Now that the herd law was a fact, the next task Rob and Harry had to undertake was getting hay for the winter. Yet it was almost impossible for them to find time to look for it. Every day was crowded with work. The herd law would not take effect until the following spring, and the cattle at present in the hills would remain there until the fall round-up. Until then one or the other of the young people must always ride the fence to look for breaks, to push the range cattle back and to keep their own animals near home in an effort to stop the losses that continued with baffling persistence.

With the patience of an old hand Harry performed that part of the work. Early and late she rode to all the water holes not already gone dry, to all the favorite midday haunts of the herds, constantly hoping to find one or all of the six creatures that had disappeared. She found none of them; and, while she searched, two more steers, a yearling, and a cow and a calf vanished one by one.

Ludlum's "cow-punchers," with growing insolence, came repeatedly inside the fence to look through the milk cows and calves on pasture; and they never lost a chance to make threatening remarks to Harry about rustlers and what they were doing. Harry never repeated their remarks to Rob, for she was anxious to shield him from any additional annoyance.

Slowly she had waked up to the fact that behind her brother's undemonstrative calm there was deep anxiety and worry. Never given to talking much, he now scarcely spoke a word. His appetite vanished; when Harry begged him to eat, he said that he had a headache or that he had not slept very well the night before, which soon began to mean that he was not sleeping well any of the time.

"Poor Bobby is killing himself over the business, and there isn't a thing I can do to help him," she said to herself. "I can't even sell out until this fall, and by that time——"

But she could not say what she thought might happen by that time. The last cutting of hay would soon be made now, and Rob must surely be able to get some then.

By the middle of August the range was stripped of feed. The foothills, browsed over by thousands of sheep and cattle, burned by the dry winds and endless days of bright sunshine, stretched their dreary length of black lava and yellow sandstone buttes, gray sagebrush and trodden dust. Water holes and springs finally succumbed to the long drought, and from all sides the herds came down round the ranches. Trailing along the fences, they disturbed the silent nights with their uneasy bellowings.

About the first of September Rob and Harry brought all their cattle inside, in relays. Their wheat was not going to pay for harvesting it, and it was better to feed it now as pasture and save the alfalfa. They had, intended, of course, to ship their best steers to the stockyards, but the lack of feed had flooded the markets both East and West with half-starved and young creatures; and even fat beef was bringing a ruinously low price.

"Better to hold on as long as we can," Rob decided; "the price should go up as soon as this low grade is cleaned out."

"I should think that with so many hundreds being shipped there would be plenty of hay for all that are left," Harry suggested.

"I haven't found a man who's got more than enough for his own stock—if he has that. Even grain hay is being held for winter feed."

Harry had no answer. Slowly, distinctly, before her unwilling mind rose the vision of the famine winter. Against her wish she recalled the stories to which in the unmeaning time of plenty she and Rob had listened, shudderingly thankful that they had been spared such distress and anguish of mind.

Early in November she had asked Rob a question that she had been pondering. They had finally sold sixteen steers at the ruinous price of thirty dollars a head, and with hay at fifteen dollars it was clear they would not have enough money to pull through. Yet while they were suffering this famine here, down on the South Side a great harvest was being gathered. Why was there no way of getting part of that feed on the prairie? "What's the reason they can't ship baled hay in here?" she said.

"Baled hay? Forty miles by wagon? It couldn't be done. No, the ranchers on this side of the hills have to take their chances, and they know it. If they haven't enough hay, they'll sell half their stock and put the rest on short rations and pull through somehow."

"Why couldn't they drive their cattle down there? Other men bring their stock up here in summer and go back to the South Side for the winter."

"Sure. That's where they live. These fellows here would have to take all their belongings—a raft of children, chickens, pigs—why, they'd rather let their cattle starve."

"Well, we haven't a raft of children to hold us here. If you can't find hay on the prairie, we'll go down on the South Side and buy hay and feed the stock there."

"Don't you know that we'd have to have a house to live in and a well? The stock's got to be watered, and the ditches don't run all winter. You seem to think we can move round anywhere we take a fancy. In the West there aren't any obligingly abandoned farms waiting at the end of shady lanes, with pasture attached. Every house and shed and shack in this country was built for some special bunch of folks, and every acre of pasture is carrying just so much stock, and the rest is desert."

"But you'll go down there and try to find something, won't you?" Harry urged. "Some one is going to get the last hay for sale there, and you may be that one. I'll see to things here."

"Well, seeing as I haven't got any advice of my own to follow, I may as well take yours."

When he set out, two days later, Harry walked down to the big gate with him.

"Now don't hurry back," was her warning as he left her. "You must find hay. It means the beginning of our everlasting fortune if we bring the herd through this winter. And if," she added to herself as he rounded the butte, "if we can't get hay—what then?"

At the end of a week she received a post card from Rob.

