CHAPTER XI

THE PROPOSALS

One spring day an automobile containing four men and two women drove up

and stopped before the Rainbow lodge.

The half dozen guests must have been expected, because within a few

moments after they were ushered into the big living-room of the lodge,

which had altered but little in character in many years, Jacqueline

Kent, who had been Jacqueline Ralston in the old days, came downstairs

to greet her visitors.

The call could not have been merely a social one, else Jack would

scarcely have appeared so pale and preoccupied and so unlike her usual

radiant and vital self.

Slowly she had descended the stairs, and entering her own living-room

had shaken hands with four of the six persons whom she knew and had then

been introduced to the other two. Afterwards she sat down in a chair and

listened quietly, rarely doing more than introduce a sentence now and

then.

At the close of nearly an hour, when the visitors, declining to remain

for dinner, had risen to say farewell, Jack also stood up, facing them.

She stood with the mantel and the bookshelves forming her background.

Upon the mantel were several of the possessions she had treasured in her

childhood, Indian bowls of strange shape and antiquity, her father's

pistol, the first nugget of gold she and Frank Kent, who was afterwards

to be her husband, had discovered in the Rainbow mine. In the old

bookshelves were the self-same books she and Olive and Jean and Frieda

had read and studied in their girlhood, studied far too little until the

coming of Ruth to act as their governess.

Outside the big living-room windows Jack could see the long double row

of tall cottonwood trees now grown through the years to mammoth

proportions and away and beyond the purple fields of the blossoming

alfalfa and the newly sprouting tender green spears of grain, all her

own beloved and familiar background.

"I am sure you realize I appreciate the honor you have done me," she

said finally, speaking in hesitating fashion. "Yet I do not believe I

dare give you my answer this afternoon. You have been kind enough to say

that I may have two more days for considering your proposal, and within

that time I shall of course let you hear. You are sure you cannot stay

longer, not even for tea?"

Ten minutes later, on the porch of the lodge Jack stood alone, watching

the automobile containing her six callers roll down the avenue between

the cottonwood trees and pass out the gate which separated the lodge

grounds from the rest of the Rainbow ranch.

For a short time Jack continued her watch, glancing first in one

direction and then in another as if expecting some one else to approach

with an evident wish to see her.

The afternoon was in early May. The air blowing from the snow-capped

hills closer to the western horizon brought with it the fragrances of

damp wooded places, mingled with the wealth of prairie flowers over

which it had more lately passed.

Jacqueline Ralston Kent threw back her shoulders, lifted her head and

inhaled a deep breath.

"I wonder why Jim, Jean, Frieda and Olive do not come to find out what

decision I have reached," she remarked aloud. "This must be some

prearranged plan that I am to be left alone for a time. And yet it is

unlike my younger sister, Frieda, not to continue to express her opinion

and insist I agree with it whether or not it happens to be my own.

Perhaps being left alone may be more effective than the usual family

opposition toward bringing me around to their way of thinking. Yet the

family is divided in their viewpoint, and so whatever I may do I must

please some of them and displease others. If I am to be left alone I

think I'll go for a ride. I wish Jimmie were here to go with me; I

intend to talk my problem over with Jimmie--this and every problem we

ever have to face. But of course with Jim looking after the branding of

the new calves this afternoon what chance have I of Jimmie's being

anywhere near?"

Not long after, with her costume changed to her riding-habit, Jack went

back to the stable of the lodge and finding no one there, saddled her

own mare, a present from Jim Colter several years before, and rode off.

Before leaving, she explained to the old half-Indian woman who looked

after her small household that she would not return until dinner time.

If she were late Jimmie was to eat his dinner and not wait for her.

It was true that Jacqueline Kent felt she was facing this afternoon one

of the greatest decisions of her life, almost as important a decision as

her marriage. Perhaps in some persons' eyes a more important decision,

since it was more unusual than marriage in the lives of most women.

It was so strange and so unexpected that at present Jack herself was

scarcely able to accept the momentous fact. Yet here it was before her

staring her in the face, awaiting her judgment and shutting out the dim

spring loveliness of the sky and plains.

"Should she or should she not? Would she or would she not?" The refrain

had a stupid sound in Jack's ears. She caught herself wondering which

was grammatical and then concluded that both expressions were right in

her case, since both her future and her will were involved in her

present conclusion.

Who would have believed that upon her return to Wyoming, her simple

desire to become an American citizen again and later her interest in

the prosperity and happiness of her state could involve her in such a

situation? Within the last hour, was it really possible that she,

Jacqueline Ralston Kent, one of the four original "Ranch Girls of the

Rainbow Lodge," had been asked to accept the nomination for the United

States Congress and become among the first women representatives in the

country?

Jack bit her lips, put her hand to her face to feel the sudden flush

which had suffused it at the thought of her own unfitness for so great a

responsibility.

Then she gave her horse its head and started upon a swift canter; for a

little while she must put away the question which so troubled her.

Appreciating her own lack of knowledge and of training for the task

ahead, why not decline at once and for all time ever to consider it? Yet

on the other hand, had she the right to evade so wonderful an

opportunity? She was young and could learn a good deal of what she

should know in order to meet such a responsibility. Moreover, she did

have the interest of her state at heart and some of her friends and

acquaintances must have believed in her, else the nomination would never

have been offered her. Besides, if she were honest, frank, and

open-minded, would it not be a wonderful experience? Jack was only

lately a girl, and in her heart of hearts felt it would actually be

great fun to be among the early vanguard of the women who were to hold

important political offices in the United States.

"Yet of course, even if I conclude to accept the nomination, I won't

unless Jim Colter finally gives his consent. I refuse to be regulated by

Frieda. Besides, why worry? After all, there is not one chance in a

hundred that I shall ever be elected!"

Lightly Jack touched her horse with her riding whip; she had believed an

ordinary gait would suffice to distract her thoughts for a little time,

but evidently this was not sufficient. Her horse was moving quickly and

evenly over the smooth road and still her thoughts had continued

unchanged. He must break into a run--a run so swift and headlong, as if

in a race for a goal, that all her thought should be centered upon his

control. She needed to feel the strong rush of the wind in her ears, the

splendid sensation of being a part of the movement which she so enjoyed.

