had to do with steers and land, with hay and money and men. It was by
such things he measured success. And Zen was disposed to agree with him.
Why not? It was the only success she knew.

Transley was greeting them as they drew into camp.

"Glad to see you, Y.D.; honored to have a visit from you, Ma'am," he
said, as he helped them from the democrat, and gave instructions for the
care of their horses. "Supper is waiting, and the men won't be ready for
some time."

Y.D. shook hands with Transley cordially. "Zen an' me just thought we'd
run over and see how the wind blew," he said. "You got a good spot here
for a camp, Transley. But we won't go in to supper just now. Let the
men eat first; I always say the work horses should be first at the barn.
Well, how's she goin'?"

"Fine," said Transley, "fine," but it was evident his mind was divided.
He was glancing at Zen, who stood by during the conversation.

"I must try and make your daughter at home," he continued. "I allow
myself the luxury of a private tent, and as you will be staying over
night I will ask you to accept it for her."

"But I have my own tent with me, in the democrat," said Zen. "If you
will let the men pitch it under the trees where I can hear the water
murmuring in the night--"

"Who'd have thought it, from the daughter of the practical Y.D!"
Transley bantered. "All right, Ma'am, but in the meantime take my tent.