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ZEN of
the Y. D.
Q/f Novel of the Foothills
*8?
By ROBERT STEAD
Author of
"The Cow Puncher ‘ — The
Homcsieaoeri” — Neighbors , e/c.
Copyright by ROBERT STEAD
TRANSLEY’S ring
SYNOPSIS. Transley’s hay
cutting outfit, after stacking
2,000 tons, Is on Us way to the
big Y.D. ranch headquarters.
Transley is a master of men and
circumstances. Linder, foreman.
Is substantial, but not self-asser
tivfe. 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 wife and
daughter Zen. Y'.D. Instructs
Transley to cut the South Y.D.,
■•spite o’ h— l an’ high water" and
a fellow named Landson. Drazit
proposes to Zen and is neatly re
buffed. Transley pitches camp on
the South Y.D. and finds Land
son’s outfit cutting hay. Denni
son Grant, Landson’s manager,
notifies Transley that he is work
ing under a lease from the legal
owners and warns Transley off.
All of which means war. Y.D.
and Zen ride to the South Y.D.
Zen Is a natural vamp, not yet
halter-broke and ripe for mating.
Y.D. has taken a liking to Trans
ley. Zen holds Transley off and
encourages Linder. Zen enjoys
the prospect of a race between
Transley and Linder for her fa
vor, but secretly laughs at both.
She 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 to
help. The wind changes and the
Y.D. people now have to fight
the prairie fire. Zen rides into
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 oft. Transley goes to
the nearest town. He returns and
induces Y.D. to go lntq partner
ship with him In the contracting
and building business. Transley
sweeps Zen off her feet by the
force of his love-making.
CHAPTER Vlll—Continued.
—lo—
she came down her father and
mother and Transley were sitting
about the table In the living-room; the
room hung with trophies of the chase
and of competition; the room which
bad been the nucleus of the Y.D. es
tate. there was a colored cover on
the table, and the shaded oil lamp in
the center sent a comfortable glow of
light downward and about. The mam
moth shadows of the three people fell
°n the log walls, darting silently from
Position to position with their every
movement.
Her mother arose as Zen entered
•■e room and took her bands in a
trarm, tender grip.
lou’re really leaving us," she said,
t m not saying I object. I think Mr.
ansley will make you a good hus
-8 ■ • He Is a man of energy, like
Jour father. He will do well. You
■' not know the hardships that we
new In our early married life." Their
P ' an d there was a moment’s
Pause.
10u "'HI not understand for many
7 - "* la * this means to me,
*‘ er mother said, and turned
™ ck - v t 0 her place at the table.
M;e could not remember what they
>1 talked about after that. She had
rft ' r ° n sclous of Transley’s eyes
■ . n her, and of a certain spiritual
~t. m within her. She could not
-“■•.moer what she had said, but she
she ha<l talked with unusual
.. f 1 ' charm. It was as though
h ', :n storchous es of brilliance In
‘‘g, of which she had been un
k r ' rf! ’ kac * been suddenly opened to
!t was ns though she had been
■ aicated by a very subtle wine
did not deaden, but rather
Quickened, all her faculties.
j. . A ards, she had spent long
u<-. i > arnon S the foothills, thinking
- King. There were times when !
k. ~e of , that strange exaltation
- •*•-! iow, indeed; times when It
- almost to expire. There were |
moments—hours—of misgivings. She
could not understand the strange do
cility which had come over her; the
unprecedented willingness to have her
course shaped by another. That
strange willingness came ns near to
frightening Zen as anything had ever
done. She felt that she was being
carried along in a stream; that she
was making no resistance; that she
had no desire to resist. She had a
strange fear that som< day she would
need qualities of self-direction, and
those qualities would refuse to arise
at her command.
She did not fear Transley. She be
lieved in him. She believed In his abil
ity to grapple with anything that stood
in his way; to thrust It aside, and
press on. She respected the judgment
of her father and her mother, and
both of them believed in Transley. lie
would succeed; he would seize the op
portunities tills young country afford
ed and rise to power and influence
upon them, lie world be kind, he
would be generous. He would make
her proud of him. What more could
she want?
