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ZEN of the Y. D.
A Hovel of the Foothills
By ROBERT STEAD
, -f "The Cow Puncher The Homo-
J I .J/A”-‘-Ne, S hbo n r etc
bv ROBERT STEAD
-SAY YES NOW!"
crvnPSIS. Transley’s hay
.uttlnff ' outfit, after stacking
SopVfons. is on its way to the
tD. ranch headquarters.
EE r , . i? a master of men and
T . r EVtances. Linder, foreman.
cilEtantial.' but not self-asser
; (5, orge Drazk one of the
n ’e ß ls an irresponsible chap who
s to every woman he
meets, Transley and Linder dine
, V and and his wife and
• ‘ U \ , , zen Transley resolves
fo marry Zen. Y.D. instructs
. cto Zen and is neatly re
bufLd. Transley pitches camp
mt he South Y.D. and finds Land-
Vs outfit cutting hny. Denni
; .. Grant. Landson s manager,
notifies Transley that he is work
in* under a lease from the legal
‘owners and warns Transley off.
Ml of which means war Y.D.
and Zen ride to the South YJD
Zen is a natural vamp, not yet
halter-broke and ripe for mating.
Y.D. has taken a liking Trans
lev Zon holds Transley off and
vor but secretly laughs at bo.h.
V.e has? another and more serious
encounter with Drazk. Y.D. mow
ing machines are ruined by iron
stakes set in the grass. Zen pre
vents open war with Landson.
Transley half-way proposes and
is turned off. Drazk sets a fire
that attacks the Landson stacks.
The Y.D. outfit hastens to aid the
enemy. Zen rides off alone t 0
help. The wind changes and the
Y.D. people now have to fight
the prairie fire. Zen rides
the river to escape flames. Drazk
tries to abduct her. She drowns
him —or thinks she has. Grant
overtakes her. In trying to ride
through fire Zen is thrown and
knocked senseless. Zen comes to
after several hours of uncon
sciousness to find herself in the
dark with Grant. She has a
sprained ankle and both horses
have run away. So she and Grant
sit on a rock and tell their past
lives. Grant, it appears, is a rich
man’s son who scorns wealth In
order to live his own life. Y.D.
and his men arrive after day
light. Naturally, In the circum
stances, haying is abandoned.
Grant rides off. Transley goes to
the nearest town.
CHAPTER Vll—Continued.
— 9—
Up to this time Transley had not
thought seriously of matrimony. A
wife and children he regarded as de
sirable appendages for declining years
—for the quiet and shade of that eve
ning toward which every active man
looks with such irrational confidence.
But for the heat of the day—for the
climb up the hill—they would be un
necessary encumbrances. Transley al
ways took a practical view of these
matters. It need hardly be stated that
he had never been In love; in fact,
Transley would have scouted the Idea
of any passion which would throw the
practical to the winds. That was a
thing for weaklings, and, possibly, for
women.
But his attachment for Zen was a
very practical matter. Zen was the
only heir to the Y.D. wealth. She
would bring to her husband capital
and credit which Transley could use
to good advantage in his business. She
wouid also bring personality—a de
lightful individuality—of which any
man might be proud. She had that
flue combination of attractions which
is expressed in the word charm. She
had health, constitution, beauty. She
had courage and sympathy. She had
qualities of leadership. She would
i'-ng to him not only the material
mean-; to build a house, but the splr
qualities which make a home,
would make him the envy of all
h s acquaintances. And a jealous man
loves to be. envied.
So after the work on the excava
*!ons 'ad been properly started Trans
•-? ‘ irned over the detail to the al
■ !~s dependable Linder, and, remark
‘•'••it he had not had a final settle
with Y.D., set out for the ranch
” * :,e foothills. While spending the
; autumn day alone in the buggy
y ' - able to turn over and develop
< - on an even more ambitious scale
, and occurred to him amid the
**'. his men and horses,
y" valley was lying very warm
dutiful In yellow light, - and the
'■ - sun was just capping the
" dns with gold and painting
y splashes of copper and bronze
1 ie * ew clouds becalmed in the
” " ns : "dien Transley’s tired team
- -a among the cluster of build
■'vn as the Y.D. The rancher
' m at the bunk-house. He
and ransley with a firm grip of
- at palm, and with Jaws open
•-- -srion of a sort of carnivorous
le up to the house, Transley,”
' turning the horses over to
nation of a ranch hand. “Sup
'' ' ' lJ? t ready, an’ the women will
* -’.ad to see you.”