She had promised not to ride outside of the Rainbow ranch alone, an

absurd promise which several of the cowboys had suggested, and which Jim

Colter had insisted upon. She had made enemies within the last year by

the outspoken position she had taken upon a number of questions. At

present there were rumors that if she accepted the nomination to

Congress she would be forced to regret it. Yet these rumors appeared to

Jack as nothing save stupid gossip and sensationalism and not to be

regarded.

However, boring as it might be upon occasions like this afternoon, when

she would like to have gotten as far away from the Rainbow ranch as her

horse could take her within a two hours' ride, nevertheless she intended

keeping her promise.

The outermost borders of the Rainbow ranch were enclosed by a high

paling fence to prevent the escape of the cattle.

When she had ridden a little more than an hour Jack arrived at one of

the borders of the ranch, in the same vicinity where at one time there

had been a serious dispute with a neighbor over the boundary line. This

was near the end of the Rainbow creek, at one time considered chiefly

valuable for the watering of the stock and afterwards found to contain

valuable gold deposits.

Those had been strenuous and fighting days at the Rainbow ranch. First

there was the effort to make a living for the family and then to achieve

a certain amount of education for the four Ranch girls. Afterwards had

come the adjustment of their legal rights to the ranch, in the days when

the possibility that gold might be discovered made the possession too

valuable to pass to four obscure young girls. How the manager of their

ranch, a fellow named Jim Colter, who so far as the neighbors knew at

that time had sprung from nowhere, had fought and won their battles for

them!

Well, those old days had passed and this afternoon Jack concluded that

no such perilous times could ever return, whether or not she chose to be

among the pioneers and enter the political arena.

By this time she had ceased her rapid gait and had come to the bridle

path which led along the far side of Rainbow creek. The path ascended

among high rocks and crags, almost the only hilly portion of the entire

ranch. At the top there was an especially fine view.

At present Jack rode slowly, allowing her horse opportunity to rest now

and then after his swift run.

[Illustration: JACK REINED IN HER HORSE AND SAT STILL SILHOUETTED

AGAINST THE SKY]

Jack herself felt in better spirits, more exhilarated. Not having fully

reached a decision, nevertheless she had managed for a brief time to

banish the question to her subconscious mind, hoping it was still

wrestling with the problem and might later help her with its solution.

She glanced among the rocks and crags, remembering how she and the other

Ranch girls had played hide and seek among them as children. Long before

when Wyoming was largely inhabited by Indian tribes the Indians had

lived among these rocks sheltered from their enemies. Indian treasures

had been discovered buried under the earth or fallen between crevices of

stone.

Reaching a level space of ground, Jack reined in her horse and sat

still, silhouetted against the sky. Behind her the sun was setting in

purple and gold clouds. Below she caught a glimpse of another figure on

horseback approaching in her direction. Putting her hand to her lips

Jack called "Hello." She was under the impression that the rider was

either Jim Colter or one of the Rainbow ranch cowboys, and they were all

her friends. As it was growing late it might be pleasant to have an

escort home.

A lifting of a hat and a wave of a hand returning her greeting, Jack

uttered a little exclamation of surprise.

She waited until Peter Stevens had climbed up the bridle path and was

beside her.

"I have come to ask you, Jack, if there is any possibility of your

accepting the offer which was made you to-day? Please understand that it

is no secret. There has been talk of your nomination for Congress for a

good many months, not weeks. I presume you realize that if you accept

you will be my opponent? I also am to run for the same office, unless

you would like me to withdraw. I am willing if you wish to have me do

so. Yet I would give up a good many more important things in my life if

I could persuade you to refuse this nomination. I know you think I am

old-fashioned, narrow, dogmatic, yet with all my heart and all my

intelligence I oppose the thought of our American women holding public

office. And you of all women, Jack! Why, with all the experience of life

you think you have had, you are little more than a girl. It must be

impossible for you to realize the jealousies, the calumnies and feuds

that will be aroused by your action. In this past year I have seen you

fairly often; never so frequently as I desired, yet you must have

learned to know whether you like or dislike me. Won't you be my wife,

Jack, and go with me to Washington in that capacity and not as my

political adversary? I would do a great deal to prevent your making such

a mistake."

More surprised than she cared to show, Jack shook her head, her face

slowly flushing.

"I am sure you are very kind, Peter, and I do appreciate the honor you

have done me, because I do realize how great a sacrifice you are making.

Yet perhaps you need not have been put to such a test, for although I

cannot accept your offer, perhaps I shall not accept the other offer

either. I know my own limitations for such a distinguished office as

well as even you can know them. However, I make no promise. Will you

ride back to the lodge to dinner with me?"

Peter Stevens shook his head and an hour after Jack arrived at the

Rainbow lodge alone.

CHAPTER XI

A DECISION

Jack, however, did not reach a decision that night, although many hours

she lay awake continuing to revolve the subject in her mind.

The next day the opposition she again encountered was even keener than

any that had gone before.

Not long after breakfast Frieda made the first family appearance,

bringing her little girl with her.

Seeing her sister approach, Jack, who had stepped out of doors for a

moment for a breath of fresh air, feeling more fatigued than she

scarcely ever recalled being at this hour of the morning, gave a quickly

suppressed sigh and then held out her arms to Peace.

Thoroughly she and Frieda had gone over this question of her possible

nomination when the matter simply had been under discussion. Frieda had

then aired her views as fully as it seemed possible that any expression

of opinion could be aired. Not for a single instant was Jack even to

allow her mind to rest upon the idea. "A woman politician in the

family!" Personally Frieda felt and announced that she could not endure

the disgrace.

From the first had she not warned her sister that public speech making

would lead to something more disastrous?

Now as Jack greeted her sister she was painfully aware that Frieda's

face wore the familiar expression it was wont to wear when she had

appointed herself both judge and jury in a case and allowed no counsel

for the defendant.

Pretending to ignore the expression, nevertheless, Jack felt a little

ominous sinking of the heart. She was not prepared to allow Frieda to

make this decision for her, and had so informed her, as gently and

firmly as possible, in their previous talks together upon the self-same

topic.

And Jack did not wish to be drawn into any further argument this

morning, and certainly not with her sister. All her life she had hated

argument more than any one of the four Ranch girls, and in the old days

used often to run away for a ride or a long walk, leaving the matter to

be settled by the other three, who discussed the point to exhaustion.

