Dennison Grant | Page 5

with the
objects of his democratic affections. Such a conclusion was, to him, too
absurd to be entertained, no matter how many experiences might
support it. If opportunity offered he doubtless would propose to Y.D.'s
daughter that very night--and get a boxed ear for his pains.
The Y.D. creek had crossed its valley, shouldering close against the
base of the foothills to the right. Here the current had created a

precipitous cutbank, and to avoid it and the stream the trail wound over
the side of the hill. As they crested a corner the silver ribbon of the Y.D.
was unravelled before them, and half a dozen miles down its course the
ranch buildings lay clustered in a grove of cottonwoods and evergreens.
All the great valley lay warm and pulsating in a flood of yellow
sunshine; the very earth seemed amorous and content in the embrace of
sun and sky. The majesty of the view seized even the unpoetic souls of
Linder and Drazk, and because they had no other means of expression
they swore vaguely and relapsed into silence.
Hoof-beats again sounded by the wagon side. It was Transley.
"Oh, here you are, Drazk. How long do you reckon it would take you to
ride down to the Y.D. on that Pete-horse?" Transley was a leader of
men.
Drazk's eyes sparkled at the subtle compliment to his horse.
"I tell you, Boss," he said, "if there's any jackrabbits in the road they'll
get tramped on."
"I bet they will," said Transley, genially. "Well, you just slide down
and tell Y.D. we're coming in. She's going to be later than I figured, but
I can't hurry the work horses. You know that, Drazk."
"Sure I do, Boss," said Drazk, springing into his saddle. "Just watch me
lose myself in the dust." Then, to himself, "Here's where I beat the boss
to it."
The sun had fallen behind the mountains, the valley was filled with
shadow, the afterglow, mauve and purple and copper, was playing far
up the sky when Transley's outfit reached the Y.D. corrals. George
Drazk had opened the gate and waited beside it.
"Y.D. wants you an' Linder to eat with him at the house," he said as
Transley halted beside him. "The rest of us eat in the bunk- house."
There was something strangely modest in Drazk's manner.

"Had yours handed to you already?" Linder managed to banter in a low
voice as they swung through the gate.
"Hell!" protested Mr. Drazk. "A fellow that ain't a boss or a foreman
don't get a look-in. Never even seen her. . . . Come, you Pete-horse!" It
was evident George had gone back to his first love.
The wagons drew up in the yard, and there was a fine jingle of harness
as the teamsters quickly unhitched. Y.D. himself approached through
the dusk; his large frame and confident bearing were unmistakable even
in that group of confident, vigorous men.
"Glad to see you, Transley," he said cordially. "You done well out there.
'So, Linder! You made a good job of it. Come up to the house--I reckon
the Missus has supper waitin'. We'll find a room for you up there, too;
it's different from bein' under canvas."
So saying, and turning the welfare of the men and the horses over to his
foreman, the rancher led Transley and Linder along a path through a
grove of cottonwoods, across a footbridge where from underneath came
the babble of water, to "the house," marked by a yellow light which
poured through the windows and lost itself in the shadow of the trees.
The nucleus of the house was the log cabin where Y.D. and his wife
had lived in their first married years. With the passage of time additions
had been built to every side which offered a point of contact, but the
log cabin still remained the family centre, and into it Transley and
Linder were immediately admitted. The poplar floor had long since
worn thin, save at the knots, and had been covered with edge-grained
fir, but otherwise the cabin stood as it had for twenty years, the
white-washed logs glowing in the light of two bracket lamps and the
reflections from a wood fire which burned merrily in the stove. The
skins of a grizzly bear and a timber wolf lay on the floor, and two
moose heads looked down from opposite ends of the room. On the
walls hung other trophies won by Y.D.'s rifle, along with hand-made
bits of harness, lariats, and other insignia of the ranchman's trade.
The rancher took his guests' hats, and motioned each to a seat.

"Mother," he said, directing his voice into an adjoining room, "here's
the boys."
In a moment "Mother" appeared drying her hands. In her appearance
were courage, resourcefulness,