in case he tries to start anythin'," he continued.

"Well, five o'clock comes early," said Transley, "and you folks must
be tired with your long drive. We've had your tent pitched down by the
water, Zen, so that its murmurs may sing you to sleep. You see, I have
some of the poetic in me, too. Mr. Linder will show you down, and I will
see that your father is made comfortable. And remember--five o'clock
does not apply to visitors."

The camp now lay in complete darkness, save where a lantern threw its
light from a tent by the river. Zen walked by Linder's side. Presently
she reached out and took his arm.

"I beg your pardon," said Linder. "I should have offered--"

"Of course you should. Mr. Transley would not have waited to be told.
Dad thinks that anything that's worth having in this world is worth
going after, and going after hard. I guess I'm Dad's daughter in more
ways than one."

"I suppose he's right," Linder confessed, "but I've always been shy. I
get along all right with men."

"The truth is, Mr Linder, you're not shy--you're frightened. Now I can
well believe that no man could frighten you. Consequently you get along
all right with men. Do I need to tell you the rest?"

"I never thought of myself as being afraid of women," he replied. "It
has always seemed that they were, well, just out of my line."