"Glad to see you, Frieda dear, it is nice to see you so early in the

morning and with the baby, especially when I am tired, which does not

happen often to me. Will you come indoors or shall we walk about among

your old violet beds? They are blooming in special abundance. Perhaps it

may amuse Peace to gather some and take them home to the big house. I

always feel as if I were selfish having so much more enjoyment from your

flower beds than the rest of the family. Remember, Frieda dear, when you

planned to be a florist and to rescue the family by selling violets? It

was sweet of you."

"I'll stay outdoors and Peace can gather the violets if she wishes, but

I did not come down to the lodge at this hour to discuss violets. I

never do anything early in the morning, as you know, unless it seems to

me excessively important. I know those people appeared here yesterday

afternoon, Jacqueline Ralston Kent, to offer you the nomination for

Congress; they want you to become a Congressman, or Congresswoman. Who

ever heard of such a foolish title? Now I wish to know precisely what

answer you gave them. I would have walked down to the lodge last night

with Henry, except that both Henry and Jim Colter insisted I should

leave you alone and give you time to think the matter over for yourself

before I spoke to you again."

"But you haven't anything _different_ to say, have you, Frieda, so why

let us talk of it at all?"

"To that I will agree only upon _one_ condition, Jacqueline Kent. You

must promise me to refuse this nomination once and for all time and

never so long as you live have anything to do with politics either in

this country or in England."

"That is rather a tall order, don't you think, Frieda?" Jack answered,

purposely looking in another direction rather than toward her sister's

face.

Frieda always would appear to her a grown up and glorified baby, so

long, when they were little girls together, had she looked upon Frieda

almost more as a mother than as an older sister.

"Yet unless you do promise, Jack, it can never be the same between us

again. So please listen carefully before you reply.

"I know at other times I have objected to small things that you wished

to do and sometimes you went ahead and did them without regard to my

feelings or my judgment and I never said anything much afterwards even

if they did not turn out successfully. But this is a _big_ thing and a

_different_ thing, and if you act against my wish I told Henry last

night I should never really forgive you, even if for the sake of

appearances we pretended that things were the same. I have been much

embarrassed recently at your becoming a prominent person in the

neighborhood; of course I wished you to be prominent socially and to

become a leader, like Mrs. Senator Marshall. She would then be obliged

to take second place, in spite of her husband's distinguished position.

But the idea that you, my sister, could actually become interested in

politics!" Frieda pronounced the word as if it were a deadly poison.

"Why, it simply never dawned upon me, not for the longest time! When we

went about to parties together after you had been in Wyoming a year I

began to hear people say laughingly that Wyoming needed a young and

charming woman to represent her in political life so that she should not

fall behind the other states. So why were you not the person, as Lady

Astor was in England? The cases were a little alike, you had married an

Englishman and had the title of Lady Kent, but after your husband's

death had preferred to return to your own country, renounce your title

and resume your American citizenship. You had gone through all the

necessary legal formalities to attain that end, you were clever and

good-looking and your actions had proved you were a thoroughly patriotic

American. The fact that you said you did not belong to any party was

perhaps best of all, as women needed to be independent in politics. They

were the new voters and should not be slaves to parties as so many

American men were.

"This is as nearly as I can remember what was said about you, Jack.

There were other things, not so flattering, but I presume most persons

would not like to mention them before me. However, I paid little

attention at first, as I thought it was all just talk, because most

people have so little to talk about really. Even when you began making

speeches about the things you wish to have accomplished in the state of

Wyoming (as if your opinion was of any value), why, I did not trouble

specially! It all seemed so absurd! Indeed, when you spoke to me a few

days ago of what might occur and declared that the nomination for the

Congress of the United States might actually be given to you, though I

said everything against it I could at the time, I did not really believe

it. Then yesterday afternoon actually it happened! But perhaps you

refused to consider the suggestion, Jack. Indeed, I feel sure after what

I have said to you and knowing Jim Colter's attitude, even if he has

said but little, you must have refused. If so, I am sorry to have tired

you by talking so much; I am sure I hate talking at any length unless I

feel it my duty."

"And you do feel it your duty this time, don't you, Frieda?" Jack

answered, slipping her arm through her younger sister's.

"Still, having done your duty, don't you think that after all I may be

allowed to use my own judgment in this decision? Suppose I happen to

think that life just now is offering me a great and surprising

opportunity! It is surprising for me to have been chosen for this

distinction; I feel this as keenly as any one of my family or friends,

knowing my deficiencies, can feel it! Now don't you think it's unfair to

threaten me, Frieda, to threaten in the one way which you know hurts

most, the loss of any part of your affection, if I cannot make up my

mind to do what you think best for me, not what I may think best for

myself? I have never in all our lives, Frieda, suggested that any act of

yours could possibly make me care for you less."

Frieda's voice wavered a little.

"Yes, I know, Jack, but then I would never do anything so rash and so

foolish as what you contemplate. To see your name in the newspapers, to

know that people are everywhere discussing your private affairs, making

up disagreeable stories about you if they wish, for you know you are

unconventional, Jack, and sometimes do give people opportunities to

misjudge you, well, I simply can't bear it. So come on, baby, let us go

back home, I see we are in the way here. I apologize, Jack, for wasting

your time and mine. I had some socks of Henry's I wished to darn, and I

should have been much better employed, as I see you already have reached

your decision. Well, Jack, I am sure something very unfortunate will

come of any such decision; when you become a public character you will

certainly never be the same person to me."

Frieda had slipped her hand inside her little girl's and was about to

move away when Jack's arms went round her and her gray eyes, filled with

tears, gazed into Frieda's implacable blue ones.

"Frieda, in spite of all your sweetness, don't you realize that you are

rather hard sometimes? I wonder if life will ever teach you to be

different?"

Frieda's eyes wavered an instant.

"I see nothing to be gained by discussing my weaknesses of character. So

long as I satisfy my husband and child I can manage without your good

opinion, especially now I know that my interest and my wishes have not

the slightest effect upon you." Frieda walked resolutely away.

Several minutes after her departure Jack continued standing in the same

spot. Frieda had opened her eyes. She had been thinking that she was

still uncertain of her decision and now knew that unconsciously her mind

was made up. She intended to accept the nomination which had been

offered her and to do everything in her power honestly to win the

election.

