Bud Shoop's homestead on the Blue Mesa lay in a wide level of grassland, round which the spruce of the high country swept in a great, blue-edged circle. To the west the barren peak of Mount Baldy maintained a solitary vigil in sunshine and tempest. Away to the north the timbered plateaus dropped from level to level like a gigantic stair until they merged with the horizon-line of the plains. The air on the Blue Mesa was thin and keen; warm in the sun, yet instantly cool at dusk. A mountain stream, all but hidden by the grasses, meandered across the mesa to an emerald hollow of coarse marsh-grass. A few yards from this pool, and on its southern side, stood the mountain cabin of the Shoop homestead, a roomy building of logs, its wide, easy-sloping veranda roof covered with home-made shakes. Near the house was a small corral and stable of logs. Out on the mesa a thin crop of oats wavered in the itinerant breeze. Round the cabin was a garden plot that had suffered from want of attention. Above the gate to the door-yard was a weathered sign on which was lettered carefully: "The rose is red; the violet blue; Please shut this gate when you come through." And on the other side of the sign, challenging the possible carelessness of the chance visitor, was the legend:-- "Now you've been in and had your chuck, Please close this gate, just once, for luck." Otherwise the place was like any mountain homestead of the better sort, viewed from without. The interior of the cabin, however, was unusual in that it boasted of being the only music-room within fifty miles in any direction. When the genial Bud had been overtaken with the idea of homesteading, he had had visions of a modest success which would allow him to entertain his erstwhile cow-puncher companions when they should ride his way. To this end he had labored with more heart than judgment. The main room was large and lighted by two unusually large windows. The dimensions of the room were ample enough to accommodate a fair number of dancers. Bud knew that if cowboys loved anything they loved to dance. The phonograph was so common that it offered no distinction in gracing Bud's camp; so with much labor and expense he had freighted an upright piano from the distant railroad, an innovation that at first had stunned and then literally taken the natives off their feet. Riders from all over the country heard of Bud's piano, questioned its reality, and finally made it a point to jog over and see for themselves.