As Harry sat listening to a class recite, as she watched the children studying, she studied them: the white-headed Swedes, the olive-skinned Indians, the Austrians, Swiss, Scotch, Americans, all so different, all so worth while if one knew how to reach them. Teaching of this sort was a bigger thing than ever it had seemed. The mere copiousness of the so-called practical jokes that they played on each other was evidence of the locked-up energy within them--energy so soon to be harnessed to the plow, the mill, the mine, to follow the trail from ranch to forest reserve, to go wherever the market called for workers. She had the feeling of wanting to shut the doors and say: "Stay here! You haven't begun to learn. Think of the books you ought to read--" She stopped herself. "Literature! Why they're the stuff it's made of, aren't they? and history, too. They've already had hold of life as they'd grab a half-broken cayuse and no more afraid of it. "There's just one child I would like to see go on studying, though: that little Isita Biane. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she wanted to learn. She loved it. I wish I knew where she is. If I could find her father and mother I wouldn't rest until I'd made them understand that Isita isn't the sort to do things with her muscles. She could do more with her brains, if it's money they want her to earn." This was to be her last winter teaching, at least for a time, as she and Rob had decided to stay the next winter on the ranch and feed their own cattle there. So she quite gave up hope of seeing Isita again. But before school closed she asked the other teacher who was coming back in the fall to look out for the girl, if she did turn up, and make an effort to keep her in school through the grades at least. And then, almost the first person she saw when they went back to the ranch was Joe Biane. They met him coming across their land as they drove in. He had a gun over his shoulder and was carrying several grouse. "Who's that?" Rob asked, as Harry nodded and Joe touched his hat and grunted as he passed. "That boy I told you gave me so much trouble in school. I wonder what he's doing up here. Shooting on our land, too." They looked after him as he went over the hill, the sunset light a dusky red glow on his gun barrel. "Nobody living out that way," Rob said. "He must be with some outfit camping at those east springs for the night." "I wonder where the family is--following the old man on his rounds to the shearing pens. I suppose." "More likely shacked up in these hills somewhere, so Biane can come home easy when he gets through at the nearest shearing corral." "I believe I'll ride up east in the morning and see if they're around here," Harry decided. There they were. As Harry rounded the rocky butte she saw smoke coming from the Eldredge's abandoned cabin and a woman, gathering an armful of sagebrush, retreated hastily into the house at sight of the stranger.