Returning to Wyoming where she had lived as a child and young girl, she

had confided to Jim Colter that she must look for some new and

absorbing task to fill her life now that her married life was over. What

this interest would be she had not then conceived. What it might be in

the future was still uncertain. Yet the next step lay straight ahead.

Never in all their lives had she and Frieda had so serious a difference

of opinion, and Frieda's words and manner had hurt more than anything

that had happened since her return to the security of her former home.

She could only hope that Frieda would relent, that Professor Russell

would use his influence in her favor. Nevertheless, although frequently

led by Frieda in small matters, on this occasion she had not been in the

slightest degree affected. This was a big decision which she faced, a

decision in which Frieda had but scant right to interfere. Of course she

must allow for prejudice, certain suggestions which her sister had put

forward had made her wince more than she cared to show. But over and

against the small things was there not the one big opportunity that she

might serve both her country and other women if she did not fail too

completely in the work which might or might not lie ahead?

Then in a boyish fashion wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of

her hand, Jack laughed. "Oh, Frieda will probably forgive me if I make a

success, never if I am a failure! People forgive nearly everything to

success."

"Jimmie," she called a little later, running around the side of the

lodge where her small son was engaged in playing with a magnificent St.

Bernard dog which had been a recent gift from Jim Colter, "won't you go

up into the woods behind the Rainbow creek with me and spend the day? We

will take our lunch and I'll take my rifle. I don't believe there are

many animals left in our woods these days, but there used to be years

ago and at least we can play at being pioneers."

But Jack and Jimmie were not to escape so easily.

Opening the gate which led from the front yard half an hour later, they

came face to face with Jean Merritt and Olive MacDonnell.

"Trying to run away into your beloved outdoors in the usual fashion,

Jack?" Olive said, smiling. "Well, you may go after a while, but Jean

and I wish to talk to you first."

"Please don't," Jack murmured, slipping a hand into the hand of the two

other original Rainbow ranch girls. "Frieda has already reduced me to

tears by overmuch conversation this morning. One could scarcely describe

the conversation as argument, as I was allowed to say nothing. Oh, I

know, Olive, that you and Jean will not be so obdurate as Frieda and

will allow me a point of view on the subject, but just the same, spare

me, because I have made up my mind, provided Jim Colter does not

positively refuse his consent. I shall not go against Jim's command,

although I may against his wish. Otherwise I mean to accept the

nomination, poor, uneducated, inefficient, stupid female person that I

am and ever must remain."

"Jack, you have _one_ member of your family who will stand by you

whatever comes, as you have stood by me in the past year," Jean Merritt

announced. "I have not said a great deal while the rest of the family

has been doing so much talking and yet I believe I am glad of your

decision. I know one is prejudiced against the idea, not so much of

women in politics as of a young woman like you, Jack, who is so

beautiful and charming and sincere and one who happens to be so near

one's own affections. I suppose disagreeable things will be said of you,

yet I know of few women so brave and so straightforward, or better able

to bear calumny. And I don't see why people think that marriage always

protects a woman from unhappiness; it has not protected me."

Jean rarely spoke of her own sorrow and only in moments of the deepest

emotion, so that Olive and Jack both flinched at the close of her little

speech, and temporarily at least Jack's problem took second place.

In more than a year, since Ralph Merritt's departure to act as mining

engineer in a gold mine in New Mexico, no human being who had ever known

him before had laid eyes upon him. In all the time since, no word had

arrived of his mysterious disappearance from the mine, and no word had

ever been received from him addressed either to Jean or to any one of

his family or friends. Utterly and completely he had vanished. Months

had been spent by Professor Russell in investigating his whereabouts,

every clue had been followed, yet from the moment Ralph was known to

have gone into his own tent to lie down until the present, no other

news of him had been unearthed.

"I still have faith that things will adjust themselves for you some day,

Jean, I don't know exactly why. I appreciate I have no possible evidence

to support the idea, but I have always believed and do still believe

that Ralph will come back some day and be able to explain the mystery of

his disappearance."

Jack gave Jean's hand a tight squeeze.

"Jean, it does help a lot to have you say you will stand by me. I may be

brave to-day, but to-morrow I shall probably turn coward. Olive, what

about you and Bryan?"

Olive let go her friend's hand and did not answer for a moment. She was

always quieter and more reserved in her manner than the other Rainbow

ranch girls.

"Bryan and I talked over your possible decision until after midnight,

Jack. Bryan argued you would accept, I argued you would not. Bryan seems

to have known you best. He says you are made of the right material for

what you are to undertake. Yet he dreads it all for you as much as I do,

the fatigue, the misunderstanding. It seems impossible to me, Jack, as

you must appreciate, and yet you and I are wholly unlike. But I believe

you are the most courageous woman I have ever known, just as you were

the most courageous girl. One thing Bryan wanted me to say both for him

and for me. He believes you will not care for the notoriety, not even

for the fame, if it should come to you, but only for the opportunity.

And he and I both want you to understand that we will do _everything_ in

our power to help you, whatever course you may pursue. You see, dear,

Bryan insists I feel toward you like the old axiom, 'My country, right

or wrong, but still my country.' However, I told him the old axiom was

not only stupid but wrong. One's country must be right, and so must your

choice be."

"Hero worship, or rather heroine worship," Jean remonstrated. "Olive had

that same absurd attitude toward you as a girl, didn't she, Jack? So

small wonder you think you are a sufficiently important person to be

nominated for the Congress of the United States! But don't let us keep

you any longer from your beloved woods. Jimmie evidently does not know

the poem about the small boy: 'Who was never bad, but always good, who

never wriggled, but always stood.' So good-by and a happy day."

"You'll tell Jim to come in to speak to me before he goes to bed," Jack

called back over her shoulder, as she and Jimmie started off together.

"I must send word in the morning what my decision is and so I must see

Jim first."

After a day in the woods Jack was undressing for bed, having decided

that it was too late to expect Jim Colter, so she must try to get hold

of him before he left home next morning, when she heard a familiar

whistle.

"I'll be down in a minute, Jim," she called, thrusting her head out the

open window. "Will you come in? The door is open."

"No, I'll wait out here," came the answer back. "Don't dress, I shall

only stay a moment. Some business detained me."

