"Yes--I love it, now. After the children came it was all different. I never want to leave the valley, now. I never shall leave it. I am an old woman, and my world has narrowed down to my home, and my valley--my husband, and my friends and neighbors." She looked up guiltily, with a tiny little laugh. "Do you know, during those first years I must have been an awful fool. I used to loathe it all--loathe the country--the men, who ate in their shirt sleeves and blew into their saucers, and their women. It was the uprising that brought me to a realization of the true worth of these people--" The little woman's voice trailed off into silence, and Patty glanced up from her salad to see that the old eyes were once more upon the far blue headland, and the woman's thoughts were evidently very far away. She came back to the present with an apology: "Why bless you, child, forgive me! My old wits were back-trailing, as the cowboys would say. You have finished your salad, come, let's go out onto the porch, where we can get the afternoon breeze and be comfortable." She led the way through the living-room where she left the girl for a moment, to tiptoe upstairs for a peep at the sick man. "He's asleep," she reported, as they stepped out onto the porch and settled themselves in comfortable wicker rockers. "What was the uprising?" asked Patty. "Was it the Indians? I'd love to hear about it." "Yes, the Indians. That was before they were on reservations and they were scattered all through the hills." A cowboy galloped to the porch, drew up sharply, and removed his hat. "We rode through them horses that runs over on the east slope an' they're all right--leastways all the markers is there, an' the bunches don't look like they'd be'n any cut out of 'em. But, about them white faces--Lodgepole's most dried up. Looks like we'd ort to throw 'em over onto Sage Crick." The little woman looked thoughtful. "Let's see, there are about six hundred of the white faces, aren't there?" "Yessum." "And how long will the water last in Lodgepole?" "Not more'n a week or ten days, if we don't git no rain." "How long will it take to throw them onto Sage Creek?" "Well, they hadn't ort to be crowded none this time o' year. The four of us had ort to do it in three or four days." The old lady shook her head. "No, the cattle will have to wait. I want you boys to stay right around close 'til you hear from Vil Holland. Keep your best saddle horses up and at least one of you stay right here at the ranch all the time. The rest of you might ride fences, and you better take a look at those mares and colts in the big pasture." The cowboy's eyes twinkled: "I savvy, all right. Guess I'll take the bunk-house shift myself this afternoon. Got a couple extry guns to clean up an' oil a little." "Whatever you do, you boys be careful," admonished the woman. "And in case anything happens and Vil Holland isn't here, send one of the boys after him at once."