that astonished him. The fighting spirit that had brought her to the wilderness, that promised with the aid of Thora ultimately to turn the Hidden Homestead into a paying ranch, he could understand. It was transmitted to her from clean-blooded, vigorous stock. And he could only think that the same attributes furnished her with a brain so well nourished that she was able to see things with a clear, wide vision. He did not flatter himself that her sight might be stimulated by a personal interest in Peter Sheridan.
But he found several occasions to ride over to Ghost Mountain, usually at the end of the afternoon. Jackson invariably accompanied him. And, while Sheridan gazed with an amused eye upon the wooing of Thora by the cowboy—for there was no mistaking the thrall laid upon Red by the Amazon, who appeared none too eager to respond beyond friendship—he did not turn that eyesight inwards nor consider that he might be rowing in the same boat with Jackson. His project held him.
Goats, the beginning of a lusty Angora herd, appeared from Pioche. Fruit trees were set out. The place was well managed. The goats were fenced off in sections with movable hog fencing, set to eat the brush and fertilize the land for better crops. And the two women did it alone. They would not hear of help from the Circle S.
"When we can afford to hire a hand, we may do so," said Mary Burrows definitely, as they sat one evening after supper on their favorite perch, a saddle between two fanglike crags, overlooking the