That was just it. There were dark
moments when she felt that surely
there must be something more than all
this. She did not know what it was—
she could not analyze her thoughts or
give them definite form—but in these
dark moments she feared that she was
being tricked, that the whole thing
was a sham which she would discover
when It was too late. She did not
suspect her mother, or her father, or
Transley, one or all, of being parties
to this trick; she believed that they
did not know It existed. She herself
did not know It existed. But the fear
was there.
After a week she admitted, much
against her will, that possibly Dcnnl
son Grant bad something to do with
it. She had not seen him since she
had pressed his fingers and lie had rid
den away through the smoke-liaze of
die South Y.D. She had dutifully tried
to force him from her mind. But he
would not stay out of it. It was about
that fact that her misgivings seemed
most to center. When she would be
thinking of Transley, and wondering
about tne future, suddenly she would
discover that she was not thinking of
Transley, but of Dennison Grant.
These discoveries shocked and humili
ated her. It was an Impossible posi
tion. She would throw Grant forcibly
out of her mind and turn to Transley.
And then, in an unguarded moment,
Transley would fade from her con
sciousness, and she would know again
(hat she was thinking of Grant.
At length she allowed herself the
luxury of thinking frankly about Den
nison Grant. It was a luxury. It
brought her a secret happiness which
she was wholly at a loss to under
stand, but which was very delightful,
nevertheless. She amused herself with
comparing Grunt with Transley. They
had two points in common: their phy
sical perfection and tlielr fearless,
self-confident mnnner. With these ex
ceptions they seemed to be complete
contradictions. The ambitious Trans
ley worshiped success; the philoso
phical Grant despised It. That differ
ence In attitude toward the world and
Its affairs was a ridge which separated
the whole current of their lives. It
even, In a way, shut one from the view
of the other; at least it shut Grant
from the view of Transley. Transley
would never understand Grant, but
Grant might, and probably did, un
derstand Transley. That was why
Grant was the greater of the two. . . .
She reproached herself for such a
thought; it was disloyal to admit that
this stranger on the Landson ranch
was a greater man than her husband
to-be. And yet honesty—or, perhaps,
something deeper than honesty—com
pelled her to make that admission.
. . . She ran back over the remem
bered incidents of the night they had
spent together, marooned like ship
wrecked sailors on a rock In the foot
hills. His attentiveness, his courtesy,
his freedom from any conventional re
straint, his manly respect which was
so much greater than conventional re
straint—all these came back to her
with a poignant tenderness. She pic
tured Transley In his place. Transley
would probably have proposed even
before he bandaged her ankle. Grant
had not said a word of love, or even
of affection. He had talked freely of
himself—at her request—but there
had been nothing that might not have
been said before the world. She had
been safe with Grant. . . .
After she had thought on this theme
for a while Zen would acknowledge to
herself that the situation was absurd
and impossible. Grant had given no
evidence of thinking more of her than
of any other girl whom he might have
met. He had been chivalrous only.
She had sat up with a start at the
thought that there might be another
girl. . . . Or there might be no girl.
Grant was an unusual character. . . .
At any rate, the thing for her to do
was to forget about him. She should
have no place in her mind for any
man but Transley. It was true he
had stampeded her, but she had ac
cepted the situation In which she
found herself. Transley was worthy
of her—she had nothing to take back
_she would go through with it.
On the principle that the way to
drive an unwelcome thought out of
THE DANIELSVILLE MONITOR, DANIELSVILLE, GEORGIA.
the mind Is to think vigorously about
something else, Zen occupied herself
with plans and day-dreams centering
about the new home that was to be
built in town. Neither her father nor
Transley had as yet returned from the
trip on which they had gone with a
view to forming a partnership, so
there had been no opportunity to dis
cuss the pluns for the future, but Zen
took it for granted that Transley
would build In town. He was so en
thusiastic over the possibilities of that
young and bustling center of popula
tion that there was no doubt he would
want to throw In his lot with It. This
prospect was quite pleasing to the
girl; It would leave her within easy
distance of her old home; it would In
troduce her to a type of society with
which she was well acquainted, and
where she could do herself Justice,
and it would not break up the associa
tions of her young life. She would
still be able, now and again, to take
long rides through the tawny foot
hills; to mingle with her old friends;
possibly to maintain a somewhat sis
terly acquaintance with Dennison
Grant. . . .
