think the cattlemen have the fair side of the argument." 

 "How so?" 

 "Because there's grass everywhere. I see no sense in a sheepman goin' out of his way to surround a cattleman an' sheep off his range. That started the row. Lord knows how it'll end. For most all of them heah are from Texas." 

 "So I was told," replied Jean.  "An' I heard' most all these Texans got run out of Texas. Any truth in that?" 

 "Shore I reckon there is," she replied, seriously.  "But, stranger, it might not be healthy for y'u to, say that anywhere. My dad, for one, was not run out of Texas. Shore I never can see why he came heah. He's accumulated stock, but he's not rich nor so well off as he was back home." 

 "Are you goin' to stay here always?" queried Jean, suddenly. 

 "If I do so it 'll be in my grave," she answered, darkly.  "But what's the use of thinkin'? People stay places until they drift away. Y'u can never tell.... Well, stranger, this talk is keepin' y'u." 

 She seemed moody now, and a note of detachment crept into her voice. Jean rose at once and went for his horse. If this girl did not desire to talk further he certainly had no wish to annoy her. His mule had strayed off among the bleating sheep. Jean drove it back and then led his horse up to where the girl stood. She appeared taller and, though not of robust build, she was vigorous and lithe, with something about her that fitted the place. Jean was loath to bid her good-by. 

 "Which way is the Rim?" he asked, turning to his saddle girths. 

 "South," she replied, pointing.  "It's only a mile or so. I'll walk down with y'u.... Suppose y'u're on the way to Grass Valley?" 

 "Yes; I've relatives there," he returned. He dreaded her next question, which he suspected would concern his name. But she did not ask. Taking up her rifle she turned away. Jean strode ahead to her side.  "Reckon if you walk I won't ride." 

 So he found himself beside a girl with the free step of a Mountaineer. Her bare, brown head came up nearly to his shoulder. It was a small, pretty head, graceful, well held, and the thick hair on it was a shiny, soft brown. She wore it in a braid, rather untidily and tangled, he thought, and it was tied with a string of buckskin. Altogether her apparel proclaimed poverty. 

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