Another surprise was the discovery that Gowan had a remarkably good ear for music and knew even more than the girl about the masters and their works. There was a player attachment to the piano, and the girl and Gowan had a contest, playing the same selections in turn, to see which could get the most expression by means of the mechanical apparatus. If anything, the girl came out second best. At least she said so; but Ashton would not admit it. Between times the three chatted on a thousand and one topics, the girl always ready to bubble over with animation and merriment. She bestowed her dimpled smiles on both her admirers with strict impartiality and as impartially stimulated each to his best with her tact and gay wit. At nine o'clock sharp Knowles closed his report and rose from his comfortable seat. "Time to turn in, boys. Coal oil costs more than sunlight," he announced, in the flat tone of a standing joke. "We'll take a jog down creek to the Bar-Lazy-J ranch, first thing tomorrow, Kid.--Ashton, you'd better start off in the cool, before sunup. Here's my bunch of letters, case I might forget them." He handed over half a dozen thinly padded envelopes. Gowan was already at the door, hat in hand. "Good night, Mr. Knowles. Good night, Miss Chuckie. Pleasant dreams!" he said. "Same to you, Kid!" replied the girl. "May I give and receive the same?" asked Ashton. "Of course," she answered. "But wait a moment, please. I've some letters to go, myself, if you'll kindly take them with Daddy's." As she darted into a side room, Knowles stepped out after Gowan. When the girl returned, Ashton took the letters that she held out to him and deliberately started to tie them in a packet with those of her father. His sole purpose was to prolong his stay to the last possible moment. But inadvertently his eye caught the name "Blake" on one of the envelopes. His smile vanished; his jaw dropped. "Why, Mr. Ashton, what is the matter?" said the girl. "I--I beg your pardon," he replied. "I did not realize that--But it's too absurd--it can't be! You did not mean what you said this afternoon. It can't be you're writing to that man to come here." "I am," she replied. "But you can't--you must not. He's the very devil for doing impossible things. He'll be sure to turn loose a flood on you--drown you out--destroy your range!" "If it can be done, the sooner we know it the better," she argued. "Daddy says little, but it is becoming a monomania with him--the dread. I wish to put an end to his suspense. Besides, if--if this Mr. Blake is as remarkable as you and the reports say he is, it will be interesting to meet him. My only fear is that so great an engineer will not think it worth while to come to this out-of-the-way section." "The big four-flusher!" muttered Ashton. "How you must dislike him! It makes me all the more curious to see him." "Does your father know about this letter?" queried Ashton. "You forget yourself, sir," she said.