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ZEN of
the Y. D.
o 4 Novel of the Foothills
*5?
By ROBERT STEAD
Author of •_
"The Cow Puncher The
Hcinesteaden" —“Neighbors, etc.
Copyright by ROBERT STEAD
“YOU WILL BE STOPPED”
SYNOPSIS. Transley’s hay
cutting outfit, after stacking
2 000 tons, is on Its way to the
bis Y.D. ranch headquarters.
Transley is a master of men and
circumstances. Linder, foreman,
is substantial, but not self-asser
tive. George Drazk, one of the
men. is an irresponsible chap
who proposes to every woman he
meets. Transley and Linder dine
with Y'.D. and his wifo and
daughter Zen. Transley resolve3
to marry Zen. • Y.D. instructs
Transley to cut the South Y.D..
“spite o’ h—l an high watci
and a fellow named Landson.
Drazk proposes to Zen and is
neatly rebuffed.
CHAPTER ll—Continued.
—3—
George dropped behind, and nn
amused smile played on the foreman’s
face. He bud known Drazk too long
to be much surprised at anything lie
might do. It was Drazk’s idea of gal
lantry to make love to every girl on
sight. Possibly Drazk had managed
to exchange a word with Zen, and his
imagination would readily expand that
into n love scene. Zen! Even the
placid, balanced Linder felt a slight
leap in'tlie blood at the unusual name
which suggested the bright girl who
had come into his life the night be
fore. Not exactly into his life; It
would be fairer to say she had touched
the rim of bis life. Perhaps she would
never penetrate It further; Linder
rather expected that would be the
case. As for Drazk—she was in no
danger from him. Drazk’s methods
were so precipitous that they could be
counted upon to defeat themselves.
Below stretched the valley of the
South l’.D., almost a duplicate of Its
northern neighbor. The stream hugged
the feet of the hills on the northern
side of the valley; its ribbon of green
and gold was like a fringe gathered
about the hem of their skirts. Be
yond the stream lay the level plains
of the valley, and miles to the south
rose the next ridge of foothills. It
was from these interlying plains that
Y.D. expected his thousand tons of
hay.
Linder's appreciative eye took In
the scene; a scene of stupendous sizes
and magnificent distances. As he
slowly turned his vision eastward a
speck In the distance caught his sight
and brought him to his feet. Shading
his eyes from the bright afternoon
sun he surveyed it long and carefully.
There was no doubt about It; a hay
ing outfit was already at work down
the valley.
Leawng his team to manage them
ae'ves Under dropped from his wngon
and joined Transley. ‘‘Some one has
heat us to it,” he remarked.
1 observed,” said Transley.
"ell, It’s a big valley, and if they’re
satisfied to stay where they are there
should be enough for both. If they’re
not—”
If they’re not, what?” demanded
Linder.
" Vou heard what Y.D. said. He
Ea;d: ‘Cut It, spite o’ h—l an’ high
Ua ' r , and I always obey orders.’’
... |‘ "ound down the hillside un
■ u 1 .• came to the stream, the horses
Quickening their pace with the smell
■'liter in their eager nostrils. It
■as a good ford, broad and shallow,
~ tio typical bowlder bottom of
mountain stream. The horses
lnt ° it, drinking greedily with
>o. of droning noise caused by the
o-j their thirst they raised their
•v,! j wretched their noses far out
t ;; s : ,|!n Ped wide-mouthed upon their
h.‘V ! P ause in the stream they
we-i !00 le Anther bank, where
trr'f.' / , n H P aces among cottonwood
Wf ?;, nar! Truns| ey indicated that this
[ helr camping ground. Al
chiio’- : moke uas issuing from the
tho ' , fl ® on ' an, l in a few minutes
f .. ? S sleeping tent and the two
aftor. . "' S ' vere flashing back the
j n _ . f ’ n sun - They carried no eat
‘u ’ iustead of that an eating
c!’v- s hacked up against the
gerv . ,„ n^ rn ’ and the men were
* r , r \; n 'I- They had not paused
‘ ''luy tneal; the cook had pro
b.v . U’lyiehes of bread and roast
'/*, ' 1 fhe edge of their appe-
J now n H were keen to fall to
as soon as the welcome clanging of
the plow-colter which hung from the
end of the chuck wagon should give
the signal.
