In a fertile valley, through which ran a limpid, swiftly flowing stream, not very far from the Indian reservation, dwelt a settler by the name of Vance Bernard. He was a man of striking appearance, and one who, always hospitable, was friendly with no one. He had been a miner in the Black Hills, it was said by those who knew him, and having "struck it rich," had come to that part of the country to establish a home. Yet, when asked pointedly regarding Vance Bernard, those who professed to know him could tell nothing regarding him, and there were those in that scattered community who set him down as a man who was seeking to hide himself away from his fellows. Be that as it may, he went to work and "homesteaded" some land, bought for cash many more acres, and erected the most comfortable house on that part of borderland. He paid good prices for labor, and all he undertook was well done. Then, to the surprise of the other settlers, a wagon-train arrived one day at Bernard's home, and there came with it a handsome woman of thirty-eight, a youth of eighteen, and a maiden of fourteen, and these were introduced as his wife and children. For people supposed to have been reared in the East, they adopted themselves strangely well to the new order of things, and within a few days seemed perfectly at home in their surroundings. The mother was a sad-faced woman, almost as taciturn as her husband, and the son, Herbert, was a powerfully built young fellow, with a face that was bold and determined, yet not wholly attractive. His sister, Jennie Bernard, was a maiden of rare loveliness of form and face, and the only ray of sunshine in the household, for the others really made it gloomy at times. Herbert Bernard appeared to care nothing for the warnings of the settlers who dropped in at the house, not to go far from the place until he knew the country well, for he would ride away alone in the morning and be gone all day, showing, it seemed, that he was fully able to take care of himself, if he was called a "tenderfoot." Jennie, too, was wont to go for a ride alone, and be gone for hours, while no anxiety appeared to be felt for her safety by either her parents or brother. Such was the family of Vance Bernard several years after their coming to dwell in their border home. They sought no friendships, returning no visits from their neighbors, yet were ever hospitable to those who called. Of course, a girl of Jennie Bernard's beauty could not but win admirers, and even in that sparsely settled valley she had half a dozen lovers, all of them most anxious to win her especial regard, yet not one of whom was assured that he could do so. But one lover Jennie had, to whom she was more friendly than to any of the others.