"W'y, Lawd!" breathed the section-boss, realising the whole import of the news. A railroad would mean immeasurable good fortune to the trio of settlers who, like young prairie-chickens that fear to leave the side of their mother, had chosen quarter-sections near the guarding fort. And to him, penniless, with motherless girls, it meant---- "The ferrying's so good right here," went on the storekeeper. "Why, it's a ten-to-one shot the track'll end on your claim." With one accord all looked across the level quarter, where the new green was creeping in after the late rains. "A railroad! An' a town!" The section-boss pulled at his grizzled goatee. "They'll make this piece worth a heap!" "They will," agreed Lounsbury. "But road or no road, seems to me you've got about the cream of this side of the river." "You' right," said Lancaster. But the girls were silent, except that Dallas gave a sigh, deep and full of happiness. Lounsbury glanced at her. "You like the place, don't you?" he asked; "even if----" He suddenly paused. Her palms were open and half turned upward. Across each lay a crimson stripe--the mark of the plow-handle. For the second time she read his meaning. "Yes, I like the prairie," she answered, "if I do have to plow." And she stepped from the furrow to the unturned sod. As she stood there, Lounsbury caught the clear outline of her firmly drawn face. Beside her, Marylyn, slight and colourless, was for the moment eclipsed. The hat of the elder girl was brushed back, displaying a forehead upon which shone the very spirit of the unshackled. Her hands, large, yet not too large for the splendid figure of which they were the instruments, were clasped upon her breast. Watching her, it seemed to Lounsbury that she must have sprung as she was from the plains one day--grave, full-grown and gallant. Her father's voice broke in harshly. "_Ah_ didn' want she should plow," he protested. "Ah figgered t' git someone on tick, but seems like Dallas, she----" "We like it here," she interrupted, "because the air 's so cool, and there's lots of grass." Then after bending to gather a purple flower, she stepped back to the plow. "You're planning to stay, then," said Lounsbury. "Stay!" burst forth the section-boss. "Don' it look like it?" Lounsbury made no reply, only smiled genially. "Maybe y' reckon we-all ain't safe?" continued Lancaster. "Wal, th' nesters 'roun' Fort Sully's safe 'nough." The storekeeper pointed across the river to where a flag was flying at the centre of the post quadrangle. "You're in sight of that," he said simply. The other snorted. Then, stifling a retort, he searched Lounsbury's face with his milky-blue eyes. "Ah'd like t' ast w'y y' didn' tell me 'bout th' track when Ah seen y' las'," he observed suspiciously. The storekeeper gave a hearty laugh. "And why didn't you say you had daughters?" he demanded.