Presently this clanging filled the
evening air with sweet music, and the
oien filed with long, slouchy tread into
the eating wagon. The table ran
down the center, with bench seats at
either side. The cook, properly gaug
ing the men’s appetites, had not taken
time to prepare meat and potatoes,
but on the table were ample basins of
graniteware filled with beans and
bread and stewed prunes and canned
tomatoes, pitchers of sirup and con
densed milk, tins with marmalade
and jam, and plates with butter sadly
suffering from the summer heat. The
cook filled their granite cups with hot
tea from a granite pitcher, and when
the cups were empty filled them again
and again. And when the tables were
partly cleared he brought out deep
pies filled with raisins and with evap
orated apples and a thick cake from
which the men cut hunks as generous
as their appetite suggested. Transley
had learned, what women are said to
have learned long ago, that the way
io a man’s heart ..is through his stom
ach, and the cook hat} carte blanche.
Not a man who ate at Transley’s table
but would have spilt ’’is blood for the
boss or for the honor of the gang.
The meal was nearing its end when
through a window Linder’s eye caught
sight of a man on horseback rapidly
approaching. “Visitors, Transley,” he
was able to say before the rider pulled
up at the open door of the covered
wagon.
He wa~ such a rider as may slill
be seen in those last depths of the
ranching country where wheels have
not entirely crowded Itomance off of
horseback. Spare and well-knit, his
figure had a suggestion of slightness
which the scales would have belied.
His face, keen and clean-shaven, was
brown as the August hills, and above
it his broad hat sat in the careless
dignity affected by the gentlemen of
the plains. His leather coat afforded
protection from the 1 eat of day and
from the cold of night.
“Good evening, men,” he said, cour
teously. “Don’t let me disturb your
meal. Afterwards perhaps I can have
a word with the boss.”
“That’s me,” said Transley, rising.
“No, don’t get up,” the stranger pro
tested, but Transley insisted that he
had finished, and, getting down from
the wagon, led the way a little dis
tance from the eager ears of its occu
pants.
“My name is Grant,” said the strang
er; “Dennison Grant. I am employed
by Mr. Landson, w’ho has a ranch
down the valley. If I am not mistaken
you are Mr. Transley.”
“You are cot mistaken,” Transley
replied.
“And I am perhaps further correct,”
continued Grant, “in surmising that
you are here on behalf of the Y.D.,
and propose cutting my in this val
ley?”
“Your grasp of the situation does
you credit.” Transley’s manner was
that of a man prepared to meet trou
ble somewhat more than half way.
“And I may further surmise,” con
tinued Grant, quite unruffled, “that
Y.D. neglected to give you one or two
points of information bearing upon
the ownership of this land, which
would doubtless have been of Interest
to you?”
“Suppose you dismount,” said Trans
ley. “I like to look a man in the ace
when I talk business to him.”
“That’s fair,” returned Grant, swing
ing lightly from Ills horse. “I have a
preference that way myself.” I3e ad
vanced to within arm’s length of
Transley and for a few moments the
two men stood measuring each other.
It was steel boring steel; there was
not a flicker of an eyelid.
“We may as well get to business,
Grant,” said Transley at length. “I
also can do some surmising. I sur
mise that you were sent here by Land
son to forbid me to cut hay in this vnl
ley. On what authority he acts I
neither know nor care. I take my
orders from Y.D. Y.D. said cut the
hay. I am going to cut It.”
“You are not I”
Transley’s muscles could be seen to
go tense beneath his shirt.
“Who will stop me?” he demanded.
“You will be stopped."
“The mounted police?” There was
contempt In his voice, but the con
tempt was not for the force. It
was for the rancher who would np
peal to the police to settle a “friend
ly” dispute.
“No. I don’t think it will be neces
sary to call in the police,” returned
Grant, dropping back to his pleasant,
casual manner. “You know Y.D., and
doubtless you feel quite safe under
his wing. But you don’t know Land
son. Neither do you know the facts
of the case—the right and wrong of it.