After ten days Y.D. returned—alone.
He bad scarcely been able to believe
the developments which he had seen.
It was as though the sleepy, lazy cow
town had become electrified. Y.D. had
looked on for three days, wondering If
he were not in some kind of u dream
from which he would awaken present
ly among his herds in the foothills.
After three days he bought n prop
erty. Before lie left he sold It at a
profit greater than the earnings of his
first five years on the ranch. It would
be Indeed a stubborn confidence which
could not he won by such nn experi
ence, and before lenving for the ranch
Y.D. had arranged for Transley prac
tically an open credit with Ills bank
ers, and had undertaken to send down
all the horses und equipment that
could be spared.
Transley had planned to return to
the foothills with Y.D., but at the Inst
moment business matters developed
which required ills attention. lie
placed a tiny package in Y.D.’s ca
pacious palm.
“For the girl," he said. “I should
deliver it myself, but you’ll explain?”
Y r .D. fumbled the tiny package into
a vest pocket. “Sure, I’ll attend to
that," he promised. “Wasn’t much of
these fancy trlmmin’s when I settled
Into double harness, but lots of things
has changed since then. You’ll lie out
soon?"
“Just ns soon ns business will stand
for It. Not a minute longer.”
On his return home Y.D., after
maintaining an exasperating silence
until supper was finished, casually
handed the package to Ids daughter.
“Some trinket Trunsley sent out,”
he explained, “lie’ll be here himself
as soon as business permits."
She took the package with a glow
of expectancy, started to open It, then
folded the paper ugnln and ran up to
her room. Here she tempted herself
for mluutes before she would finally
open it, whetting the appetite of an
ticipation to the full. . . . The gem
justified her little play. It was mag
nificent ; more beautiful and more ex
pensive than anything her father ever
had bought her.
She hesitated strangely about put
ting it on. To Zen it seemed that the
putting on of Trnnsley’s ring would
be a voluntary act symbolizing her ac
ceptance of him. If she had been
carried off her feet —swept Into the
position In which she found herself—
that explanation would not appiy to
the deliberate placing of his ring upon
her finger. There would be no excuse;
she could never again plead that she
had been the victim of Trnnsley’s pre
clpltateness. This would be deliber
ate, and she must do It herself.
She rather bluined Transley for not
having left his old business and come
to perform this rite himself, as he
should have done. What was one day
of business, more or less? Yet Zen
gathered no hint from that Incident
that always, with Transley, business
would come first. It was symbolic—
prophetic —but she did not see the sign
nor understand the prophecy.
She held the ring between her
fingers; slipped It off and on her lit
tle fingers; held It so the rays of the
sun fell through the window upon It
and danced before her eyes in all their
primal colors.
“I have to put thlr; on," she said,
pursing her lips firmly, “and —and for
get about Dennison Grant!”
For a long time she thought of that
and all it meant. Then she raised the
Jewel to her lips.
“Help me —help me—” she mur
mured. With a quick little Impetuous
motion she drew It on to the finger
where It belonged. There she gazed
upon It for n moment, as though fas
cinated by It. Then she fell upon her
bed and lay motionless until long after
the valley was wrnpped In shadow.
The events of these days had al
most dri. en from Zen’s mind the trag
edy of George Drazk. When she
thought of it at all it presented such
a grotesque unreality—it was such an
unreasonable thing—that It assumed
the vague qualities of a dream. It
was something unreal and very much
better forgotten, und It was only by
an unwilling effort at such times that
she could bring herself to know that
It was not unreal. It was a matter
that concerned her tremendously,
Sooner or later Drnzk’s disappearance
must bo noted—perhaps his body
would be found—and while she had
little fear that anyone would associate
her with the tragedy it was a most
unpleasant thing to think about. Some
times she wondered If she 6hould not
tell her father or Transley Just what
find hnppened, but she shrank from
doing so as from the confession of a
crime. Mostly she was able to think
of other matters.
