She had not met again the courteous, smooth-faced young man who had mistaken her for an Indian girl, though he had come the next morning for the horses, and had ridden past the ranch more than once. Yet she had not forgotten the incident, or what the Harris girls had told her, for daily as she passed the group of loungers on her return from school she heard his name gruffly spoken, intermixed with oaths. They certainly meant mischief, and she was curious to know what it was. The first school week had ended. On Friday night she wondered how she could manage to exist through Saturday and Sunday, but Saturday morning found her in the saddle, accompanied by the three largest Harris boys, en route for the highest peaks of the mountains. "This is something like living," she exclaimed, pulling in her horse after the first few miles. "How pretty all of this is! What people call scenery, I suppose. But give me the prairie, smooth and level as far as the eye can reach! There's nothing like it in all the world! The open prairie, a cool, spring day like this, and a horse that will go till it's ready to fall dead--that is life! Who is it that lives over there?" she asked, pointing toward some ranch buildings, nestled in a low, green valley. "That's the Englishman's place," answered the soft-voiced twin. "Sheep-man," explained Dave disgustedly. "See them sheds?" "Oh, the new man by the name of Livingston. Do you boys know him?" asked the girl curiously. "Nope! Don't want to, neither. Seen him lots of times, though," answered Dave. "He's come in here without bein' asked, an' thinks he can run the whole country," explained the soft-voiced twin. "Is he trying to run the whole country?" asked Hope. "Well, he's runnin' his sheep over everybody's range, an' they ain't goin' to stand for it," replied the boy. "But what can they do about it? Have they asked him to move his sheep?" "No. What's the use after they've been over the range--spoiled it, anyhow. No, you bet they ain't goin' to ask him nothing!" The girl thought for a moment, absently pulling the "witches' knots" from her horse's mane, while it climbed a hill at a swinging gait, then continued as though talking to herself: