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ZEN of the Y. D.
A Novel of the Foothills , T '
By ROBERT STEAD
, t "Tha Cow Punchtr”—“Th* Homo•
by ROBERT STEAD
CHAPTER Vlll—Continued.
—ll—
afternoon wore on. and ns the
jav was warm she dismounted by a
ford and sat down upon a flat rock
clo <e to the water. The rock remind
ed her of the one on which she and
Grunt had sat that night while the
thin red lines of fire played far up
au d down the valley. Her ankle was
paining a little so she removed her
boot and stocking and soothed it In
the cool water.
As she sat watching her reflection
In the clear stream and toying with
the ripple about her foot a horseman
rode quickly down through the cot
tonwoods on the other side and
plunged into the ford. It happened so
quickly that neither saw the other un
til he' was well into the river. Al
though she had had no dream of see
ing him here, in some way she felt no
surprise. Her heart was behacing
boisterously, but she sat outwardly de
mure, and when he was close enough
she sent a frank smile up to him. The
look on his sunburned face as he re
turned her greeting convinced her that
the meeting, on his part, was no less
unexpected and welcome than it was
to her.
When his horse was out of the wa
ter lie dismounted and walked to her
with extended hand.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,”
he said. “How is the ankle progress
ing?”
"Well enough,” she returned, “but
it gets tired as the day wears on. I
am just resting a hit.”
There was a moment of somewhat
embarrassed silence.
“That Is a good-sized rock,” he sug
gested, at length.
“Yes, isn’t it? And here in the shade,
at that.”
She did not invite him with words,
but she gave her body a slight hitch,
as though to make room, although
there was enough already. He sat down
without comment.
“Not unlike a rock I remember up
In the foothills,” he remarked, after a
silence.
“Oh, you remember that? It was
like this, wasn’t It?”
“Same two people sitting on It.”
“ . . . Yes.”
“Not like this, though.”
“No. . . . You’re mean. You
know I didn’t intend to fall asleep.”
“Of course not. Still. . . .”
Ills voice lingered on It as though It
were a delightful remembrance.
She found herself holding one of her
hands In the other. She could feel the
pressure of Transley’s ring on her
palm, and she held it tighter still.
“hiding anywhere in particular?” he
inquired.
“No. Just mooning.” She looked up
at him again, this time at close quar
ters. It was a quick, bright flash on
his face — a moment only.
“Why mooning?”
She did not answer. Looking down
in the water he met her gaze there. •
“You’re troubled I” he exclaimed.
“Oh, no I My—my ankle hurts a
little."
He looked at her sympathetically.
“But not that much,” he said.
She gave a forced little laugh.
“What a mind reader you are! Can
you tell my fortune?”
“I should have to read It in yonr
hand."
She would have extended her hand,
but for Transley’s ring.
“No, ... No. You’ll have to
read It in —in the stars.”
“Then look at me." She did so, in
nocently.
“I cannot read it there,” he said,
after his long gaze had begun to whip
the color to her cheeks. “There Is no
answer."
She turned again to the water, and
after a long while she heard his voice,
very low and earnest.
Zen, I could read a fortune for you,
if you would not be offended. We are
°aiy chance acquaintances—not very
Tveil acquainted, yet—”
She knew wlmt he meant, but she
pretended she did not. Even Ir. that
toomcnt something came to her of
Transley’s speech about love being a
of pretense. Very well, she
w ° u play the game—this once.
I don’t see how I could be offended
your reading my fortune,” she mur
mured.
Then this Is the fortune I would
rea i : r you,” he said boldly. “I see a
y man, a rather foolish young
‘ perhaps, by ordinary standards,
““ yet one who has found a great
- of happiness in his simple, uncon
:al i>fe. Until a short time ago
■ that life could give him all the
* f 'S- that was worth having. He
eulth. strength, hours of work
bo rs of pleasure, the fields, the
!h e mountains, the sky—all
t , t \ en places to live in and enjoy,
e loiijrjjt there was nothing more.
then he found, all of a st#d
den, that there was something more —
everything more. He made that dis
covery on a calm autumn night, when
fire had blackened all the foothills and
still ran in dancing red ribbons over
their distant crests. That night a
great thing—two great things—came
into his life. First was something he
gave. Not very much, indeed, hut typi
cal of all it might be. It was service.