A little later, with her hair in two gold braids and holding a violet

dressing gown close about her, Jack faced the real test of the long day.

"May I, or may I not, Jim?" she demanded.

Jim Colter shook his head.

"You are a full grown woman, Jacqueline Kent, not a child, not even a

very young girl. Not that I remember having reached decisions for you

even in those days."

"Which means I was always obstinate, Jim."

"Always a bit obstinate, Jack."

"But I am not obstinate to-night, Jim Colter, and I won't if you say

no."

Jim shook his iron-gray head.

"I shall not say no, Jack; you must decide as you think best."

"And if I go wrong you'll help me meet the consequences, even though you

would rather I chose the other way?"

"So help me, yes, Jack Kent."

"All right, Jim, unless you forbid me, I have decided. If I am elected,

and in ninety-nine chances in a hundred I won't be, do you suppose I

will have to spend the greater part of my time away from the old

ranch?"

CHAPTER XIII

THE CAMPAIGN

A few weeks later, had Jacqueline Kent been altogether outspoken, there

were many hours when she would have confessed her regret at not having

obeyed her sister Frieda's command. One could hardly describe Frieda's

attitude otherwise.

Certainly Jack had not been able to imagine the degree of excitement and

controversy aroused by the simple fact that a comparatively unknown

young woman had been nominated for membership in the Congress of the

United States. If it were in her power and the power of the men and

women voters supporting her she intended to be elected. Nevertheless,

Jack had not understood either the amount or the character of work that

would be required of her personally to accomplish this result.

In the past electioneering had appeared as a fairly amusing pastime.

Living in England, she had often seen Englishwomen engaged in it. They

had not at that time been electioneering for themselves, but for their

husbands or brothers, fathers or friends. Their method had been to drive

about from one village to another talking to the village people and

asking their support, or else stopping to argue or plead with the

passers-by along the country roads. At big political meetings, which men

and women attended together, speeches were made and questions put to the

speakers. In the past Jack had frequently accompanied her husband to

these gatherings, where she had been greatly entertained. Then she had

been a spectator with no personal role to fill. Now the situation was

wholly changed.

A curious fact, but in the United States, supposedly less conservative a

country than England, the nomination of a woman for a high public office

was creating a greater storm of protest and of indignation than had been

aroused in England by the same act. True, Jack was not the first woman

chosen for this same office in a western state. But the fact that the

number should increase, many persons in Wyoming declared to be alarming.

Now when Jack went to political gatherings, she found herself not only a

center of attention and of controversy, but more often than not was

compelled to make a speech. Never regarding herself as a good speaker,

and always frightened, she never learned to enjoy the opportunity.

Moreover, as Frieda had warned her and as she had not fully appreciated,

there was hardly an issue of the daily papers in which some information

or misinformation concerning her personal history did not appear.

At first Jack refused to allow her photograph to be reproduced,

insisting that people might wish to know what she thought and why she

thought it, but certainly could have no interest in her appearance. Yet

this was so absurd a position, as her friends and acquaintances agreed,

that Jack was obliged to surrender. Afterwards she was forced to see

photographs of herself, or at least what claimed to be photographs, in

papers and magazines throughout the entire country, so that if ever she

had possessed any personal vanity Jack considered that it would have

been hopelessly lost. Now and then she used to carry the newspapers

containing her pictures to members of her family, asking them if it were

really true that she looked as the pictures indicated? Sometimes the

family cruelly said the likeness was perfect and at others they were as

annoyed as Jack herself.

But she really did not enjoy the political meetings as she had expected,

or the notoriety, or the personal enmity oftentimes directed toward her.

Since the afternoon of her meeting with Peter Stevens by the Rainbow

creek he had declined to do more than bow to her in public. The reason

Jack did not fully comprehend. She had not intended to be frivolous or

ungrateful concerning his proposal. She had not believed for a moment

that he really cared for her. Peter was a confirmed old bachelor and

always freely expressed himself as disapproving of her from the

afternoon of their first re-meeting after many years. At the time she

had been engaged in an escapade which had annoyed Peter Stevens almost

as much as her present one.

Peter had not resigned as her political opponent. The only remark he had

made to Jack which was at all friendly was to say to her one day when

they were passing each other on the street in Laramie, that the greatest

kindness he could pay her was to defeat her in the present election.

Yet notwithstanding all the worry and the work, Jack did not agree with

him. She did not intend to be defeated. She meant to win, else why the

struggle and the fatigue and, more often than she confessed, the

heartache?

Frieda had never forgiven her. This Jack had not at first believed

possible, yet as the days passed Frieda did not relent. Instead she

appeared more annoyed and more unyielding, continuing to insist Jack was

disgracing not alone herself but her family by running for a political

office as if she were a man.

In fact, had it not been for her little girl, Jack feared that Frieda

would have declined speaking to her. But Peace continued to adore her

and Frieda would do nothing to frighten or grieve the child. The year or

more spent at the ranch for the sake of the little girl's health had not

been successful. Peace seemed to grow more ethereal, more fairylike with

each passing day. She was like a spring flower, so fragile and delicate

one feared the first harsh wind would destroy her. Yet if she were at

all seriously ill, it was Jack she wanted, Jack who seemed able to give

a part of her vitality to the child, when Frieda was oftentimes too

frightened to be helpful.

Therefore during the spring and summer of Jack's political campaign, if

Frieda was not entirely estranged from her sister, it was only because

Peace was occasionally ill and needed her.

Moreover, Jack had to endure Jim Colter's regret. Little as Jack had

known what experiences she would be forced to pass through in a

political campaign, Jim apparently had known even less. Now, although he

was not given to looking backward when no good could come of it, more

than once he had been driven to confess to Jack that he wished to heaven

he had opposed her acceptance of the political nomination with every bit

of influence he possessed.

Jack could see that it was agony to Jim to hear her name and character

discussed as it had to be discussed were she to win enough popularity to

elect her to office.

Not that he talked to her upon the subject during the few evenings when

they were at home and saw each other a short time alone.

"You need a rest from the plagued thing, Jack, and so do I. To think

that I actually agreed to allow one of my little Rainbow ranch girls to

enter a campaign for office in Washington, D. C!" If Jim Colter had

been speaking of a much worse place his tone could not have been

drearier.