Under these handicaps you cannot
reach a decision which is fair to your
self and to your men.”
“Further argument is simply waste
of time,” Transley interrupted. “I have
told you my instructions, and I have
told you that I am going to carry them
out. Have you had your supper?”
“Yes. thanks. AH right, we won’t
argue any more. I'm not arguing now
-I'm telling you. Y.D. has cut hay
in tli valley so long he think* h*'
THE DANIEL.SVILLE MONITOR, DANIELSVILLE, GEORGIA.
owns it, and the other ranchers began
to think he owned it. But Landson
has been making a few inquiries. lie
finds that these are not public lands,
but are privately owned by speculators
in New York, lie has contracted with
the owners for the hay rights of these
lands for five years, beginning with
the present season. He is already cut
ting farther down the valley, and will
be cutting here within a day or two.”
“The trout ought to bite on a fine
evening like this,” said Transley. “I
have an extra rod and some flies. Will
you try a throw or two with me?”
“I would be glad to, but 1 must get
back to camp. I hope you land a good
string,” and so saying Grant remount
ed, nodded to Transley and again to
the men now scattered about the
camp, and started his horse on an easy
lope down the valley.
“Well, what is it to be?” said Lin
der, coining up with the rest of the
boys. “War?”
“War if they fight,” Transley re
plied, unconcernedly. “Y.D. said cut
the hay; ’spite o’ h—l an’ high water,’
he said. That goes.”
Slowly the great orb. of the sun sank
until the crest of the mountains
pierced Its molten glory and sent it
burnishing their rugged heights. In
the east the plains were already
wrapped in shadow. Up the valley
crept the veil of night, hushing even
tiie limitless quiet of the day. The
stream babbled louder in the lowering
gloom; the stamp and champing of
horses grew less insistent, the cloud
lets' overhead laded from crimson to
mauve to blue to gray.
Transley tapped the ashes from his
pipe and went to bed.
CHAPTER 111
“How about a ride over to the South
Fork this afternoon, Zen?” said Y.D.
to his daughter the following morn
ing. “I just want to make sure them
boys Is hittin’ the high spots. The
grass is gettin’ powerful dry an’ you
can never tell what may happen.”
“You’re on,” the girl replied across
the breakfast table. Her mother
looked up sharply. She wondered If
the prospect of another meeting with
Transley had anything to do with
Zen’s alacrity.
“I had hoped you would outgrow
your slang, Zen," she remonstrated
gently. “Men like Mr. Transley are
likely to judge your training by your
speech.”
“I should worry. Slang Is to lan
guage what feathers are to a hat—
they give it distinction, class. They
lift It out of the drab commonplace.”
“Still, I would not care to be dressed
entirely In feathers,” her mother thrust
quietly.
“Good for you, Mother!” the girl ex
claimed, throwing un arm about her
neck and planking a firm kiss on her
forehead. “That was a solar plexus.
Now I’ll try to be good and wear a
feather only here and there. But air.
Transley has nothing to do with It.”
“Of course not,” said Y.D. “Still,
Transley Is a man with snap in him.
That’s why he's boss. So many of
these ornery good-for-nothin’s Is al
ways wlshln’ they was boss, but they
ain’t willin’ to pay the price. It costs
somethin’ to get to the head of the
herd—an’ stay there.”
“He seems firm on all fours,” the
girl agreed. “How do we travel, and
when?”
“Better take a democrat, 1 guess,”
her father said. “We can throw In a
tent and some bedding for you, ns
we’ll maybe stay over a qpuple of
nights.”
‘The blue sky is tent enough for
me,” Zen protested, “and I can surely
rustle a blanket or two around the
camp. Besides, I’ll want a riding
horse to get around with there."
“You can run him beside the demo
crat,” said her father. “You’re gettin'
too big to go campin’ promlsc’us like
when you was a kid.”
“That’s the penalty for growing up,"
Zen sighed. “All right, Dad. Say two
o’clock ?”