"No luck yet. Plenty of feed, but mostly contracted for in big lots; small stacks not for sale. Am going farther on next week, so don't expect me until you see me."

As Harry read this she felt a pang of terror such as she had felt when, as a child playing "I spy" and wildly seeking a hiding place at the last minute, she had heard the warning shout, "Ready or not you shall be caught." Were they going to be caught now? Not only must they get hay, but they must get it before the first big snowstorm should imprison the herd in the hills. Would Rob, down in the Snake River country where the weather was still warm, remember that up in the hills winter was very near?

To Harry, waiting, watching, the suspense became almost unendurable. As November glided away with its pale, clear skies and its short, windless days, the desert grew lonelier, vaster. The forsaken fields, the sear hillsides on which not one of the animals that had fed there was left, even the empty skies where only a single hawk floated—all were dumb witnesses that the harvest was ended.

If Harry had been idle, the suspense would have been worse; but there was plenty for her to do, whether they stayed where they were for the winter or departed. The root vegetables must be dug and stored, the weeds burned, the dry wood hauled down from the grove and stacked, the asparagus bed mulched and the young trees tied in tar paper to keep off rabbits. When she had done all that and had cleaned the house, Harry felt that she could afford to take an afternoon off and go to see Isita. Though the girl had been out of her sick bed for more than three months, she was not yet strong, and for that reason Harry was doubly set on getting her away to school.

She found Isita sitting on an old box in the sunshine, picking wool for a quilt. She was working slowly, steadily, but all too evidently without interest. At sight of Harry her face lighted with pleasure.

"I was so afraid you'd gone for the winter!" she exclaimed. "It's such a long time since you've been up."

"As if I'd go without saying good-by! I don't want to go at all until you're settled down on the flat, going to school. Has your mother persuaded your father?"

Isita's head drooped. "I don't believe he's going to let me go. He wants me to work." She half glanced up and smiled rather wanly. "I can't explain. You wouldn't understand."

"No, I don't understand," Harry answered. "I'd like to ask, too. Is your father here?"

The words were still on her lips when Biane turned the corner of the house at a leisurely walk.

"Good afternoon, miss!" he said. "You wish to speak to me?"

"If you please, Mr. Biane. Isita seems to think that you can't spare her to go to school this winter. I wondered if you realized how much she wanted to go; how much she needed the rest from farm drudgery after being so sick."

"Oh, she's well now, I think. So, 'Sita?" He moved his eyes to Isita and smiled the smile of a drowsy tiger. Involuntarily his daughter straightened, and a spot of color deepened in her cheeks.

"Even if she is well enough to be doing chores," Harry pursued, determined to finish her argument, "she will never be fit for anything better if she doesn't go to school. She could make so much of herself if she were trained."

"Trained?" The Portuguese smiled slowly, with his head on one side. "I train my girl, Miss Holliday; she need no more of that."

Harry shivered. "I'm afraid we don't mean the same sort of training," she said coldly.

Biane gave a profound nod. "I raise my family to make a living. I train them to mind. You onderstand? Books! Chatter! Seenging! Puah! 'Sita likes work. Better than books. Sure!" His glance leaped to his daughter. "Why you not tell miss how much you like to work, eh?" he inquired in a purring tone.

Isita watched him with fascinated eyes. She was white as tallow. Nevertheless, she smiled, and her dry lips shaped the words: "Yes. I like to work. Truly."

Biane turned back to Harry. "You see? I t'ank you all same for your politeness."

Harry went home heavy-hearted. She was bitterly disappointed in herself that she had failed so miserably in helping her little friend. Her pony fell into a walk. She did not notice it. 'Thello, exploring on either side of the road, veered off into the scab land after a squirrel, and Harry did not miss him. Only at the sound of his excited yelping did she wake and look about her.

"'Thello!" she called. "Here, boy!"

But the clamor only grew more violent, and, after waiting for several moments, Harry turned back to the place where the dog was digging furiously at the bottom of the dry pot hole. Harry's indifference warmed to curiosity as she saw the dog tearing away at something hidden under the crust of the soil that had been mud—something that was weighted down with stones. Curiosity became suddenly amazed conviction that she was at last to know what had become of some, at least, of their lost steers. For there at her feet, plainly visible under the dried clay and stone, lay many hides of cattle. Some were shriveled and rotted beyond identification; some looked fresh. One, with curly white hair still clinging to the skull, Harry could have sworn was the hide of poor Curly Face.

She was down on her knees by now, working away with 'Thello in a flame of determination to make sure of her suspicions, when a voice behind her demanded:

"What you think you're doin'?"

"Finding my lost steers!" she answered triumphantly. "And next I'll find who stole them."

"Oh, you will!" Joe sneered. "How you know they're yours?"