Her /nther brought it up In a star
ving way at breakfast. Absolutely
out of a blue sky he said, “Did you
know, Zen, that Drazk has disap
peared? Transley tells mo you were
int’rested a bit In him, or perhaps I
should say be was int’rested in you.”
Zen was so overcome by this star
tling change In the conversation that
she was unable to answer. The color
went from her face and she leaned
low over her plate to conceal her
agitation.
“Yep," continued \ r .D., with no more
concern than if a steer had been lost
from the herd. “Transley said to tell
you Drazk had disappeared an’ he
reckoned you wouldn’t bo bothered
any more with him.”
“Drazk was nothing to me,” she
managed to say. “How can you think
he was?”
"Now who said he was?” her father
retorted. “For a young woman with
the price of a herd or steers on her
third finger you’re sort o’ short this
mornin’. Now I’m jus’ wonderin’ how
far y-ou can see through a board
fence, Zen. Are jou surprised that
Drazk has disappeared?"
She was entirely at a loss to under
stand the drift of her father’s talk.
He could not connect her with Drnzk’s
disappearance, or he would not ap
proach the matter with such uncon
cern. That was unthinknble. Neither
could Transley, or lie would not have
sent so brutal n message. And yet It
was clear that they thought she should
be Interested.
Her father’s question demanded nn
answer.
“What should I care?” she ventured
nt length.
"I didn’t ask yon whether you cared.
I asked you whether you was sur
prised.”
"Drazk’s movements were ore
nothing to me. I don't know that I
hnve any occasion to be surprised
about nnytlilng he may do.”
“Well, I’m rather glad you’re not,
because If you don’t jump to oonclu
slons, perhaps other people won’t. Not
that It makes any nartlo’lar dlff’rence.”
“Dad.” she cried In desperation,
"whatever do you moan?"
"It wns all plain enough to me, en'
plain enough to Transley," her futher
continued with remarkable calmness.
“We seen It right from the first.”
"You’re talking In riddles, Y.D.,"
his wife remonstrated. “You’re get
ting Zen all worked up."
“Jewelry seems (o be mighty up
settin’," Y.D. commented. “There was
nothin’ like that In our engagement,
eh, Jessie? Well, to come to the
point. There was a fire which burned
up the valley of the South Y.D. Fires
don’t start themselves—usually. This
one started among the Landson stackn,
so It wns natural enough to suspec’
Y.D. or some of his sympathizers.
Well it wasn’t Y.D., an’ I reckon It
wasn’t Zen, an’ It wasn’t Transley nor
Linder un’ every one of the gang’s
accounted for excep’ Drazk. Drazk
thought lie was doin’ a great piece of
business when he fired the Landson
hay. but when the wind turned an’
burned up the whole valley Drazk sees
where lie can’t play no hero part
nround here so ho loses himself for
good. I gathered from Transley that
Drazk had been botherin’ you a little,
Zen, which Is why I told you.”
The girl’s heart was pounding vio
lently at this explanation. It was
logical, and would he accepted readily
by those who knew Drazk. She would
not trust lierself In further conversa
tion, so she slipped away as soon as
she could and spent the day riding
down the river.
Of course, Grant shows up—
and proposes marriage. Doss
Zen say “yes"—or does she show
him Transley's rlng7
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Killing Courtesy
The following Is u story told by &
J. Byron and retold by Harry Fumls.%
of a costermonger who thought he
would enjoy his holiday tuklng a walk
through the West Knd. "Yes, Mr.
Byron, 1 dress myself up stiff, and
goes up Regency street. I was a
lookln’ at some photergraafs In a shop
winder when a swell bloke wld a lydy
on his arm gives me u shove and sends
my 'ead clean through that ’ere winder.
Did I cuss und swear? Did I use had
langvldge? No. I remembered w’ers
I was, so with tie blood all a-stream
ln’ down my face, I rose tny ’at grace
ful an’ says, *1 beg your pardlng.’