And next was something he received,
something so wonderful he did not un
derstand it then, and does not under
stand it yet. It was trust. These were
tilings he had been leaving largely out
of his life, and suddenly he discovered
how empty it was. I think there Is
one word for both these things, and, it
may be, for even more. You know?”
“I know,” she said, and her voice
was scarcely audible.
“But it is your fortune I am to
read,” he corrected himself. “It has
Been your fortune to open that new
world to me. That can never he un
done —those gates can never 1 3 closed
—no matter where the paths may
lead. Those two paths go down to the
future—ns all paths must—even as
this road leads away through the val
ley to the sunset. Zen—lf only, like
this road, they could run side by side
to the sunset—Oh 1 Zen, if they
could?”
“I know,” she said, and as she
raised her face he saw that her eyes
were wet. “I know—if only they
could!”
Tnere was a little sob In her voice,
nnd In her beauty and distress she
was altogether irresistible. He
readied out his arms and would have
taken her in them, but she thrust her
hands in his and held herself back.
She turned the diamond deliberately
to his eyes. She could feel his grip
relax and apparently grow suddenly
cold. He srood speechless, like one
dazed —benumbed.
“You see, I should not have let you
talk—lt is my fault,” she said, speak
ing hurriedly. “I should not have let
you talk. Please do not think I am
shallow; that I let you suffer to grati
fy my vanity.” Her eyes found his
again. “If I had not believed every
word you said—if I had not —hoped—
every word you said, I would not have
listened. . . . But yon see how it Is.”
He was silent for so long that she
thought he was not going to answer
her at all. When he spoke it was in
a dry, parched voice.
“I beg your pardon," he said. "I
should not have pr sumed —”
' “I know, I know. If only—”
Then lie looked straight at her nnd
talked out.
“You liked me enough to let me
speak as I did. I opened my heart to
you. I ask no such concession In re
turn. I hope you wl 1 not think me
presumptuous, but I do not plead now
for my happiness, but for yours. Is
this Irrevocable? Are —you —sure?”
He said the last words so slowly
nnd deliberately that she felt that
each of them was cutting the very
rock from underneath her. She knew
she was at a junction point in her life,
and her mind strove to quickly ap
praise the situation. On one side was
this man who had for her so strange
and so powerful an appeal. It was
.only by sheer force of will that she
could hold herself aloof from him.
But he was a man who had broken
with his family nnd quarreled with
her father —a man whom her father
would certainly not for a moment con
sider as a son-in-law. He was a fore
man; practically a ranch hand.
Neither Zen nor her father were
snobs, and If Grant worked for a liv
ing, so did Transley. That was not to
be counted against him. The point
was, what kind of living did he earn?
What Transley had to offer was per
haps on a lower plane, but it was more
substantial. It had . been approved
by her father, and her mother, and
herself. It wasn’t as though one man
were good and the other bod, It
wasn’t as though one thing were right
and the other wrong. It would have
been easy then. . . .
“I have promised,” she said at last.
She released her hands from his,
and, sitting down, silently put on her
stocking and boot. She was aware
that he was still standing near, as
though waiting to be formally dis
missed. She walked by him to her
horse and put her foot in the stirrup.
Then she looked at him and gave her
hand a little farewell wave.
Then a great pang, irresistible In its
yearning, swept over her. She drew
her foot from the stirrup, and, rush
ing down, threw her arms about his
neck. ...
“I must go," she said. ‘ I must go.
We must both go and forget."
And Dennison Grant continued his
wav down the valley while Zen rode
back to the Y.D.. wondering if she
could ever forget.
CHAPTER IX
Linder scratched his tousled brown
hair reflectively as he gazed after the
retreating form of Transley. His hat
WCJ off, and the perspiration stood on
his sunburned face —a face which. In
THE DANfELSVILLE MONITOR, DANIELSVILLE, GEORGIA.
point of handsomeness, needed make
no apology to Transley.
