"The air smells as if it came right off the snow," she thought, as she drew on some fur-bound slippers and wrapped herself in a Navajo blanket that was on the footrail of her bed. Then she crossed the room, climbed up on the big seat under the casement window and looked out. It was not the thrilling beauty of the covey of pink-lined dawn-clouds that made her eyes grow round, big and bright; that brought a faint flush to her cheeks; a quick intake of breath. It was something much more mundane that held her attention--the superb spectacle of Kurt Walters, mounted. The lean, brown horseman sat on his saddle as easily as though it were a cushion in a rocking chair. He was talking to three or four cattlemen and apparently paying no attention to his cavorting steed except that occasionally and casually his firm hands brought the plunging animal to earth. "He's to the saddle born," thought the girl admiringly. "He ought to stay on a horse. If I'd seen him yesterday on horseback, he wouldn't have had to _take_ me. I'd have flown to him." He gave a last command to one of the men, as he turned to ride away. "All right, boss," was the reply, as the men dispersed to their various stations of duty. Suddenly and psychologically the eyes of the rider were lifted to the casement window. Pen waved her hand airily toward him, the movement loosening the gayly striped blanket which fell from her shoulders. The Indian-brown of his face reddened darkly; a gleam came into his steel-gray eyes. He made a military motion toward his hat brim with his whip and then rode swiftly away, without the backward and upward look which she was expecting. "The boss is a bashful boss," she thought, with a lazy little pout, as she shook off the blanket, flung her slippers free and went back to bed. "He's good to look at, but oh, you comfortable cot!" When next she awoke, it was near the breakfast hour. "I'm glad I'm not the last one down," she said, as she came into the dining-room and noticed Kurt's vacant chair. "Oh, but you are!" Betty hastened to say. "Uncle Kurt's gone away for a whole week, hasn't he, father?" "When did he go, Louis?" asked Mrs. Kingdon in surprise. "A message came for him late last night," explained her husband. "The sheriff has unexpectedly returned, and Kurt has to be in town for a week to settle up all the red tape routine for his release; and besides, the trial of So Long Sam has been called, and he'll have to attend." Pen had a sense as of something lifted. "A reprieve for a week, and I can have a beautiful time with nobody nigh to hinder," she thought. "I had a narrow escape from a real sheriff. Luck is with me, and no mistake!" "You will feel lost without Kurt at the helm, won't you, Louis?" asked Mrs. Kingdon. "And Jo away, too." "Westcott returned Jo this morning. Simpson has delayed his trip to Canada for a few days." "That is good news. Of course Jo hasn't Kurt's efficiency, but he gets on well with the men."