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Updated: June 27, 2025
Men and horses had fattened and grown content, and the foreman had reason to know that Transley's bank account had profited by the sudden shift in his operations. Linder felt in his pocket for pipe and matches; then, with a frown, withdrew his fingers. He himself had laid down the law that there must be no smoking in the hay fields.
Tompkins, the cook, had not needed Transley's suggestion to put his best foot forward when catering to Y.D. and his daughter. Tompkins' soul yearned for a cooking berth that could be occupied the year round. Work in the railway camps had always left him high and dry at the freeze-up dry, particularly, and a few nights in Calgary or Edmonton saw the end of his season's earnings.
Transley and Y.D. rode about, carefully scrutinizing the short grass for iron stakes, and keeping a general eye on operations. Suddenly Transley sat bolt-still on his horse. Then, in a low voice, "Y.D!" he said. The rancher turned and followed the line of Transley's vision. The nearest of Landson's stacks was ablaze, and a great pillar of smoke was rolling skyward.
If she had been carried off her feet swept into the position in which she found herself that explanation would not apply to the deliberate placing of his ring upon her finger. There would be no excuse; she could never again plead that she had been the victim of Transley's precipitateness. This would be deliberate, and she must do it herself.
"You are not mistaken," Transley replied. "And I am perhaps further correct," continued Grant, "in surmising that you are here on behalf of the Y.D., and propose cutting hay in this valley?" "Your grasp of the situation does you credit." Transley's manner was that of a man prepared to meet trouble somewhat more than half way.
"A sort of chestnut, about sixteen hands high, and with the look of a thoroughbred," he afterwards described her to Linder. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, and Drazk instantly summoned a smirk which set his homely face beaming with good humor. "Pardon me, ma'am," he said, with an elaborate bow. "I am Mr. Drazk Mr. George Drazk Mr. Transley's assistant. No doubt he spoke of me."
But after a little reflection Linder came to the conclusion that perhaps it was all for the best. He could not have bought Y.D.'s daughter a big sparkler or have built her a fine home because he was a foreman. It was a round circle.... He threw himself into the building of Transley's house with as much fidelity as if it had been his own.
"Don't I know it?" he repeated, as his mind apparently ran back over some reminiscence that verified Linder's remark. It was evident from the pleasant grimaces of George's face that whatever he had suffered from the uncertain sex was forgiven. "Say, Lin," he resumed after another pause, and this time in a more confidential tone, "do you s'pose Transley's got a notion that way?" "Shouldn't wonder.
Then she told them what she knew, from the point where she had met Grant on the fire-encircled hill. "Two lucky people two lucky people," was all Transley's comment. Words could not have expressed the jealousy he felt. But Linder was not too shy to place his hand with a friendly pressure upon Grant's shoulder. "Good work," he said, and with two words sealed a friendship.
The rancher and his wife sat at the ends of the table; Transley on the side at Y.D.'s right; Linder at Transley's right. In the better light Linder noted Y.D.'s face. It was the face of a man of fifty, possibly sixty. Life in the open plays strange tricks with the appearance. Some men it ages before their time; others seem to tap a spring of perpetual youth.
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