“Well, by thunder!" said Linder;
“by thunder, think of that!’’
Linder stood for some time, thinking
“of that" as deeply as ills somewhat
disorganized mental state would per
mit. For Transley had announced,
with ills usual directness, that he
wanted so many men and teams for a
house excavation in the most ex
clusive part of the city. So far they
had been building in the cheaper dis
tricts a cheap type of house for those
who, having little capital, are the
easier deprived of what they have.
The shift in operations caused Linder
to lift his eyebrows.
Transley laughed boyishly nnd
clapped a palm on his shoulder.
“I may as well make you wise,
Linder,” he said. “We’re going to
build a house for Mr. and Mrs. Trans
ley.’’
“Missus?” Linder echoed, Incred
ulously.
“That’s the good word," Transley
confirmed. “Never expected it to hap
pen to me, hut it did, all of a sudden.
You want to look out; maybe it’s
ca telling."
Transley was evidently in prime
humor. Linder had, indeed, noted this
good humor for some time, but had
attributed it to the very successful
operations In which ills employer had
been engaged. He pulled himself to
gether enougli to offer a somewhat
confused congratulation.
"And may I ask who is to be the
fortunnte young lady?” lie ventured.
“You may,” snid Transley, “hut If
you could see the length of your nose
it wouldn’t be necessary. Linder,
you’re the best foreman I ever had,
just because you don’t ever think of
anything else. When you pass on
there’ll be no heaven for you unless
they give you charge of a bunch of
men and teams where you enn raise a
sweat and make money for the boss.
If you weren’t like that you would
have anticipated what I’ve told you—
or perhups made a play for Zen your
self."
“Zen? You don’t mean Y.D.’s daugh
ter?”
“If I don’t mean Y.D.’s daughter I
don’t mean anybody, nnd you can take
that from me. You bet it’s Zen. Say,
Linder, I didn’t think I could go silly
over a girl, but I’m plumb locoed I
bought the biggest old sparkler in tills
town and sent it out with Y.D., If he
didn’t lose it through the lining of his
vest —lie handled it like it might have
been a box of pills—bad pills, Linder
—l’ve got an architect figuring how
much expense lie can put on a house —
he gets a commission on the cost, you
see —nnd one of these nights I’m going
to buy you a dinner tlint’U keep you
fed till Christmas. I never knew be
fore that silliness nnd happiness go
together, but they do. I’m glad I’ve
got a sober old foreman—that’s all
that keeps the business going."
And after Transley had turned away
Linder had scratched his head and
said, “By thunder. . . . Linder,
when you wake up you’ll be dead.
. . . After her practically saying,
‘The water’s fine.’ . . . Well, that’s
why I’m a foreman, and always will
be."
But after a little reflection Linder
came to the conclusion that perhaps It
was all for the best. He could not
have bought Y.D.’s daughter a big
sparkler or have built her a fine home
—because he was a foreman. It was
a round circle. ... lie threw him
self Into the building of Transley’s
house with ns much fidelity as if It
had been his own. He gave his un
divided attention to Transley’s Inter
ests, making dollars for him while
earning cents for himself. Tills atten
tion was more needed than it ever had
been, as Transley found It necessary
to make weekly trips to the ranch In
the foothills to consult with Y.D. upon
business matters.
Zen found her interest In Transley
growing as his attentions continued.
He spent money upon her lavishly, to
the point at which she protested, for
although Y.D. was rated as a million
aire the family life was one of almost
stark simplicity. Transley assured her
that he was making money faster than
he possibly could spend It, and even If
not, money had no nobler mission than
to bring her happiness. He explained
the blue-prints of the house, nnd dis
cussed with her details of the appoint
ments. As the building progressed he
brought her weekly photographs of it.
He urged her to set the date about
Christmas; during the winter contract
ing would be at a standstill, so they
would spend three months in Califor
nia and return in time for the spring
business.
