"Reckon everything she sees up here is just amazin' her at every jump. I'll bet she's happy, even if she _has_ got lungs. Now, a fella couldn't help but to like a girl like that. She would made a dandy sister, and a fella would just about do anything in the world for such a sister. And she wouldn't have to ask, at that. He would just naturally want to do things for her, because--well, because he couldn't help feeling that way. Funny how some wimmin made a man feel like he wanted to just about worship them, and not because they did anything except be just themselves. Now, there was that Mrs. Weston. She was a jim-dandy woman--but she was different. She always seemed to know just what she was going to say and do. And Mrs. Weston's girl, Alice. Reckon I'd scrap with her right frequent. She was still--" Dog-gone it! Where was he drifting to? Sylvestre's sheep were five days crossing the reserve. Smith reported a small fire north of the lookout. The Ainslee boys put the fire out. It hadn't done any great damage. Lorry sat back and chewed the lead pencil. As he gazed out of the window across the noon mesa a faint fragrance was wafted through the doorway. He sniffed and grinned. It was the warm flavor of wild turkey, a flavor that suggested crispness, with juicy white meat beneath. Lorry jumped up and grabbed a pail as he left the cabin. On his way back from the spring, Bronson waved to him. Lorry nodded. And presently he presented himself at Bronson's cabin, his face glowing, his flannel shirt neatly brushed, and a dark-blue silk bandanna knotted gracefully at his throat. "This is the princess," said Bronson, gesturing toward his daughter. "And here is the feast." "And it was a piano," continued Bronson as they sat down. "Really? 'Way up here?" "My daughter plays a little," explained Bronson. "Well, you're sure welcome to use that piano any time. If I'm gone, the door is unlocked just the same." "Thank you, Mr. Adams, I only play to amuse myself now." Lorry fancied there was a note of regret in her last word. He glanced at her. She was gazing wistfully out of the window. It hurt him to see that tinge of hopelessness on her young face. "This here chicken is fine!" he asserted. The girl's eyes were turned to him. She smiled and glanced roguishly at her father. Lorry laughed outright. "What is the joke?" she demanded. "Nothin'; only my plate is empty, Miss Bronson."