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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.