n > walking with a limp, mot thorn
at the gate. Translcy’s eyes reassured
him that he had not been led astray
by any process of idealization; Zen
was all his mind bad been picturing
her. She was worth the effort. In
deed, a strange sensation of tender
ness suffused him as he walked by
her side to the door, supporting her
a little with his hand. There they
were ushered in by the rancher’s wife,
and Zon herself showed Transley to
a cool room where wore white towels
and soft water from the river and
quiet and restful furnishings. Trans
ley congratulated himself that he
could hardly hope to be better re
ceived.
After supper he had a social drink
with Y.D., and then the two sat on
the veranda and smoked and dis
cussed business. Transley found Y.D.
more liberal in the adjustment than
he had expected. lie had not yet
realized to what an extent he had won
the old rancher’s confidence, and
Y.D. was a man who, when Ids confi
dence had been won, never haggled
over details. Ho was willing to com
promise the loss on tlie operations on
the South Y.D. on a scale that was
not merely just, but generous.
This settled, Transley proceeded to
interest Y.D. in the work in which he
was now engaged. He drew a picture
of activities in the little metropolis
such as stirred the rancher’s in
credulity.
“Well, well,” Y.D. would say.
“Transley, I’ve known that little lioie
for about thirty years, an’ never seen
it Mas any good excep’ to get drunk
in. . . . I’ve seen more things there
than is down in the books.”
“You wouldn’t know the change that
lias come about in a few months,” said
Transley, with enthusiasm. “Double
shifts working by electric light, Y.D. 1
What do you think of that? Mon with
rolls of money that would choke a cow
sleeping out in tents because they
can’t get a roof over them. Why, man,
I didn’t have to hunt a job there; the
job hunted me. I could hnve
had n dozen jobs at my own
price If I could have handled
them. It’s just as If prosperity was
a river which had been trickling
through that town for thirty years,
and all of a sudden the darn up In the
foothills gives away and down she
comes with a rush. Lots which sold
a year ago for a hundred dollars are
selling now for five hundred —some-
times more. Old ranchers living on
the bald-headed a few years ago find
themselves today the owners of city
property worth millions, and are
dressing uncomfortably, In keeping
with their wealth, or vainly trying to
drink up the surplus. So far sense and
brains has had nothing to do with It,
Y.D., absolutely nothing. It has been
fool luck. But the brains are coming
in now, and the brains will get the
money, In the long run.”
Transley paused and lit another
cigar. Y.D. rolled his In his lips, re
flectively.
“I mind some doln’s In that burg,”
he said, as though the memory of them
was of greater Importance than all
that might be happening now.
Transley switched back to business.
“We ought to be In on it, Y.D.,’’ he
said. "Not on the fly-by-night stuff; I
don’t mean that. But I could take
twice the contracts if I had twice the
outfit.”
Y.D. brought his chair down on to
all four legs and removed his cigar.
“You mean we should hit her to
gether?” he demanded.
“It would be a great compliment to
me, if you had that confidence In me,
and I’m sure it would make some good
money for you.”
“Ilow’d you work it?’’
"You have a bunch of horses run
ning here on the ranch, eating their
| heads off. Many of them are broke,
and the others would soon tame down
with a scraper behind them. Let me
put them to work. I’d have to have
equipment, too. Your name on the
back of my note would get It, and
you wouldn’t actually have to put up
i a dollar. Then we’d make an inven
tory of what you put into the firm and
what I put Into it, and we’d divide the
! earnings in proportion.
"After payin’ you a salary as mana
ger, of course,” suggested Y.D.
“That’s immaterial. With a bigger
! outfit and more capital I can make so
| much more money out of the earnings
! t nat I don’t care whether I get a sal
ary or not. But I wouldn’t figure on
going on contracting all the time for
other people. We might as well hnve
i the cream as the skimmed mlLc. This
‘is the way It’s done. We go to the
owner of a block of lots somewhere
-vhere there’s no building going on. He’s
I anxious to start something, because
as soon as building starts in that dis
,rict the lots will sell for two or three
times what they do now. We say to
him ‘Give us every second lot In your
block and we’ll put a house on if.’ In
i this way we get the lots for a trifle;
I perhaps for nothing. Then we build
a lot of houses, more or less to the
j S ame plan. We put ’em up quick and
! cheap. We bul,fl em t 0 sell, not to
THE DANIELSVILLE MONITOR, DANIELSVILLE, GEORGIA.
live In.. Then v. j mortgage ’em for
the last cent we can get. Then we
put the price up to twice what the
mortgage Is and sell them as fast ns
we can build them, getting our equity
cat and leaving the purchasers to set
tle with the mortgage company. It’s
good for from 80 to 40 per cent profit,
not per annum, but per transaction.”
