Helen rode him the day she and her father came down from the hills for the round-up.  Longstreet out-Romaned the Romans:  his spurs were the biggest, his yell when he circled a herd was the most piercing, his borrowed chaps struck the eye from afar; his hat was a Stetson and amazingly tall.  Now and then, when his horse swerved sharply to head off a racing steer, he came near falling.  Once he did fall and rolled wildly through the dust of a corral; but he only continued his occupation with the more vim and was heard to shout over and over:  ‘It’s the life, boys!  It’s the life!’

Helen, often riding at Howard’s side, saw how the herds were brought down from the hills; how they were counted and graded; how the select were driven into the fattest pasture lands.  She watched the branding of those few head that had escaped other round-ups.  At first she cringed back as she saw the hot iron and the smoke rising from the hides and smelled the scorching hair and flesh.  But she came to understand the necessity and further she saw that little pain was inflicted, that the victims though they struggled and bellowed were soon grazing quietly with their fellows.  And at last the time had come when she had learned to ride.  That was the supreme joy of the moment.

To Howard, no less, was it a joy.  He watched her race, with whip whirling over her head, to cut off the lunging attempt at escape made over and over by the wilder cattle; he saw that with every hour her seat in the saddle became more secure; he read that she was not afraid.  He looked forward to long rides, just the two of them, across the billowing sweep of Desert Valley, in the golden time when the title rested secure with them, in the time when at last all dreams came true.

Of any world outside their own happy valley they knew little.  Sanchia had pitched her tent near the Longstreet camp, but these days she was left very much to herself.  They did not pass through Sanchia’s Town on their way back and forth and knew and cared nothing of its activities.  The Longstreets, keenly interested in all that went forward on the ranch, were persuaded to accept Howard’s hospitality for three days and nights.  They rode early and late; there were the brief before-bedtime talks together; Helen saw the bluebird feather and laughed about it; she claimed it, but was in the end, after a deal of bantering argument, content to leave it where it was.  She allowed Howard to talk what she branded as foolishness about certain alterations in the old house which he prophesied would be necessary before long; she grew into the custom of speaking of the room which she had occupied on her first visit to the ranch as ‘my room.’  She was very happy and forgot that her father was a troublesome childlike parent who fancied that he knew how to discover gold mines.  What did mere gold amount to, anyway?

Then came the drive.  The pick of the herd were to be moved slowly down to San Juan.  Howard had communicated with his former buyers, and they were eager for more of his stock and at the former price.  He wanted Helen and her father to come with them.  But Longstreet shook his head smilingly.