"There are two red polls, out of Rob's bunch. There's the black shorthorn. Oh, I know well enough! And some one killed 'em, skinned 'em, hid the hides. I'll find who did it, too." She laughed rather wildly. It was such a mean, cruel thing for any one to do!

"Three hundred dollars worth of stock we've lost this year!" she cried. "Just wait until Rob hears where I found them! Then we'll see something doing."

Without another glance at the boy who stood watching her in silence, she swung up into the saddle and raced for home. She must write at once to Rob of her discovery.

As she set down on paper the details of her find, her indignation flamed anew. The person who had stolen those animals had perhaps ruined them; for the loss of a dozen creatures might mean just the difference between having enough to pay the money due Ludlum on the 1st of December and not having it. And if she could not make the payment Ludlum would certainly refuse to renew the loan. But she would not think of it. She would find some way to pay him.

When she had finished the letter she threw on her hat and sweater and went out to do the chores. With 'Thello at her heels she raced across the garden to the stock yard. The cattle stood close to the fence, basking in the faint sunshine, waiting their ration of hay. Harry had left the hayrack full, ready for the evening feeding. Now she harnessed the team to it, drove the load on the feeding ground and forked off the hay as she moved slowly forward.

At sight of her the cattle had begun to low, and now they followed the wagon, stopping one after another to feed. Harry knew each one of them: the quiet cows, the solid-built steers, the fat calves and yearlings in their furry winter suits. How big and strong they looked; how well-cared-for—even the scrubs that at first had looked so hopelessly poor! And she might have to sell them all to save her land! Fiercely she jabbed the fork into the flakes of solidly packed hay.

When she had scattered the hay, she fed the chickens and milked. As she was beginning on the last cow, 'Thello, on guard at the corral gate, sprang up with a threatening growl.

"Who's that?" Harry said to him. "If it's a cow-puncher, tear him limb from limb."

"Who you hatin' so hard?" inquired a mild voice and Garnett made a long-legged step over the board fence of the barn yard. "Rob ain't to home?"

"No. He's down on the South Side trying to find hay. I'm surprised you haven't seen him. What are you doing up here at this time of year, anyhow? Your renters have quit, haven't they? I thought you were on your ranch over there for the winter."

"Had to go to Soldier to witness against a rustler."

"Didn't happen to be Ludlum, did it?" Harry asked sardonically.

Garnett grinned, and Harry said quickly, "I guess if you had lost a dozen critters and suddenly had found evidence of their having been killed right near home, you'd hate all cattle men and cow punchers, too."

As they walked to the house together she told Garnett of the increasing trouble they had had with Ludlum's men toward the end of the season, and of her finding the hides.

"You see," she concluded, "it's perfectly plain that Ludlum planned at the start to work things so I'd have to let my land go. That's what he was after. But if he thinks killing my cattle is going to put me out of the game, he'll be disappointed."

"Say, now," Garnett put in, "I wouldn't pull my gun on Ludlum yet awhile. Don't look to me like a stockman would bother himself with such a job. He'd run off a hundred head mebbe into the mountains, but not this. I reckon I'd better ride over there and take a look at those hides. I could mebbe get a line on something."

While Garnett was gone, Harry started the supper fire and set the table; then in a clean blue apron, she waited expectantly for his report.

"I'd never say Ludlum done that job," he announced decisively the moment he returned. "I'd swear to his brand on one hide there at any rate, and mebbe more. There's a good twenty-five skins in the bunch, and you didn't lose more'n a dozen critters all told, did you?"

"Just a dozen," she answered, "one of them only lately. It's hide wasn't there."

"And Ludlum's been gone out of here six weeks?"

"Two months. But if he didn't do it, who did? Who?"

"That's your next job, I reckon, finding out. If one of your critters has turned up missin' this last month, then I'd sure count Ludlum out and smell a fresh trail for the thief. I'd quit frettin' myself right now, anyhow. Rob'll be along soon and mebbe he can fit this puzzle game together."

His kind heart was distressed at the thought of leaving the girl alone with her gloomy thoughts, but he knew that she would scorn the idea of his staying. Being left alone was one of the things that the women of the cattle country took for granted, and Harry, he knew, was not a "quitter."

But when he was leaving he held her hand in his hard grasp a second or two longer than usual, and his blue eyes tried to say more than his tongue ever had. Perhaps Harry understood their meaning, for she tilted her head and smiled.

"Run on, now," she said. "The moon sets early, and you'll be late getting home. If you see Bobby down yonder, tell him to find a buyer for my herd instead of hay for them. Tell him, in fact, that he must sell them. I have worked it out, and I know we haven't money enough to make our payment in December. Now, don't forget."

"You bet! I'll see that they're sold if I have to peddle 'em back to Ludlum himself," promised Garnett as he went off into the twilight. As Harry watched the dusk close round him she felt, for the first time in all her happy, courageous young life, absolutely alone.