The Hardin tribune-herald. [volume] (Hardin, Mont.) 1925-1973, 1934-04-13


almost angrily. almost as if he were
afraid, mo"
She continued to look out of the
window for some time. At last she Of
Tered, I'll give you anything you ask"
He considered her, standing there
against the light, in cynical apprecia-
ton, thinking that her kinds wants
were almost paramount. When he an
sWered it was dryly. 1--WE no doubt
you're very rich. But you're not rich
enough for that"
She turned to search his face. "But
there are millions of ranches!" she pro-
tested.
This happens to be mine and suits
me-" he retorted.
Why" she started to protest again,
but he broke in angrily, Look here!
You left it. And I found it. And it's
mine. I live ON it, and you needn't
tell me that even if I gave it back you'd
stay half . u. half? You wouldn't aver
age a month out of a year on i'll"
Perhaps not" she admitted visit
NAAJ LUZ W h4lOW IL Was lleTE
-. that I could come -"
He said, all that was cynical and
derisive in him edging his words, ANY
time you want to come and stay a
while . I'll clear out!"
The girl swung slowly round and,
standing stock still, stared at him for
a long minute. Then clear out NOW"
she said.
Rupert liked to camp, but he was
puzzled at its being undertaken at sun
set of a January day within plain sight
of the snug comforts of home. He lay
curled into a tight ball of disgust, his
nose tucked under his tail like an Al
askan husky.
1t had taken the man three trips on
his skis to get his duffle outside his
nearest fence line, and it had been dark
before he even started to make camp.
And a few short hours ago he had
imagined that the last woman had
made a fool out of him!
well, let her fool herself! Why, any
claim she'd v had to the ranch was
forfeited. He'd found it, deserted, the
fences down, the fields u~nharvested,
the roofs grass grown and breaking,
the wind whispering between the chink-
less logs.
He had been riding down from the
sheep country where he and Rupert
had been working, headed for town
any toWn-with six months pay in his
pocket. And at that most tender mom-
ent of the day, when grass blades cast
long shadows and sunlight is most
| pN11nr hn hoI oNr,1 0o,f nc xaa1xx,
gorge he had been riding for an hour
into the sudden g%entleness of a wide
valley. A few stray cattle were grazing
in its meadow, and against a southern
slope with a sparse growth about it,
stood a long, low cabin: 1t was gap
docred and windowless, but at one end
a great stone chimney, the solitary
sound thing in the disintegrating struc-
ture, stood square and sturdy.
He had known the town must be not
more than five miles off-it had prov
ed even less-but he hadn't ridden it.
He had cooked his coffee and his
mutton IN a fire he had built in the
great square chimney, and afterward
had spread his roll before its hearth.
With Rupert stretched beside him he
had lain late into the night, staring
at the fire, thinking.
It had been to that hearth he had
crawled back next night when the
rotten booze he'd got in the blind pig
across the river from the town had
laid him out before he could get even
rightly drunk. He had been horribly,
p%oisonously i'll for days, and afterward
weak as a new lamb. It was during his
convalescence that the valley had got
hold of him. OF course, he knew it was
not just the valley. A lot else had gone
into it. To begin with, he had been
practically sober for six months. And
when you were sober you thought-in
spite of yourself. But more than all
that, he knew now, was the fact that
he had simply reached bottom-for
him-and was ready to start back. The
valley had only happened. But it had
happened at just the right time, and
it had been the right time.
It had been easy to learn that the
place was for sale and, keeping just
enough out of his wad to grubstake
himself, he had put the rest into a
first payment.
For three years he had toiled like a
peasant, oCC1Al1AlS1y W liz C1lo u w
feed himself and Rupert, yet somehow
in the process a steady inner pride
had been born that made him want
never again so long as he should live
to have anything he had not earned
And the valley had become symbolic
with its mound roofs, its mended
fences, its thrifty stacks.
And now this girl wanted it back!
Well, she wouldn't get it.
In the morning, when he went dowr
to tend his stock-he had shipped his
beef early in the winter and there were
not a dozen head, including his milct
COW and horses-he found the rack If
the feed yard full, and the hay hac
been taken out of the stack expertly
The COW had been MIXED and the hens
were feeding in the strip of ground
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