table had been reset for four, and as the shadows were now heavy in the
valley, candles had been lighted. Y.D. and his daughter sat on one side,
Transley on the other. In a moment Linder entered. He had already had a
talk with Y.D., but had not met Zen since their supper together in the
rancher's house.

"Glad to see you again, Mr. Linder," said the girl, rising and extending
her hand across the table. "You see we lost no time in returning your
call."

Linder took her hand in a frank grasp, but could think of nothing in
particular to say. "We're glad to have you," was all he could manage.

Zen was rather sorry that Linder had not made more of the situation.
She wondered what quick repartee, shot, no doubt, with double meaning,
Transley would have returned. It was evident that, as her father had
said, Linder was second best. And yet there was something about his
shyness that appealed to her even more than did Transley's superb
self-confidence.

The meal was spent in small talk about horses and steers and the merits
of the different makes of mowing machines. When it was finished Transley
apologized for not offering his guests any liquor. "I never keep it
about the camp," he said.

"Quite right," Y.D. agreed, "quite right. Booze is like fire; a valuable
thing in careful hands, but mighty dangerous when everybody gets playin'
with it. I reckon the grass is gettin' pretty dry, Transley?"

"Mighty dry, all right, but we're taking every precaution."