However, what worried Jack even more was that Jim insisted upon

accompanying her wherever and whenever she was forced to attend any kind

of political meeting. For this purpose he was neglecting his own work on

the two ranches, and growing older and more haggard, chiefly, Jack

thought, through boredom and the effort to hold his temper.

He did not always manage to keep his temper, however; on several

occasions, although Jim never reported the fact, he came to blows over

remarks he overheard. When Jack asked questions he simply declined to

answer, and as Jim Colter was the one person in the world of whom

Jacqueline Kent was afraid, she did not dare press the matter.

Naturally Jack made enemies, as every human being does who enters

political life, and she was unusually frank and outspoken with regard

both to her principles and ideas. But there was one enemy she made whom

both she and Jim Colter especially disliked and distrusted. He was a

young man who had been employed as a private secretary by Senator

Marshall and was helping to manage Peter Stevens' election to Congress.

Senator Marshall had made a friendly call upon Jacqueline Kent at the

time of her nomination, protesting in a fatherly fashion against her

permitting herself to be put up as a candidate.

Afterwards he declared he had the right to oppose her election in favor

of Peter Stevens. This right Jack never disputed. Mrs. Marshall led the

opposition against Jacqueline Kent among the conservative women in

Wyoming.

In fact, among her own family and her more intimate friends and

acquaintances Jack possessed only three staunch and always enthusiastic

supporters, her own small son, Jimmie Kent, who accompanied her to most

of the day-time political meetings, Billy Preston, the young Kentucky

mountaineer who after soldiering in France had decided to try his fate

as a cowboy in Wyoming, and John Marshall, Senator Marshall's son.

Billy Preston assured Jack that he was making it his business to see

that every cowboy in Wyoming voted for her. John Marshall declared that

he proposed showing his father who had the greater influence in the

state. He protested that his father had lost all chivalry by assisting a

man when a woman was his opponent. If he would not descend to the

tactics employed by Alec Robertson, his father's secretary and Peter

Stevens' campaign manager, nevertheless, he was backing Mrs. Kent to win

against all odds.

"The boy is falling in love with Jacqueline Kent, I am afraid, my dear,

as he has never showed the slightest interest in politics in his entire

life until recently," Senator Marshall confided to his wife toward the

latter part of the summer.

"Nonsense, Mrs. Kent is older than John, and is not an especially

attractive woman!"

And although Senator Marshall did not agree with his wife, he pretended

to accept her opinion.

CHAPTER XIV

IN THE THICK OF THE FIGHT

"But I do think it would be wiser of you not to be present, not this

afternoon. I could take a message saying you were not well."

Jack laughed.

"Yet the fact is I am perfectly well, John Marshall, and besides I am

not a coward, or at least if I am a coward there are other things of

which I am more afraid."

Jacqueline Kent and her neighbor, John Marshall, were having an early

luncheon on the front porch of the Rainbow Lodge upon a fairly warm day.

Jack, however, appeared to be dressed for a journey. She was wearing a

seal brown tailored suit and a light chiffon blouse. Her hat and gloves

were lying on the railing of the veranda.

"Besides," she added lightly, "I do not believe anything uncomfortable

will happen. The story has been spread abroad merely because I am a

woman and am supposed to be easily frightened."

As luncheon was over, with a little nod for permission, John Marshall

arose and began walking up and down the porch.

"You may be right, of course, and yet I confess I feel nervous. It is

nonsensical that so much excitement has been aroused by this campaign,

makes one think perhaps we are less civilized than we thought we were! I

myself believe there won't be any actual rumpus. But I would not be

surprised if a few ruffians, hired for the occasion, do try to interrupt

your speech by making a lot of noise. I must say I am surprised that

Peter Stevens allows such tactics to be employed against an opponent,

especially a girl who had been his friend."

Jack shook her head.

"Peter Stevens says that the kindest thing he can do for me is to defeat

me, and sometimes I think perhaps he is right. So from that viewpoint he

does not consider it makes any difference what methods he uses. However,

I am not so sure Peter himself knows everything that is going on. He may

or he may not. He does not come to the meetings of my supporters and

friends and I suppose his manager, Mr. Robertson, does not tell him

everything that takes place. But please do not confide to any member of

my family, if you should see one of them before we leave, what you have

just told to me. You probably won't see any one. They are too worn out

and bored to pay attention these days to my goings out or my comings in.

My sister scarcely speaks to me and the remainder of the family are busy

with their own affairs. Fortunately for me, Mr. Colter is away for

several days on business. But to show you I really don't think there is

going to be any disturbance this afternoon, I am going to take Jimmie

along with me to the meeting as usual. Poor Jimmie, he is dreadfully

tired hearing me talk, and yet seems to have an instinctive feeling that

he has to stay by and look after me. You have pretty much the same

feeling, haven't you, and I want you to know I am extremely grateful,"

Jack added. "I'll go now and find Jimmie, as we ought to start in a few

moments if we are to be on time."

"Very well," John Marshall returned. "But if you don't mind I'll ride

down to the ranch house first. I want to speak to Billy Preston. He

telephoned I would find him at about lunch time."

Jack frowned for an instant and then nodded agreement.

She guessed that her two young men friends were to discuss the self-same

news that John Marshall had just repeated to her. It seemed unnecessary,

still she did not feel that she had the right to object.

The word John Marshall had brought was that an effort was to be made to

break up the meeting at which she was to speak during the afternoon. The

meeting was to occur in a fairly large sized village not far away in

which she was supposed to have but few friends. The village was one of

the manufacturing towns in the state, and her friends were among the

ranchmen.

But Jack honestly did not believe any serious outbreak would occur. She

was not always foolhardy, although this was occasionally one of her

weaknesses of character; she simply thought this afternoon that an

effort was being made to frighten her away. Afterwards it would be easy

to say that a woman candidate to an important political office who could

be so easily frightened should hardly be entrusted with the service of

the state.

Within half an hour, John Marshall having returned, he and Jack and

Jimmie and the chauffeur were motoring toward the desired destination.

"Billy Preston will be at the meeting with a few of the cowboys from the

Rainbow ranch and from a few of the other ranches in this neighborhood,

so if there _is_ trouble there will be some people on _our_ side," John

Marshall insisted with boyish satisfaction when the car had taken them

several miles from the lodge.