The girl spent the morning helping
her mother about the house, and cast
ing over in her mind the probable de
velopments of the near future. She
would not have confessed outwardly
to even a casual Interest In Transley,
but Inwardly she udmitted that the
promise of another meeting with him
gave zest to the prospect. Transley
was Interesting. At least he was out
of the commonplace. His bold direct
ness had rather fascinated her. He
had a will. Her father had always nd
mlred men with a will, hnd Zen shared
his admiration. Then there was Lin
der. The fierce light of Transley’s
charms did not blind her to the glow
of quiet capability which she saw In
Linder. If one were looking for a hus
band, Linder had much to recommend
him. He was probably less capable
than Transley, but he would be easier
to manage. . . . But who was
looking for a husband? Not Zen. No,
no, certainly not Zen.
Then there was George Drazk.
whose devotions fluctuated between
“that Pete-horse” and the latest fe
male to cross his orbit. At the thought
of George Drazk Zen laughed outright.
She had played with him. She had
made a monkey of him, and he de- !
served all he had got. It was not the
Erst occasion upon which Zen had let I
herself drift with the tiae, anvujs
sure of Justifying herself and discom
fiting someone by the swift, strong
strokes with which, at the right mo
ment, she r* ached the shore. Zen
liked to think of herself as careering
through life in the came way as she
rode the half-broken horses of her fa
ther’s range. How many such a horse
had thought that the lithe body on his
back was something to race with, toy
with, and, when tired of .that, fling
precipitately to earth i And not one
of those horses but hnd found that
while he might race and toy with his
rider within limitations, at the last
that light body was master, and not
he! . . . Yet Zen loved best the,
horse that raced wildest and was hard
est to bring into subjection.
That was her philosophy of life so
far as a girl of twenty may have a
philosophy of life. It was to go on and
see what would happen, supported al
ways by a quiet confidence that in any
pinch she could take care of herself.
She had learned to ride aud shoot, to
sleep out and cook in the open, to
ride the ranges after dark by Instinct
and the stars—-she had learned those
thin'gs while other girls of her age
learned the rudiments of faneywork
and the scales of the piano.
Her father and mother knew her
disposition, loved it, and feared for it.
They knew that there was never a
rider sc brave,, so skillful, so strong,
but some outlaw would throw him at
last. So at fourteen they sent her
oast to a hoarding school. In two
months she was back with a letter of
expulsion, and the boast of having
blacked the eyes of the principal’s
daughter.
“They couldn’t teach’ me any more,
Mother,” she said. "They admitted It.
So here I am.”
Y.D. was plainly perplexed. “It’s
about time you was halter-broke,” he
commented, “who's goln’ to do it?”
“If a girl has learned to read and
think, what more can the schools do
for her?” she demanded.
And Y.D., never having been to
school, could not answer.
The sun was capping the Rockies
with molten gold when the rancher
and his daughter swung down the foot
hill slopes to the camp on tlie South
Y.D. Strings of men and horses re
turning from the upland meadows
could be seen from the hillside as they
descended.
Y.D.’s sharp eyes measured the
scale of operations.
“They’re ldttin’ the high spots,” he
said, approvingly. “That boy Transley
is a hum-dinger.”
Zen made no reply.
“I say lie’s a hum-dlnger,” her fa
ther repeated.
The girl looked up with a quick flush
of surprise. Y T .D. was no puzzle to
her, and if lie went out of his way
to commend Transley he had a pur
pose.
“Mr. Transley seems to have made
a hit with you. Dad,” she remarked,
evasively.
“Well, I do like to see a man who’s
got the goods In him. I like a man
that can get there, Just as I like a
horse that can get there. I’ve often
wondered, Zen, what kind you’d take
up with, when it came to that, nn*
hoped he’d be a live erlttur. After
I’m dead an’ buried I don’t want no
other dead one spendin’ my simoleons ”
“How about Mr. Linder,” said Zen,
naively.
Her father looked up sharply. “Zen,”
he said, “you’re not serious?”
Zen laughed. “I don’t figure you’re
exactly serious, Dad, In your talk about
Transley. You’re just feeling out.
—let me do a little feeling out.
How about Linder?”