"It sounds interesting,” snkl Y.D.,
“an’ I suppose I might ns well put,my
spare horses an’ credit to work. I
don’t mind drivin’ down with you to
morrow au’ looking her over first
hand.”
This was all Transley had hoped
for, and the talk turned to less mate
rial matters. After a while Zen Joined
them, and a little Inter Y.D. left to at
tend to some business at the bunk
house. ,
“Your father and I may go into part
nership, Zen,” Transley said to her,
when they were alone together. He
explained In a general way the ven
ture that was afoot.
“That will be very interesting,” she
agreed.
“Will you be interested?”
“Of course. I am Interested In every
thing that Pnd undertakes.”
“And are you not—will you not be
—just a little interested In the things
that I undertake?”
She paused n moment before reply
ing. The dusk had settled about them,
and he could not see the contour of
her face, but he knew that she had
renllzed the significance of his ques
tion.
“Why yes,” she said at length, "I
will be interested in what you under
take. You will l>e Dud’s partner.”
Her evasion nettled him.
“Zen,” he said, “why shouldn’t we
understand each other?”
“Don’t we?” She had turned slight
ly toward him, and lie could feel the
laughing mockery in her eyes.
“I rather think we do,” he answered,
“only we —at least, you—won’t admit
It.”
“Oh!”
“Seriously, Zen, do you Imagine I
came over here today simply to make
a deal with your father?”
“Wasn’t (lint worth while?”
“Of course It was. But It wasn’t the
whole purpose—lt wasn’t half the pur
pose. 1 wanted to see Y.D., It Is true,
but more, very much more. I wanted
to see you.”
She did not answer, and ho could
only guess v hat was the trend of her
thoughts. After a silence he con
tinued :
“You may think I am precipitate.
You intimated ns much to me once. I
am. I know of no reason why an hon
est ntun should go beating about the
bush. When I want something I want
it, and I make u bee-line for it. If it
Is a contract —If It Is a business mat
ter—l go right after it, with nil the
energy that’s In me. W’hen I’m look
ing for a contract I don’t start by talk
ing about the weather. Well —this Is
my first experience in love, and per
haps my methods are nil wrong, but It
seems to me they should apply. At
any rate n girl of your Intelligence
will understand.”
“Applying your business principles,”
she Interrupted, "I suppose if you
wanted n wife and there was none In
sight you would advertise for her?”
He defended his position. “I don’t
see why not,” he declared. “I can’t
understand the general attitude of
levity toward matrimonial advertise
ments. Apparently they are too open
and above-board. Matrimony should
not be committed In n round-about, In
direct, hlt-or-miss manner. A young
man sees a girl whom he thinks he
would like to marry. Does he go to
her house and say, ‘Miss So-nnd So, I
think I would like to marry you. Will
yon allow me to call on you so that we
may get better acquainted, with that
object in view?’ He does not. Such
honesty would be considered almost
brutal. He calls on her and pretends
he would like to take her to the thea
ter, If It Is In town, or for a ride, If
It Is In the country. She pretends she
would like fo go. Both of them know
what the real purpose Is, and both of
them pretend they don’t. They start
the farce by pretending a deceit which
deeelves nobody. They wait for na
ture to set up an attraction which
shall overrule their Judgment, rather
than act by Judgment first and leave
It to nature to take care of herself.
