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Updated: June 26, 2025
The sacks were too wet to burn; he had to have grass to feed his moving fire-spreader. At length he had only a teamster and himself, and his fire was going out. Transley whipped off his shirt, rolled it into a little heap, set fire to it, and ran along beside the rim, firing the little moving circle of grass inside. It was the teamster, looking back, who saw Transley fall.
There was nothing else for it; he must absolutely dismiss Zen Zen Transley from his mind. That was not only the course of honor; it was the course of common sense. After all, he had not sought her for his bride. He had not pressed his suit. He had given her to Transley. The thought was rather a pleasant one. It implied some sort of voluntary action upon Grant's part. He had been magnanimous.
Praise 'that Pete-horse, and George would ride his head off for you. He has a weakness for wanting to marry every woman he sees, but his infatuations seem harmless enough." "I know something of his weakness," Zen replied. "I have already been honored with a proposal." Transley looked in her face.
Had Transley been the most suspicious of husbands and in reality his domestic vision was as guileless as that of a boy he could have caught no glint of any smoldering spark of the long ago.
The backfires had all met; the forward line of flames had all been pounded out; the rear line had burned back until there was no danger of it jumping the burned space. Then Transley picked up his kit and rushed it on to a new front farther south. At intervals of a hundred yards he started fires, holding them in check and beating out the western edge as before.
"I would be glad to, but I must get back to camp. I hope you land a good string," and so saying Grant remounted, nodded to Transley and again to the men now scattered about the camp, and started his horse on an easy lope down the valley. "Well, what is it to be?" said Linder, coming up with the rest of the boys. "War?" "War if they fight," Transley replied, unconcernedly.
"That's what Transley says, George, and he knows." "Ever et at the Y.D?" "Nope." "Know old Y.D?" "Only to know his name is good on a cheque, and they say he still throws a good rope." George wriggled to a more comfortable position in the hay. He had a feeling that he was approaching a delicate subject with consummate skill. After a considerable silence he continued
But the next spring he built a larger cabin down the valley from The Forks, and to that cabin one day in June came Jessie Wilson to "finish the job." Transley and Linder were so early about on the morning after their conversation with Y.D. that there was no opportunity of another meeting with the rancher's wife or daughter.
Why was he not at home with Sarah? Sarah away from home! Why had Zen kept that a secret?... How long had this thing been going on, anyway? Grant feared neither Transley nor any other man, and yet there was something akin to fear in his heart as he thought of these possibilities. He would be held accountable doubly accountable if anything happened the child.
The valley was already in shadow, and there was no sunlight to play on her hair, but her face and figure in the mellow dusk seemed entirely winsome and adorable. There was no taint of Y.D.'s millions in the admiration that Transley bent upon her.... Of course, as an adjunct, the millions were not to be despised. When the men had finished supper Transley summoned her.
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