"What?"

Jack clutched her companion's sleeve for an instant, her voice and

manner for the first time revealing alarm. "You don't mean you and Billy

Preston have actually made arrangements for a difficulty. I did not

think there could be one simply because an effort might be made to make

me stop talking. I can do that readily enough and I intend to stop if

any trouble begins. Now I think I had better give up after all and go

back home. John, you were foolish."

"You can't go back now, it is too late," the young man argued. "The

crowd will already have started to the meeting and if you don't turn up

and they are disappointed it may lose you heaps of votes. And it is

going to be pretty close if you do win. Everybody says it depends upon

your personality and good sense and your magnetism. You have got to win

people over and to make them forget the prejudice against you. You have

got to show them that you have been studying this whole question of

government and really know a thing or two. Funny to be calling yourself

an 'Independent' and belonging to no old-time political party. I don't

know whether the idea is a good one or a bad one. But don't be worried

about Billy Preston and his little party. There won't be more than a

dozen in all and Billy has promised they won't make as much noise as a

whisper if things go well and the game is a straight one."

Shaking her head, Jack glanced nervously at Jimmie.

"But suppose they don't go well? I shan't even begin to make a speech,

John Marshall, until you promise me on your word of honor that you will

see Billy Preston and tell him from me that he and my other friends are

to say nothing and do nothing, whatever takes place. If there is any

difficulty Jimmie and I will quietly come out and climb into our car and

start back to the ranch. And if my speech is no better than they usually

are, I cannot feel that the audience will be deeply disappointed."

"Very well, I promise," the young man answered.

The frame building where she was to speak, a rough one-story shack,

sometimes employed for revivals, was larger than any hall in which

Jacqueline Kent had ever attempted talking before.

As she stepped up on the platform she found that her audience was also

larger than the ones to which she had tried to grow accustomed in these

last few months.

But the people were quietly seated and there appeared no unusual

excitement or confusion.

Gratefully Jack observed that the larger number were women. The men were

at the back toward the rear of the hall.

There were to be no other speakers during the afternoon, so as soon as

she had been introduced Jack began her speech.

From the beginning she was fearful that she was going to interest this

audience even less than she believed she interested most audiences. And

in her heart of hearts Jack was always puzzled why anyone should be

influenced by what she had to say.

[Illustration: NOT A BOUQUET OF FLOWERS, BUT OF UGLY, EVIL-SMELLING

WEEDS AND TIED WITH A RAG INSTEAD OF A RIBBON]

Her causes were to increase the size and number of the ranches in

Wyoming, increase the number of the livestock, and bring the

producers of food and the consumers closer together. She frankly stated

at all times that she was not interested in politics. She simply wanted

the chance to make human beings happier by giving them the kind of

government they desired and ought to have.

"I am afraid you will have some difficulty in hearing me," Jack stated,

"but that need not trouble you as much as it does me, because after all

you will not have lost a great deal. There are a good many reasons why

it is harder for a woman to be a candidate for an office than a man, and

I suppose having to make speeches is one of the hardest."

"Louder!" some one shouted at the back of the building.

Jack tried again.

"Louder!" the voice repeated. "How do you think you are going to make

yourself heard in Washington if you can't be heard here?"

The joke was at her expense and Jack laughed good-naturedly.

"Ain't going to make any difference, she ain't never going to get

there," another man shouted.

"Perhaps not, but I am going _to try_," Jack answered, still with entire

good nature.

But she flinched unconsciously at this instant and stepped backward. A

large bouquet had been thrown directly at her, not a bouquet of flowers,

but of ugly, evil-smelling weeds and tied with a rag instead of a

ribbon.

As it fell several feet away from her, Jack soon continued her speech as

if she had not noticed what had occurred.

"Shame! Put him out!" some one interrupted.

"Please don't. It is not important," Jack replied.

Yet if her manner failed to reveal the fact, she was nervous. By turning

her head she could see Jimmie seated upon the platform beside the

principal of the public school, who had just introduced her to the

audience.

Jimmie had jumped up indignantly when the bunch of weeds fell beside

her, but had been persuaded to sit down again.

The persons in the rear of the building were undoubtedly becoming

noisier.

Jack flushed so hotly that the tears came into her eyes and her cheeks

were flaming.

Never had she been treated with anything like this discourtesy before.

Evidently she was not to be allowed to make a speech, scarcely to begin

one.

Swiftly Jack thought of Jim Colter, of his anger and disgust should he

behold her in such a plight. She had not expected this nor anything like

it.

There was scuffling now in the rear of the building, as well as shouting

among her audience.

Jack suffered a feminine desire to weep over the unkindness and the

humiliation of her present situation, yet she was not in the least

afraid. At no time in her life was Jack ever a physical coward.

The uproar continued, growing greater. Women were crying out in terror.

Yet Jack Kent stood her ground. Quietly, as if nothing were happening

and in spite of her humiliation, knowing that no one could hear, she

went on with her speech. Jimmie had come and was now standing beside

her, holding tightly to her hand.

"It's a shame! She is so young and pretty and is not half the coward any

man is who doesn't give her a fair show!" a woman shouted in a voice

which chanced to be heard.

The next moment Jack felt a hand placed on her elbow.

"Please come away. It is as I feared; they don't mean to hear you,"

John Marshall urged.

Jack shook her head.

"No, I'll stay till I finish."

It was an autumn afternoon and unexpectedly a storm had broken. Outside

were flashes of lightning and the rain beating against the small

windows. In the building some one suddenly switched off the electric

lights, and before they were switched on again there was an uproar that

was deafening.

"For Jimmie's sake you must get away," John Marshall insisted.

"Very well, for Jimmie's sake I do give up," Jack returned, "but for

goodness' sake don't think either of us is afraid."

Drawing back from her companions Jack again went to the edge of the

platform.

"You won't listen to me this afternoon, and I don't want to make anybody

uncomfortable or frightened by going on with my speech in the midst of

so much noise, nevertheless I am coming back some other afternoon to try

again, so good-by to my friends, and I trust my enemies may have better

manners next time."

There was a little burst of applause from the spectators who could hear,

and immediately after Jack, Jimmie and John Marshall slipped away.