Day by day the girl turned the situ
ation over In her mind. Her life had
been swept into strange and unexpect
ed channels, and the experience puz
zled her. She assured herself that she
looked forward to her marriage with
Transley with the proper delight of a
bride-to-be, and indeed it was a pros
pect that could well be contemplated
with pleasure. . . . Transley had
won the complete confidence of her fa
tlier and when doubts assailed her Zen
found in that fact a very considerable
comfort. Y.D. wns a shrewd man;
a man who seldom guessed wrong Zen
di-.' not admit that sho
her father to choose a husband for
her, but the fact that her father con
curred In the choice strengthened her
hi It. Transley had in him qualities
which would win not only wealth, but
distinction, nnd she would share In the
laurels. She told herself that It was
u delightful outlook; that she was a
very lmppy girl Indeed —nnd won
dered why she was not happier 1
Particularly she laid It upon herself
that she must now, finally, dismiss
Dennison Grant from her mind. It was
absurd to suppose that she cared moro
for Grant than she did for Transley.
The two men were so different; It was
Impossible to make comparisons. They
occupied quite different spheres In her
regard. To be sure, Grant was a very
likeable man, but he was not eligible
ns a husband, nnd she could not marry
two, in any case. Zen entertained no
girlish delusions about there being
only one man In the world. On the
contrary, she wns convinced that there
were very many men in the world, and,
among the better types, there was,
perhaps, not so much to choose be
tween them. Grnnt would undoubted
ly he a good husband within his
means; so would Transley, nnd Ids
means were greater. The blue-prints
of the new house in town had not been
without their effect. It wns a differ
ent prospect from being a foreman’s
wife on a ranch. Her fnther would
never lienr of it. . . .
So she busied herself with prepara
tions for the great event, and what
preparations they were! “Zen,” her
father had snid, “for once the lid Is
off. Go the limit 1” She took him at
Ids word. There were many trips to
town, nnd activities about the old
ranch buildings such us they had never
known since Jessie Wilson came to
finish Y.D.’s up-bringing, nor even
then. The good word spread through
out the foothill country and down over
the prairies, and many a lazy cloud of
dust lay along the November Hillsides
as the women folk of neighboring
randies came to pay their respects
nnd gratify their curiosity. Zen had
treasures to show which sent them
home with new standards of extrava
gance.
Y.D. had not thought he could be
come so worked up over a simple mat
ter like a wedding. Time had dulled
the edge of memory, hut even after
making allowances he could not recall
that Ills marriage to Jessie Wilson had
been such an event In his life as this
It did not nt least reflect so much
glory upon him personally. He basked
in the reflected glow of ills daughter's
beauty nnd popularity ns happily as
the big cat lying on the sunny side of
the bunk-house. lie found all sorts of
excuses for Invading where his pres
ence wns little wanted while Zen’s
finery was being displayed for admira
tion. Y.D. always pretended that such
Invasions were quite accidental, and
affected a fine Indifference to nil this
“women’s fuss an’ feathers,” but his
affectations deceived at least none of
the older visitors.
As the great day approached Y.D.’a
wife shot a bomb-shell at him. “What
do you propose to wear for Zen’s wed
ding?” she demanded.
“What’s the matter with the suit I
go to town In?”
“Y.D.," said his wife, kindly, “there
are certain little touches which you
overlook. Your town suit Is all right
for selling steers, although I won’t say
that It hasn’t outlived Its prime even
for that. To attend Zen's wedding It
Is—hardly the thing."
“It’s been a good suit," he protest
ed. “It is—
“lt has. It Is also a venerable suit
But really, Y.D., it will not do for this
occasion. You must get yourself anew
suit, and a white shirt—"
“What do I want with a white
shirt?”
“It has to be," Ids wife Insisted.
“You’ll have to deck yourself out In a
new suit and a white shirt and collar."
Y.D. stamped around the room, and
In u moment slipped out. “All fool
nonsense, ’’ he confided to himself, on
his way to the bunk-house. "It’s all
right for Zen to have good clothes—
didn’t I tell her to go the limit? —hut
ns for me. ’t ain’t me that’B gettin’
married, Is it? Standln’ up before all
them cow punchers In a white shirt!”
The bitterness of such disgrace cut
the old rancher no less keenly thna
the physical discomfort which he fore
cast for himself, yet he put his own
desires sufficiently to one side to buy
a suit of clothes, and a white shirt and
collar, when he wr.s next In town.
