettie—give us another kiss, will you?"

"Oh, Cyril, I got to get to the house. Mrs. Langdon's gone to bed, and he'll be lookin' for something to eat, and it's not her place to get his meals when I'm here to do the work."

"You won't have to work for no one but me soon, Nettie. I'll take care of you for the rest of your days. Nettie, I never kissed a girl before. That is true as God."

"Neither did I—never kissed a fellow."

"Kiss me again, then."

This time she remained in his arms for a moment only as the clamorous voice of Bull Langdon was heard close at hand, his words, causing Nettie to tear herself away in fear.

"Where's that gell? Why ain't she on her job?"

Nettie clambered up the slope of the coulees and went running across the grass to the house. As she paused at the wide opened door, her basket still on her arm, Bull Langdon, now in his seat, his legs stretched out before him, turned around to stare at her, his fierce, covetous glance, as always, holding her fascinated and breathless with vague terror.

"Where've ye been at this early hour of the night?"

"I been picking berries," faltered Nettie, trying vainly to steady her voice.

"Oh, you have, heh?"

Her cheeks were redder than any berries that ever grew and her eyes shone star bright. Her white bosom rose and fell with the thrill of her late adventure and her sudden fear.

"Pickin' berries in the night, huh? You're smart, ain't you?"

"Oh, yes, it was light as day you see and I don't mind——"

"Let's see what you got."

He reached out seemingly for the basket, but his hand closed over the handle upon hers. Gripping it tightly with his other hand he lifted the cover and peered into the empty basket.

"Let go my hand!" she cried in a stifled voice. "You're hurtin' me!"

For answer he possessed himself of the other and steadily drew her nearer and nearer to him. She struggled and twisted in his grasp, suppressing her desire to scream for fear that her mistress might hear. But, in fact, it was the clip clop of Mrs. Langdon's loose bedroom slippers on the stairs that brought her release.

Mrs. Langdon, her hair in paper curlers and with a gray flannellete kimono thrown over her night dress, hurried down the stairs.

"Oh, Bill—" She was the only person who never called him "Bull"—"is it you? Are you back? I'm so sorry I didn't hear you get in or I'd a been down at once. We'll have something ready for you in a minute. Nettie, bring some of that fresh headcheese, and cut it from the new bowl, mind you, and maybe Mr. Langdon'd like something to drink too. You made butter today, didn't you? Well, bring some fresh buttermilk, or maybe you'd like something hot to drink. Which'd you rather have, Bill?"

He never replied to her many light questions and she seldom expected him to. She nodded and smiled at Nettie and the girl hurried to the pantry. Mrs. Langdon fluttered about her husband, helping him to remove his heavy riding boots and coat, and putting away his hat and gauntlets. He endured her ministrations, but in spite of her chatter and numerous questions he remained curiously silent. When Nettie brought the tray with its fresh cut homemade headcheese and thick layer cake and buttermilk he drew up before it and ate in a sort of absorbed silence.

"Will you be wanting me any more tonight, Mrs. Langdon?" asked Nettie.

"No, Nettie, thank you. Run along to bed. If Mr. Langdon needs anything else I'll get it. Good-night, dear."

Bull, having finished the last of the food before him, reached for his boots and began again to pull them on.

"Oh, Bill, you're not goin' out again, are you?" exclaimed Mrs. Langdon with nervous anxiety.

He tightened his belt without speaking, his big chest swelling under his moosehide shirt. Spurs rattling, he tramped across the room and out into the yard.

At the bunkhouse lights were out and all hands save one abed. Cyril sat on the edge of his bunk, still dressed, chin cupped in his hands, giving himself up to his dreams.

The great bulk of the cattleman filled the doorway. His forefinger up, he beckoned to Cyril. The young man stood up and with a glance back at his sleeping mates he joined his employer outside the bunkhouse.

Clenched hands on hips, a characteristic attitude, the Bull scrutinized in the now steadily deepening dusk of the night the young fellow sturdily and coolly facing him, apparently unmoved and unafraid.

"Want chu to be ready first thing in the morning to ride over to Barstairs. Want chu to git them bulls in shape for the circuit. Goin' to exhibit in St. Louis, Kansas City, Chicago, San Francisco and other cities in the States. You do well by the bunch here and there's a bonus on your pay and you go along with the herd to the U. S."

Until this night the unexpected promotion would have elated Cyril. Now, in spite of his astonishment, he hesitated, and in his slow Scotch way turned the matter over in his mind. After a moment he said:

"I don't know as I want the job, boss. Fact is, I'm thinkin' of quittin'. Thinkin' of goin' on my own."

"On your own! You ain't got nothin' to go on your own with."

"I got my homestead. House's built, land partly fenced. I traded in my cattle for implements and I got six head of horses left, and that's not too bad as a starter."

"How far d'you think you can git on that much unless you got a stake behind you?"

The young man weighed this question thoughtfully and carefully. A bit sadly he replied:

"Not very far, but it'll do as a starter, and next year——"

"Next year ain't here yet. Besides it depends on what you're countin' on. You aimin' to get married?"

Somehow the question infuriated the Bull so that he shot it at the boy, despite his effort at self-control and his eyes blazed through the darkness. But Cyril was too absorbed in his own dreams to note the Bull's voice or manner. After a pause he answered slowly.

"Yes."

"You can't raise no family on what you got now," said the Bull hoarsely. "Things ain't the same as when I started in. You better wait a year or two. Take on this proposition I'm offerin' you and you'll be in better shape to do the right thing by the gell you marry then. There's a ten dollar a month raise for you and a bonus of a hundred at the end of the season."

A long pause, as this sunk into Cyril, and he slowly weighed the matter in his mind. A few months more or less would matter little to him and Nettie. The money would mean a lot. There were certain articles he had set his heart on buying for Nettie for the house, household utensils, of which a country traveling salesman, who had put up overnight at the Bar Q, had shown him enticing samples. Soon his mind was made up.

"Maybe you're right, boss. I'm on. Barstairs, eh? I'll be on the job first thing in the morning."

But when he rode out in the quiet dawn, with no one but Jake to bid him good-by, Cyril's heart was heavy, and as he went by the ranch house his glance sought Nettie's window, in the vain hope that she might by some chance be up and in sight. He had given Jake a message for her and felt sure that she would understand. It was a common occurrence for riders to be despatched on such trips as this, and Cyril was of a race that always puts duty before pleasure. Farsighted and canny, he was prepared to serve and wait an extra year if need be for the girl he loved.

At the thought of that future, shared with Nettie, his heart lifted. The grayness of the approaching dawn grew slowly lighter and the miracle of the sunrise broke over the sleeping land. Far and wide on all sides stretched an incomparable sky, a shadowy, gilded loveliness, as if a misty veil were slowly being unrolled till there burst into full bloom the marvelous sunglow of Alberta. Cyril's spirits rose with the sun and as his horse loped along the trail to Barstairs he lifted up his young voice and sang.