A man can put a world of meaning into a monosyllable sometimes. “I want you to let me deed that piece of property to my mother. If the deed were made to my father, and she should outlive him, she’d be only allowed to occupy it free from rent for one year after his death; but if it is made hers absolutely, and he should outlive her, he’ll be allowed to have a home and get his living off it as long as he lives. You see, it makes a difference whether it is a cow or an ox that is gored,” and she smiled grimly. “The women are all getting their heads turned over the question of property,” said Captain Ranger to himself as he watched the rivulet playing at his feet. “Jean’s been putting this into your head, Annie,” he said after a painful silence. “The child has a strong sense of justice, inherited from you, John. You know she is wonderfully like you.” “Yes, yes, Annie. I wish she had been a boy instead o’ Hal. She’d have made a rackin’ good lawyer.” “I’ll admit that she advised me to urge you to make the deed, John.” “Very well; we’ll see about it sometime, Annie” and he arose to go. Mrs. Ranger’s heart sank. “Why is it that men who are proverbially just and upright in their dealings with their fellow-men are so often derelict in duty where women, especially their own wives, are concerned?” she asked herself as she tottered by his side in silence. The next morning found her unable to rise. A racking cough, which had disturbed her all through the night, was followed at daybreak by a burning fever. Her husband, who had slept like a top in an adjoining tent, was startled when he saw the ravages the night had left upon her pinched, white face. “You caught cold last night, darling,” he said, as he prescribed a simple remedy. “You ought not to have been sitting out in the night air.” “That didn’t hurt me, John.” “Then it is the apprehension you suffer on account o’ that wench that is making you sick.” “No, John; it isn’t that at all.” “Then what is it?” “Ask Jean. I have nothing more to say.” But there was no time for further parleying. The breakfast was ready, and the hurry of preparation for departure was the theme of the hour. * * * * * “We reached camp in a pouring rain last night and pitched our tents, amid much discomfort, on the outskirts of the little town of St. Joseph,” wrote Jean on the morning of the fifth of May. “But I haven’t much time for you, my journal, for there are other things to claim attention,” and she shut the book with the usual impatient bang. “Got any blank deeds along with you, daddie?” she asked, after it was announced that they were to be ready to break camp the next morning. “Yes; why?” “Because we must have that deed of Grandma Robinson’s all ready for mother to acknowledge before a notary in the morning, as we go through town on our way to the ferry.” “Your mother isn’t able to attend to any business.” “She isn’t able to put it off, daddie dear.”