Warden’s smile broadened.  “Well, I’m not exactly displeased.”

“With Willets—­and the rest of it?”

“With that corral—­over there.”  He pointed.

“Why, it’s empty!”

“That’s why.”

“Why you are pleased!  That is odd.  As a buyer, I should think you would be more pleased if the corral were full—­had cows in it.  That is what you are here for, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” grinned Warden; “to keep it empty until it is filled with steers at my price.”

“Oh, bother!” The woman yawned.  “I am glad it is you and not I who is to deal with these clod-hoppers.  I should turn sour—­or laugh myself to death.”

“Getting tired of it already, Della?”

“Dreadfully tired, Gary.  If I could see one interesting person, or a good-looking man with whom I could flirt——­”

“Don’t forget our engagement, Della,” warned Warden.

She laughed, shooting a mischievous glance at him.  “Oh, it would be harmless, I assure you—­mere moral exercise.  Do you imagine I could lose my heart to one of these sagebrush denizens?”

“Not you, Della,” grinned Warden; “that isn’t your style.”

The girl yawned again, and got to her feet, smoothing her ruffled skirts.  Then she walked to a mirror on a wall near the door, and spent some time placing the felt hat on her head at a precise angle, making certain that the coils of hair under it were arranged in the most effective manner.  She tucked a stray wisp into the mass at the nape of her neck, patted the glistening coils so that they bulged a little more—­smiling with smooth serenity at the reflection in the glass.

“Well, good-bye, Gary.  I left Aunt Hannah at Corwin’s store.  She’ll be afraid I’ve eloped with you.  No,” she added, as Warden advanced toward her; “no kisses now.  I’ll look in again before we leave town.”

She opened the door, and as it closed she flashed a smile at Warden.  Then he heard her descending the stairs.  He watched the closed door for an instant, frowning disappointedly; then he strode again to one of the front windows, grinning as his gaze rested on the empty corral.

CHAPTER IV

REBELLION

Accident or design had placed the schoolhouse at the eastern edge of town.  The invisible power which creates the schoolhouse seemingly takes no account of time or place.  It comes, unheralded, unsung, and squats in the place where the invisible power has placed it, and instantly becomes as indispensable as the ungainly youth that occupies it.

All youth is not ungainly.  Ruth Hamlin was considering the negative proposition as she stood on the little platform in front of the blackboard just before noon, calmly scrutinizing the faces of the score of pupils who composed her “class.”

About half of her pupils, she decided, were worthy of the affection she had bestowed upon them.  The remainder were ungrateful, incorrigible hoodlums.  There had been times when Ruth wondered if the task of teaching was worth while.