“There is,” said Townshead, “no use in anticipating unpleasant probabilities.  We will in the first place go down to Vancouver, where I fancy you will be able to earn a moderate sum by typewriting.  The use of the instrument is, I understand, readily acquired, and while I regret the necessity for a daughter of mine to follow such an occupation, the emolument appears to be reasonable.”

Nellie Townshead smiled somewhat bitterly, for the fact that she had ridden after straying cattle, and done a good many things that women do not usually undertake upon the ranch, had apparently escaped her father’s attention.

“But is there anything you could do in Vancouver?  You have no great knowledge of business,” she said.

Townshead smiled wryly.  “It is,” he said, “a pity that I have so much, because on the two occasions I took an interest in it I lost a good deal of money.  There is nothing for me to do here, at least.  I cannot chop big trees.”

“No,” said the girl.  “But have you nothing in contemplation?”

Townshead shook his head as though he were tired of the subject.  “No,” he said resignedly.  “I have too much regard for my very indifferent health to worry unnecessarily.”

The girl sighed a little, and felt very helpless, knowing that the task of maintaining both would devolve upon her and her brother.  She was a dutiful daughter, but she occasionally found it difficult to maintain her respect for her father.  Had he been beaten down after a stubborn struggle she would with almost fierce loyalty have been proud of him:  but Townshead, who spent most of his time safeguarding his constitution, had never fought at all.  Conflict of any kind jarred upon him.  Answering nothing, she sat still listening, until at last a tramp of horsehoofs became audible.  Somebody was riding that way, but there was another ranch farther up the valley, and her pulses throbbed when her strained senses told her that the horseman had reached the forking of the trail.  If he passed on the blow she shrank from might be suspended a little longer.

The man did not, however, pass by, but turned into the home trail, and she rose with a little shiver when there was a knocking at the door.  A man stood outside it with a horse behind him, and a paper in his hand, while his dress betrayed him as one from the cities.  He was also young, and appeared considerably embarrassed, but he took off his hat and made the girl a little bow.  She flung the door open, and stood very straight and still before him.

“You may come in,” she said.

The stranger glanced at her swiftly, and Nellie Townshead was somewhat astonished to see the blood mantle to his forehead.  “Very sorry, but I see you guess who I am,” he said, with a crisp, English intonation.  “I am here to—­well, you understand—­on behalf of Mr. Hallam, but I really wouldn’t be if I could help it.”

“You can put your horse in the stable, and then I will give you some supper,” said the girl, in a coldly even tone.  “There is still a little to eat here, and you must be hungry.”