“Think you can handle all four gangs without me for the rest of the afternoon?” he asked, as he came to Conniston’s side.

“Yes,” answered Conniston.  “I can handle them.”

Truxton laughed softly.

“You’re comin’ ahead, youngster.  Wouldn’t have wanted the job a week ago, would you?  I believe you could handle ’em, too.  But I’ll do it this trip.  I want you to go to the office for me.  See Tommy and run over these figures with him.  I told you last night that I was sure of ‘em.  To-day I’m gettin’ balled up.  Tell him that I’m puttin’ a gang on that double line of hills first thing in the mornin’.  Run over the thing with him and verify our figures.  If there’s anything left of the afternoon when you get through you can take it off an’ see the sights in Valley City.  Find out how they’re fixed for water an’ grub an’ wood.  Tommy’s got all that dope at the tip of his tongue.  An’ be back here the first thing in the mornin’.”

He went back to his work, and Conniston hurried away, decidedly glad for the change of work.  Just to grip his horse between his knees, to swing out alone across the rolling fields, to drink deep of the untroubled stillness of the wide places, to be an independent, swiftly moving figure with nothing to break the silent harmony of the still, hot sky above and the still, hot sands beneath—­a harmony which the soul leaped out to meet—­brought a quiet, peaceful content.  The day was serene and perfect, like yesterday and to-morrow in this land of dreary barrenness and of infinite possibility; the faint blue of the cloudless sky met the gray monotone of the earth between two mounds in front of him; and as his horse’s hoofs fell noiselessly, as though upon padded felt, his sensation was that of drifting across the wide sweep of a gently swelling ocean toward a landlocked sea of pale turquoise.

It was shortly after four o’clock when he rode into Valley City.  He passed the one-room school-house, with its distinctive little belfry and flag-pole, and a glance in at the open windows told him that the children had been dismissed.  At the corner of the building he came suddenly upon a saddled horse biting and stamping at the flies which defied swishing tail and savage teeth.  Half smiling, he stopped.  He had recognized the horse as a Half Moon animal, one he had ridden several times, and thought that he could guess who was inside paying his respects to the schoolmistress.  Even as he paused Jocelyn Truxton came out, opening her white parasol.  And in all the holiday regalia of shaggy black chaps, bright-blue neck-handkerchief, and new Stetson hat, Lonesome Pete followed her.

Pete, as he emerged from behind the parasol, saw Conniston and called a hearty “Hello, Con!” to him.  And Conniston turned his horse and rode back to the front steps.

“Miss Jocelyn says as how she ain’t been interdooced,” Lonesome Pete was saying, his hat turning nervously in his hands, his face flushing as he met Conniston’s eyes.  “Shake han’s with Mr. Conniston, Miss Jocelyn.”