Raquel opened the tiny window, and although Lena looked at her in astonishment, she felt that everything Raquel did must be perfect. The fresh wind blew in and put out their candle, and as Raquel went to sleep she thought how pitiful, how different Lena’s life was from hers or Anne’s. Well, how different her own life was from Anne’s, though she had never thought that way about it before she went to school. She wondered if Lena could ever possibly get to be a teacher. “I aim I’m goin’ to do it all right,” Lena’s voice came startlingly out of the darkness. And Raquel was vaguely troubled in her dreams by seeing her wonderful Anne with a diploma in her hands laughingly refusing to teach the little mountain district school when they asked her to, while Lena, struggling up the mountain side, kept calling, “Wait, I’m coming. I’ll be the teacher.” * * * * * It was still dark when they left Peevey’s cabin the next morning. As they trotted briskly along the sun rose somewhere behind the mountain and a green dawn filtered down through the pine needles. Jami led the way, a shepherd dog belonging to Custer, which he had left up at the Peevey cabin for use on the upper range, running along with them, leaping about their horses’ heads to show them how glad he was to be with his ranch folks again. When they had climbed half way up the Corona suddenly the sun burst upon them, an hour before it would reach into the valley below. From a vantage point on the hill Russell cupped hands to his mouth, gave the salt cry, “Coo-ee-coo-ee-ee. Coo-oo-ee.” Down the thin air it carried, echoing back from distant mountain sides, spreading over mountain meadow, into canyon and thicket. Raquel tingled at the thrill of the call, and her own clear shrill voice took up the echo and sent its vibrant message down into far-off glades, full four miles away. From where they were they could see the cattle come running from all sides, hurrying down to an open space below them, towards which Russell was already riding, still calling his “Coo-ee, coo-ee-ee.” Down there sounded such a lowing and bellowing as would have terrified a tenderfoot. Great bulls, young bulls, white-faced cows, fawn-colored heifers with horns still short, were milling and seething in their efforts to get at the salt which Russell was scattering on the “licks,” the hollows worn in the flat rocks of the meadow by the rough tongues of countless cattle. Jami rode herd on the edge of the roundup, turning back the strays or those that had had their fill of salt and were turning back to their feeding grounds. The shepherd dog rode before him on the saddle leaping down among the crowding animals to nip at a pair of hocks, here and there, and leaping back to safety when menacing horns were lowered at him.