It must not be supposed that Y.D.
admitted to the salesman that he per
sonally was descending to any such
garb.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Cautious
The day before she was to he mar
ried the old negro servant went to her
mistress and handed her u life-insur
ance policy.
“Why do you want me to keep It. I
thought you were going to get mar
ried," said the mistress.
“Ho I Is, mistress, but do you sup
pose I want that strange rnan to know
Ah got my life Insured?"
A man who has not learned to saj
"No" will he a weak and wretchef
mm nu he die*—and after-
MICHIGAN HIGHWAY
PROGRAM IS READY
Michigan’s highway program, which
contemplates the construction of ap
proximately 735 miles of new turnpike
;it a cost of about $15,000,000, lias just
been completed nnd submitted to the
administrative board. Of tlie proposed
mileage 525 miles will lie pavement
ami out of this a total of 374 miles
will be newly authorized construction
and 151 miles will be In completion of
work started during 1023. The re
mainder will Include gravel, grading
and drainage. 111 all, the 1024 plan is
not only the largest undertaken by the
state since the present system of high
ways was planned, hut exceeds the
largest previous year’s construction by
almost 100 per cent.
When the construction program for
the present year first assumed definite
form the contemplated expenditure
represented about $23,000,000 hut, as a
result of many months of work by
Governor Alexander Groesheck and the
state highway commissioner, this was
pared to the amount now indicated. Of
this the federal government will pay
50 per cent of the construction cost of
all roads which have been approved
under the federal aid plan nnd the
state and counties will bear the re
mainder of the expense. On all other
roads the state and counties will sup
ply the entire construction capital.
Practically all of the more impor
tant and heavily traveled trunk lines
will come In for a share of the pro
posed work and at the completion of
this season’s activities It is believed
that the main arteries both north nnd
south and east and west will have
been practically completed. One of
the most Important stretches of high
way to he affected will he the Giyind
river road from Detroit nnd Muskegon,
which will he practically finished.
About forty miles of concrete will be
required to fill in the gaps on the
stretch between Detroit and Lansing.
The stretch lying in lonia county be
tween Lansing and Grand Rapids will
probably remain as a gravel road due
to the failure of the officials of that
county to appropriate the necessary
funds to cover the county’s share of
this construction. Some paving,
amounting to $325,000, will lie done on
the road between Lansing and Jack
son, but tills road will not he com
pleted due to tiie Insufficiency of
money to cover I lie whole cost.
U. S. in Midst of Record
Period in Road Building
If proof were necessary that the
United States, which, thanks to the de
velopment of ttie motor vehicle, is now
passing through . the most intensive
period of highway development in the
history of the world, is building roads
that surpass in quality anything of. the
kind constructed since the days of the .
Roman empire, that proof Is to lie
found in abundance.
It exists not only in the* quality and
quantity of American highways, but
In the development of road building
methods and materials. The road
builders of tills country have not only
outstripped their ancient predecessors
in the use of the most ancient ma
terials, hut are getting better results
with greater speed, less lubor and
lower cost.
Advantages to Farmers
in Living on Good Road
Living on n good highway with
quick transportation the farmer is en
abled to enter into the [dans for fhe
benefit of ids village and of his com
munity, to take part In the town meet
ings, to have a voice in the affairs of
his district, to be helpful to his neigh
bors, to attend divine services on fhe
Sabbath, to go to lectures, university
extension courses and to aid in the or
ganizations of those agencies that are
helpful to the community and this
meeting with ids neighbors aids in
tk ( forming of co-operative associa
tions that give him better marketing
facilities and better prices for his
iroducts.
Roads Bring Business
Anniston must lum good roads
leading out into every community
and every county ftom which Her mer
chants draw trade. For two years
Anniston’s commercial organizations
and Anniston’s merchants have been
energetically working to build up the
country trade of this city, and the re
sult lias been grutifving. Despite the
handicap of poor roads Anniston has
extended its trade territory in every
direction and now this city is the mar
ket for a greater number of people
from tlds and other counties than at
uny previous time In its history.—An
niston Star.