“That’s him,” growled out the driver. “There’s a lot of circum-feerance, you see. He gets it sittin’ on the porch of this so-called store.” “I wouldn’t listen to such slander,” replied Bud. “It’s the heat makes him that way. But I mistrust you’ve got to the wrong place. Ain’t hardly anything here you could stop off for. It must be Klamath you mean.” He could not help noting that it was not the friendly eyes nor the pretty mouth which most attracted him as it was a firm little chin with the dab of a freckle on it, and an Irish nose. “She’ll be wantin’ her own way,” he silently prophesied. “No,” she answered. “It’s Burnt Creek.” Teddy Hanson boosted the girl’s trunk on the porch, obviously disinclined to go. She settled the matter by paying him. “Thank you.” The inflection was as much as a dismissal. Teddy shot a glance of envy toward Bud, and climbed into his seat. “It’s a wonder you wouldn’t fix the road in front of your shack,” he shouted above the clatter of the engine. “That sand flea c’n burrow where it won’t climb,” retorted Bud. A cloud of sand shot from the wheels; when the dust settled, the stage was gone. “I dunno how that thing sticks together,” he said. “It drinks sand an’ runs on grasshoppers. They’s a hundred dollars’ worth of bailin’ wire in it.” He saw that she had lost spirit and was staring wistfully at the road. “What’d you say you were after, ma’am?” “They told me in Bend that you’d help me. I--I’m looking for a homestead here.” “A homestead, ma’am?” “Never mind how I look!” she cried. “And don’t try to argue me out of it! I’ve argued all the way from Portland, and it’s settled. If you won’t help me, I’ll have to get some one else. I want a homestead near Burnt Creek.” “Why near Burnt Creek, ma’am?” “For--for reasons.” There was metal in her. She wore clothes that stamped her as a refined city woman, and her hands and clear skin were plain enough witnesses that she had never trafficked much with spade and bucket. Still, Bud did not make the mistake of arguing. He saw her determined little chin with the dab of a freckle on it. She was another of those stubborn people--such kind as made good in this country. They never knew when they were licked. “Why, sure, I’ll help you, ma’am,” he agreed affably. “Most everybody comes to me sooner or later, around here, leastwise. But it’s powerful hot here. Come in an’ have some lemonade.” It was a great deal later, when the courtesies were dispensed with and the subject of land well talked over, that Bud thought of the Hazen place. “I been thinkin’,” said he, spoiling a new cigar, “that you’ll be all by yourself. It’s a hard life any way you take it, an’ if you c’d get near other folks it’d be a great boost. I’ve located durn near every other family in these parts, an’ it strikes me there’s a nice section about an hour’s ride from here, adjoinin’ Jim Hunter’s place.”