“Linder’s all right,” Y.D. replied
“Better thnn the average, I admit. But
he’s not the man Transley is, If he
was, he wouldn’t he workin’ for Trnns
ley. You can’t keep a man down, Zen,
if he’s got the goods In him. Linder
comes up over the uvernge, bo’s yoil
can notice It, but not like Transley
does.”
Zen did not pursue the subject. She
understood her father’s philosophy
very well indeed, and, to a large de
gree, she accepted It ns her own The
only quality Y.D. took off his hat to
was the ability to do things. And
Y.D.’s idea of things was very con
crete; It had to do with steers and
land, with bay and money and men.
It was by such things he measured
success. And Zen was disposed to
agree with him. Why not? It was
the only success she knew.
In the next installment Zen
arrives in Transley’s camp and
plays the foreman against the
boss. What complications do
you foresee?
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
“Three Teacher, Three”
A teacher asked: “How many kinds
of flowers are there?”
Three pupils held up their hands.
She chose one to reply.
“Well, Isidore, how many kinds of
flowers are there?”
“Three, teacher.”
“Indeed? And what are they?"
“Wild, tame and coLUe."
BUILDING
HIGHWAY SIDEWALKS
PREVENT ACCIDENTS
The increase in automobile traffic
of late years has brought among oth
ers one very serious problem, the pro
tection of pedestrians who have to
travel along the public highways.
Recent figures compiled by a large
life insurance company, covering cas
ualties on highways of u Certain stute
for the heaviest traffic season, showed
that out of 427 deaths in automobile
accidents, 47 per cent of them were of
persons who were walking along pub
lic highways and were struck by mo
torists.
Asa result of the alarming Increase
in accidents of this type, authorities
have instituted campaigns of various
kinds to reduce casualties, they have
broadcast rules which pedestrians
should follow when forced to travel
along the highways. People' afoot
liuve been warned to carry lanterns af
ter dark and to walk on the left side
of the road so that they will see on
coming vehicles In time to get out of
the way.
But all these precautions cannot
eliminate these Occidents altogether;
they can only reduce the number.
Realizing this, stute, county and
city authorities In various parts of the
:* •;* .'•:*> •. •>* - ■ ■
;>yr
✓V, y - • / •••
'■ ■■ ,y ■ : '/ ' •- :■< ••. .
Sidewalks Safeguard Pedestrians.
country are now building concrete
sidewalks along the highways In the
more heavily traveled regions to safe
guard pedestrians. And this plan as
shown In the Illustration Is really the
only one which can prevent accidents
to pedestrians along the highways.
“Widen, Repair,” 1924’s
Sign for Road Builders
Highway builders of America have
agreed on two vital planks In the 1924
road Improvement platform.
The first will safeguard the annual
Investment of more tliun $1,000,000,000
for highway construction and exten
sion by the establishment of definite
and systematic maintenance rind re
pair.
The second will make this huge In
vestment puy record dividends by rais
ing degree of Improvement Justified by
its traffic.
In somo cases this will mean
doubling the width of existing ar
teries; In others the straightening of
all dangerous curves and the construc
tion of subways, overhead bridges und
traffic “gyrations” to Improve traffic
conditions and eliminate danger.
Thomas If. MacDonald, chief of the
United States bureau of public roads,
first emphasized both of these needs
In outlining Ids basic principles of
highway management und llnunclng
during the coining year. He urged
all states, where the first or “back
bone” system of pavements Is nearly
complete, to concentrate now on build
ing the ldg channels up to their prop
er earning capacity, and to set aside
u certain part of all road revenue for
the annual repair and maintenance of
Its built roads.
Improved Highways Will
Help Roadside Markets
The rapid spread of a good Idea Is
noted Iri the marvelous growth of the
roadside market plan in (tie United
Slates. It Is stated by n bureau which
lias studied lhe situation that fully
500,000 wayside farm markets will he
In successful operation during the
summer of 1924 In this country. With
the coming of the auto Into common
usefulness; with the opening of good
roads leading from the city and town
back to the farm, and with the ex
posure of the extortion prevailing on
the way between the producer and the
consumer, a lot of consumers and pro
ducers have teactied the sensible con
clusion thut they had better get to
gether for their own mutual well-being
and do their commodity dickering
direct.