ITow much better It would be to he
perfectly frank —to boldly announce
the purpose—to come as I now come
to you and say, ‘Zen, I want to marry
you. My reason, my Judgment, tells
me that you would be an Ideal mate
I shall be proud of you, and I will try
to make yon proud of me. I will
gratify your desires in every way that
my means will permit. I pledge yon
my fidelity in return for yours. I—l
Zen. will you say yes? Can you be
lieve that there Is in my simple words
more sincerity than there could be In
any mad ravings about love? You are
young. Zen, younger than I, but you
must have observed some things. One
af them Is that marriage, founded on
mutual respect, which increases with
the years, is a much safer and wiser
business than marriage founded on a
pnsslon which quickly burns Itself out
and leaves the victims cold, unrespon
sive, with nothing In common. You
innv r.ot feel that you know me well
enough for a decision. I will give you
every opportunity to know me better
—I will do nothing to deceive you—l
will put on no veneer—-I will let you
know me as I really am. Will you say
yes?’’
He had left his sent and approached
her; he was leaning close over her
chair. While his words had suggested
marriage on a purely Intellectual ba
sis he did not hesitate to bring his
physical presence into (lie scale. 11a
was accustomed to having his way—
he had always had It—never did ha
want it more than he did now. . . .
And although he had made his plea
from the Intellectual angle life was
sure, he was very, very sure there was
more than that. This girl, whose very j
presence delighted him —intoxicated
him—would hnve made him mad —
“Will you say yes?” he repented,
and Ids hands found hers and drew
her with his great strength \fp from
her chair. She did not resist, but
when she was on her feet she avoided
his embrace.
“You must not hurry me,” she whis
pered. “I must have time to think. I
did not realize what you were saying
until—”
“Say yes now,” he urged. Transley
was a man very lard to resist. She
felt as though she were In (lie . grip
of n powerful machine; it was as
though she were being swept along by
a stream against which her feeble
strength was as nothing. Zon was as
nearly frightened ns she ever had
been In her vigorous young life. And
yet there was something delightful.
It would have been so easy to sur
rendfr —It was so hard to resist.
"Say yes now,” he repealed, draw*
Ing her close at last ami breathing the
question into her ear. "Yrtu shall have
time to think —you shall ask your own
heart, and If It does r.ot confirm your
words you will be released from your
promise.”
They lienrd the footsteps of her fa
ther nppronclilng, and Transley wait
ed no longer for an answer. He
turned her face to his; he pressed ills
lips against hers.
CHAPTER VIII
Zon thought over the events of that
evening until they became n blur in
her memory. Her principal recollec
tion was that she had been quite
swept off her feet. Transley lmd In
terpreted her submission as assent,
and she had not corrected Idm In the
vital moment when they slood before
her father that nlg' t In the deep
Shadow of (lie veranda.
"Y.D.,” Transley had said, “your
consent and your blessing! Zen and
I nre to he married os soon ns she can
he ready."
That was the moment at which she
should have spoken, but she did not.
She, who had prided herself that she
would make a race of It—she, who
had always been able to slip out of a
predicament In the nick of time—stood
mutely by and let Transley and her
fnther Interpret her silence ns con
sent. She was not sure that she wns
sorry; she was not sure but she would
hnve consented anyway; hut Transley
had taken the matter quite out of her
hands. And yet she could not bring
herself to feel resentment toward
him; that was the strangest part of
It. It seemed Hint she had come un
der his domination; that she even
had to think us he would have her
think.
In the darkness she could not see
her father’s face, for which she was
sorry; and he coaid not see hers, for
which she wns gind. There was a
long moment of tense silence before
she heard him say:
"Well, well 1 I had n hunch It
'might come to that, but I didn't reckon
you youngsters would work so fnst.”
“This was a stake worth working
fnst for,” Transley was saying, as he
shook Y.D.’s band. “I wouldn’t trade
places with any man alive.” And Zen
wa3 sure he meant exactly what he
said.
“She’s a good girl, Transley,” her
father commented; "a good girl, even
If a bit obstrep’rous at times. She’s
got spirit, Transley, an’ you’ll have to
handle her with sense. She’s a—a
thoroughbred J”
Y.D. bad reached his arms toward
his daughter, and at these words he
closed them about her. Zen had
never known her father to be emo
tional ; she had known him to face mat
ters of life and death without tho
quiver of an eyelid, but as he held
her there In his arms that night she
felt his big frame tremble. Suddenly
she had n powerful desire to cry. She
broke from bis embrace and ran up
| stairs to her room.
Zen, though she has let silence
give consent, is busy thinking of
Grant. Will she make up her
mind to speak out?
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
A Question
Scientific query: If nitrates can be
taken out of the air to fertilize the
soil, why can’t moisture be taken out
of It to Irrigate It?
