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Updated: September 6, 2025
"How do I know?" he returned, shortly. "D'ye think I fired it?" "No, but I just asked the question that Landson will ask, so you better have your answer handy. I'm going to gallop down to their ranch; perhaps I can help Mrs. Landson." "The ranch buildings are safe enough, I think," said Transley. "The grass there is close cropped, and there is some plowing."
Landson read: "It is our duty to place before you information which must be of a very distressing nature, and which at the same time will have the effect of greatly increasing your responsibilities and opportunities.
There was something about him that rather appealed to her. "I think we can," she said, simply. For a moment they watched the kaleidoscopic scene below them. "It may help you to understand," she continued, "if I say that I was riding down to see if I could be of some use to Mrs. Landson when the wind changed, and I saw I would be more likely to be needed here."
Grant was housed in a building by himself; a shack twelve by sixteen feet, double boarded and tar-papered. A single square window in the eastern wall commanded a view of the Landson corrals. On the opposite side of the room was his bed; in the centre a huge wood-burning stove; near the window stood a table littered with daily papers and agricultural journals.
After all his winding about in the gully he was not more than a mile from the cutbank. "I reckon I could get a great view from that cutbank of what Landson is doin'," he suddenly remarked to himself. He took off his hat and scratched his tousled head in reflection.
Had she met him before the fire she would have spurned and despised him, but nothing unites the factions of man like a fight against a common elemental enemy. Besides, there was the question, How DID the fire start? That was a question which every Landson man would be asking.
I'm not arguing now I'm telling you, Y.D. has cut hay in this valley so long he thinks he owns it, and the other ranchers began to think he owned it. But Landson has been making a few inquiries. He finds that these are not Crown lands, but are privately owned by speculators in New York.
"No, I can't prove that Landson did it, an' I can't prove that the grass my steers eat turns to hair on their backs," he retorted, "but I reach my own conclusions. Is there any shootin' irons in the place?" "Now, Dad, that's enough," said the girl, firmly. "There'll be no shooting between you and Landson. If there is to be anything of that kind I'll ride down ahead and warn him of what's coming."
She reproached herself for such a thought; it was disloyal to admit that this stranger on the Landson ranch was a greater man than her husband-to-be. And yet honesty or, perhaps, something deeper than honesty compelled her to make that admission.... She ran back over the remembered incidents of the night they had spent together, marooned like shipwrecked sailors on a rock in the foothills.
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