"Jest like yo' pa usta say. He wus that fond o' rale home cookin' thet he'd come 'long every onct in a month 'er so, an' git him a squr meal, an' then away he'd go out to his camp." "Where was his camp?" asked the girl eagerly. "Lawzie, his camp wus a tent, an' he moved hit around so they couldn't no one tell from one day to 'nother where he'd be at. But, he never wus no great ways from here, gen'ally within ten mile, one way er 'nother. Hits out yonder in the barn--his tent an' outfit--pick an' pan an' shovel an' dishes, all ready to throw onto his pack hoss which hits a mewl an' runnin' in the hills with them hosses of ourn. If hit wusn't fer the fences they'd be in the pasture. Watts aims to fix 'em when he gits time." "I don't know much about tents, but I guess I'll have to use it, that is, if there isn't another ranch, or a--a house, or something, where I can rent a room all to myself." "Great sakes, child! They hain't another ranch within twenty-five mile, an' thet's towards town." As if suddenly smitten with an idea, she paused with her hand full of dishes and called loudly to her spouse: "Watts! Watts!" The chair was eased to its four legs, and the lank form appeared in the doorway. "Yeh?" "How about the sheep camp?" The man's fingers fumbled at his beard and he appeared plunged into deep thought. "What yo' mean, how 'bout hit?" "Why not we-all leave Mr. Sinclair's darter live up there?" Again the thoughtful silence. At length the man spoke: "Why, shore, she kin stay there long as she likes, an' welcome." "Hit's a cabin four mile up the crick," explained Ma Watts, "what we built on our upper desert fer a man thet wanted to run a band o' sheep. He wus rentin' the range offen us, till they druv him off--the cattlemen claimed they wouldn't 'low no sheep in the hill country. They warned him an' pestered him a spell, an' then they jest up an' druv him off--thet Vil Holland wus into hit, an' some more." "Who is this Vil Holland you speak of, and why did he want to drive off the sheep?" "Oh, he's a cowpuncher--they say they hain't a better cowpuncher in Montany, when he'll work. But he won't work only when he takes a notion--'druther hang around the hills an' prospeck. He hain't never made no strike, but he allus aims to, like all the rest. Ef he'd settle down, he could draw his forty dollars a month the year 'round, 'stead of which, he works on the round-up, an' gits him a stake, an' then quits an' strikes out fer the hills." "I couldn't think of occupying your cabin without paying for it. How much will you rent it to me for?" "'Tain't wuth nothin' at all," said Watts. "'Tain't doin' no good settin' wher' it's at, an' yo' won't hurt hit none a-livin' in hit. Jest move in, an' welcome." "No, indeed! Now, you tell me, is ten dollars a month enough rent?"