-ooad. 3H*
HOAD CONSTRUCTION
IS GREAT PROBLEM
(By C. S. LEE, Director Hlphwnys In
formation Service. New York City.)
The growth of “the good roads
movement” in the United States and
Canada since its organized inception
In ISSO, and with the great stimulus
it received in the periods immedta’ely
following the advent of the automo
bile and the appearance of the moto
truck, has been so rapid, so extensive
and so effective that highway con
struction today constitutes one of the
greatest. If not the greatest problem
in American economic life.
There are now 17i>2 organized
agencies actively and directly plead
ing the cause of good roads. The agt
tntlon, to date, has brought about the
construction of 810,000 miles of sur
faced highways- raising the highway
mileage of the United States to 2,478,?
552, and that of Canada to 255,000.
The automobile industry, fourth
largest in the country, with 808 menu*
fneturing plants, capitalized at $1,204, <
878,042, employing 225,000 workmen,
having an annual output of 2,205,107
passenger cars and trucks valued at
$8,504,814,020, and supplemented, as it
Is, by 1010 firms producing auto parts
valued at $200,000,000 a year, together
with 1,000 firms manufacturing an
nually 8.5,000,000 tires, valued at sl,-
800,000,000, Is absolutely dependent
upon highway improvement for its sta
bility and upon increased road mileage
for greater expansion. In addition
28,000 distributors of automobiles are
Involved, ns well ns 45,800 dealers In
automobile accessories ami 25,000 deal
ers In tires. So great, too, Ims the
mad building Industry become, In con
sequence of (lie demnnd for Improved
roads, that 7,500 contracting firms arc
now engaged in actual constfuel lon
work. The roads are now traversed
by 0,211,205 licensed cars and tracks,
of which 8,000,000 arc used on the
farms.
Prior to when Ainos <!. Ibitcll
?hler, late chairman of tin* executive
heard of (lie American Automobile as
sociation at Washington, w ill l 11. K.
Marie of Detroit and other pioneer ad
vocates, organized the Longue of
American Wheel men and began a
systematic campaign, a good roads en
thusiast was looked upon with undis
guised curiosity or amusement as
something of “a nut” a loquacious,
but no doubt, well-meaning person
who might lie seen, but not heard.
Usually lie was promptly “sat down
upon” by the lugubrious taxpayer.
Opposition gradually melted away,
however, as the campaign became
more fully organized and extended.
Since 1.880 more than $.'1,000,000,000
has been spent for highway Improve
ment In the United States and Can
ada. More than $ 1 ,H 00,000,000 Is now
available, and sl,ffpo,ooo,ooo additional
will te necessary to carry out projects
under contemplation. And yet, with
all this, only it beginning tins been
inode, millions more must he expend
ed before the country has anything
like a highway system adequate to the
traffic needs.
The great demand for good roads
and ttie progress made In road hand
ing has evolved many types of hard
fbrfneed roadway, of which the-bi
tuminous are In greatest general use.
The popularity of these types, espe
cially those of the sheet asphalt, the
asphaltic concrete arid asphaltic mac
adam, *ls due to their lofig wearing
qualities, resiliency against traffic im
pact, dustlcssness, noiselessness, clean
liness and low cost of upkeep. Brhdt
arid concrete roads have also dove),
oped with the agitation, as have the
wooden block nnd granite block types.
The most recent available figure-; give
42.11 per cent of the surfaced roads In
the United States as being grnvel,
25.22 per cent ns of macadam, 17.1d
per cent ns of sand clay, 10.08 per
cent as of asphalt nnd other bl
j fuminous materials, .8.01 nor cent of
; "oncrete and 0.62 per cent of brick.
The figures for the asphaltic and
| brick types a total -if 15.52 per cent
- show the extent to which the city
i types of pf.vement have been adopted
|ln the rural districts. The wooden
block and the granite block types do
i not appeal to have progressed as yet
I beyond the city boundaries.
! Discomfort of Rad Road
Soon Becomes Apparent
The people who travel poor roads
| month after month lose more In low
I of time, In wear and tern* of vehlcl
and stock iir.fi in worry nnd dlscr
i fort than they would lmve to pay
their share In the good roads f
| So one realizes this more tlur
I person who travels n really goo
■ after having been forced for
; ir years to travel very poor of
I difference is so apparent and
I ing that such a person a>
j comes a good road booster
*<tar.