That’s all I says. I beg your pardlng.*
I crushed ’lm with bi cedin’ I’’— kr
gonaut. _
i'GOpiK
IgjgPg
MICHIGAN TO BUILD
MODEL FOR HIGHWAYS
The ideal section of the Lincoln
highway completed recently in Luke
county, Indiana, thirty miles south of
Chicago, remains the finest stretch of
tin* transcontinental road between
New York and San Francisco.
But Oakland county* Michigan, Is
going to provide a road between rou
tine and Detroit which In many re
spects' will be two Lincoln highway
ideal sections side by side. It is be
lieved that when the thirty-two mile
road Is completed between Detroit and
Pontiac, It will be the finest section of
modern rural highway in the United
States.
It is interesting to note how this
road has developed. Only ten years
ago the first short strip of concrete
was laid on the road In what Is now
the city of Detroit. In 1915 another
section was concreted near the Pon
tiac end. Additional strips of pave
ment fifteen and sixteen feet wide
were laid in 1010-’l7, the road being
completed to an average width of six
teen feet in the latter year.
1 This new road was not a year old
when it became obvious that it was
far too narrow to care for the ever
increasing traffic. Many fatal acci
dents occurred, some due to cars be
ing crowded off the road and on to the
tracks of the Intcvurlian line, which
parallels the highway for the greater
part of Iho way.
The state and county now expect to
do the Job right. A right of way'of
200 feet has been provided, and when
1 lie new highway is finished it will
consist of two 40-feet concrete pave
ments separated by a 44-foot space
In which the Iqterurlmn line will run.
High curbs will separate the Intcrur
biin tracks from the two automobile
highways, each of which will carry
one-way traffic. Outside of each 40-
foot pavement will be a shoulder of
gravel 58 feet wide. These shoulders,
roads In themselveß, will be provided
for the use of slow-moving vehicles
and for parking purposes. Thus 78
feet of width will be provided for
travel In each direction.
'l’lie Ideal secflon of the Lincoln
highway was designed to handle a
daily traffic of 20,000 vehicles, esti
mated to consist of approximately 15,-
000 passenger cars and 5,000 trucks.
Connecticut Will Have
$1,000,000 of Road Fund
Close to $1,000,000 will lie allotted
to Connecticut by the federal govern
ment for highway purposes during
1024 and 1025 under appropriation
hills of the United States Department
of Agriculture now before congress,
the slate highway department lias
been Informed by Washington officials.
The money has been apportioned by
states for the two-yenr period and ap
proaches $1.80,000,000 for the next two
years throughout the country.
From 1017 to 1028, Inclusive, this
state received from the federal gov
ernment for aid la highway building
a total of $2,41X1,821. This money was
divided by years as follows.
1917 $ 31,090,45
1918 t> Z,180.88
1919 399,281.11
1920 583,422.84
1921 0 1 3.349.42
1922 480,897.78
1923 320,598.52
Total $2,490,821.00
Under the appropriations suggested
for the current period, $414,800.00 Is
apportioned to Connecticut for 1024
and $480,808 proposed for 1025. The
approximate grand total of money ap
portionments to this state, therefore,
from 1917-1025, Inclusive, reaches SB,-
886,579.
Many Miles of Concrete
Ten years from now, according to
the law now In effect, we may ex
pert to have 200,170 miles of complet
ed, well-paved highways in this coun
try, At present there are only 27,000
miles of such roads, 'fills federal
aid system calls for this work In co
operation with the states.
* * * ***** * # ■* **** * -K ******* **
Better Highways
***************************
Over $1,250,000,000 was spent in
l!)2.'l for road construction and main
tenance.
* * *
The betterment of highway trans
port, both the vehicle and the road,
brings about an Increase in property
valuation.
* • *
In the last fifteen years the United
States has spent between $15,000,000,-
000 and $20,000,000,000 for passenger
automobiles and trucks. More tliun
$6,000,000,000 lias been expended for
Improved roads.