"Why--altogether different. You don't dress like--like a nester's girl--nor talk like one, neither." The girl's lips smiled, but the man could see that the blue-black eyes remained sombre: "I've been East at school. I've only been home a month." "Learn how to rope a horse, back East? An' how to ride? It's a cinch you never learnt it in a month." "Oh, I've always known that. I learned it when I was a little bit of a girl--mostly from the boys at the Y Bar." "The Y Bar?" "Yes, we used to live over on Big Box Elder, below the Y Bar home ranch. Father ran sheep there, and Mr. Colston bought him out. He could have squeezed him out, just as well--but he bought him out and he paid him a good price--that's his way." The Texan nodded. "Yes, that would be his way." "That was four years ago, and father sent me off to school. I didn't want to go a bit, but father promised mother when she died--I was just a little tike, then--and he promised her that he would give me the best education he could afford. Father's a Scotchman," she continued after a moment of silence, "he's sometimes hard to understand, but he always keeps his word. I'm afraid he really spent more than he can afford, because--he moved over here while I was away and--it isn't _near_ as nice as the old outfit. I hate it, here!" The Texan glanced up in surprise at the vehemence of her last words: "Why do you hate it?" he asked. "Looks to me like a likely location--plenty range--plenty water----" "We're--we're too close to the bad lands." The man swept the country with a glance: "Looks like there ought to be plenty room. Must be five or six miles of range between you an' the bad lands. Looks to me like they lay just right for you. Keeps other outfits from crowdin'." "Oh, it isn't the range! You talk just like father does. Any place is good enough to live in if there's plenty of range--range and water--water and range--those two things are all that make life worth living!" The man was surprised at the bitterness of her voice. The blue-black eyes were flashing dangerous lights. "Well, he can build a bigger house," he blundered. "It isn't the house, either. The little cabin's just as cozy as it can be, and I love it! It's the neighbours!" "Neighbours?" "Yes, neighbours! I don't mean the nesters--they're little outfits like ours. They're in the same fix we are in. But the horse-thieves and the criminals that are hiding out in the bad lands. There's a sort of understanding--they leave the money here, and father brings out their supplies and things from town. In return, they keep their hands off our stock." "Well, there's no harm in that. The poor devils have got to eat, an' they don't dare to show up in town." "Oh, I suppose so," answered the girl, wearily, as though the subject were an old one, covering the same old ground. "But, if I had my way, they'd all be in jail where they belong. I hate 'em!" "An' you thought I was one of 'em?" grinned the man.