The car was waiting at the back of the building with the starter already

in action. Before Jack was able to realize exactly what was taking place

she was several miles on the journey home toward the Rainbow ranch.

"Do you suppose things quieted down as soon as I disappeared?" Jack

inquired. "You were right, I should not have gone. I wish I were not one

of the most hard-headed people in the world. After all, I don't suppose

women do belong in political life. I hope there may not be any serious

trouble over me."

"But you were awfully game, Mrs. Kent," John Marshall replied, "and I'm

not so sure women don't belong in politics to keep things like this

afternoon's proceedings from happening."

It was not six o'clock when Jack and her companions arrived safely at

the Rainbow lodge. John Marshall had too much good sense to come in, in

answer to Jack's invitation.

Personally, as soon as she got indoors Jack felt she never had been so

tired in her life.

After undressing and putting on a house dress she lay down in the

hammock and remained there, eating her dinner on a small table with

Jimmie seated beside her. When Jimmie had gone to bed, still she did not

stir.

At about eight o'clock, however, she arose and picked up a white crepe

shawl, winding it about her, as it was growing cooler. She intended

walking over to the big house before she finally went to bed.

No member of her family had been near her all day and it was strange

that she had seen and heard nothing of Olive or Jean.

Frieda never came down to the Rainbow lodge any more unless she were

obliged to come.

Yet the family must know of her intended speech that afternoon, although

they discussed her affairs as little as possible. At least she could

hope they would never hear of the scene that afternoon in which she had

been obliged to appear as a central figure. Especially she hoped Jim

Colter would never hear.

In fact, Jack wanted to see her family before trying to sleep that

night. She believed she was still both too excited and too tired to

sleep for several hours. Moreover, she wanted to find out if Jim had

returned home and if not when he might be expected.

She must see Billy Preston the first thing in the morning and beg him to

use his influence with the other cowboys never to mention to Jim what

had occurred during the afternoon.

CHAPTER XV

CONSEQUENCES

Jack found the veranda of the big house deserted, which was most unusual

at this hour of the evening.

Only a dim light was burning in the drawing-room. But the front door was

open and she walked in without knocking or calling.

Undoubtedly there was a subdued atmosphere about the place. Not yet

half-past eight, so surely not all the family could be in bed. At this

hour one could at least count upon finding the two oldest of the four

new Rainbow ranch girls, Lina and Jeannette. Lina was extremely studious

and given to doing a great deal of reading at odd hours. She bore no

resemblance to the oldest of the four original Ranch girls, but was like

her mother.

Ordinarily one could find her in the library at this time, when she

could count upon being fairly undisturbed.

Jack went from the drawing-room to the library on the left side of the

house. If not Lina, Professor Russell might be discovered there. He and

Jim Colter's oldest daughter had developed a shy friendship from the

fact that they often remained together in the big room reading for hours

without speaking or disturbing each other.

But to-night there was not even a dim light in the library.

At the foot of the stairs Jack waited, puzzled and frowning for an

instant. Then she called softly, "Jean, Jean, what has become of

everybody? Certainly you cannot all be asleep!"

As no answer followed, Jack started up the stairs. After having gone a

few steps she called a second time.

Instead of Jean, however, Frieda appeared.

"Please don't make any noise," she admonished, "Peace is ill."

Jack ran up swiftly to where her sister was standing.

"How long has she been ill and why haven't you let me know?"

With a slight gesture of nervous irritability the younger of the two

sisters drew away.

"Since yesterday, but not seriously so until to-day."

"Then why didn't you let me hear this morning? No member of my family

has been near me all day. Do the others know?"

Frieda nodded.

"Yes, but I thought it best not to disturb _you_ with the news. You are

fond of Peace, I suppose, even if you do prefer a public career to the

affection of your family. I knew, of course, that you were going

somewhere this afternoon to address an audience and I thought you would

wish not to have anything interfere even mentally with your speech."

"I see," Jack answered, with her usual gentleness and good temper. She

was wounded, but Frieda's attitude toward her had been like this for

some time, and to-night, when she appreciated that her sister was

especially troubled, was scarcely the moment to refer to their

differences. "Of course I should have preferred to know. Is Peace very

ill?"

Frieda shook her head.

"No, not at present, but I am uneasy and we have sent for a nurse."

"Won't you let some of the other little girls come down to the lodge and

stay with me?"

A second time Frieda shook her head.

"No, they have gone to Olive. Jean has gone with them. You know Olive

and Captain MacDonnell have an extra sleeping tent and I thought it best

you should not be annoyed by them either."

This time Jack was unable wholly to restrain herself.

"Why should I have been annoyed, Frieda? I am not so impossible a

person, am I? And the work I have been trying to do lately, even if you

do disapprove of it, has not turned me into an ogre. But I won't worry

you to-night, although I do believe, Frieda, you really intend to be

unkind. Has Jim come back? I have not seen him for several days and if

he is at home and not busy I thought perhaps he would walk back to the

lodge with me."

Never in her life from the time she was a small girl had Frieda accepted

reproof in an humble spirit, except under a few and very exceptional

circumstances. The truth was that she had been spoiled all her days,

first because she was the youngest of the four Rainbow ranch girls, her

mother having died when she was little more than a baby, and later by

her husband, who was a good deal her senior.

Now in spite of her sister's long self-restraint, Frieda showed

resentment.

"It is your own fault and your own choice, Jack, that you no longer seem

one of us as you did in the past. You can't have everything, you know,

be a public character and a----"

"And a human being? I think you are mistaken, dear. I am very far from

being a 'public character' as you express it, and I don't like the

expression. Yet it seems to me that the celebrated women I have read

about or known have been rather more human than most people, and not in

the least anxious to be discarded by their families because they have

found other things to occupy them outside of domestic life. I'll see you

in the morning. Is Jim in his room, or has he gone with Jean and the

little girls?"

Frieda frowned.

"Jim has not come back and that is another thing that is worrying us,

although not a great deal. He wrote to say that he would return home

this afternoon before dinner and we waited dinner for him an hour. But

no word and no Jim. I suppose it is foolish to be uneasy, but Jim so

rarely breaks his word even in the smallest matters, and he might have

telephoned. It would not be pleasant to have Jim disappear as Ralph

Merritt has, would it? It is funny, but now we are grown up, we seem to

depend upon Jim as our guardian as much as we ever did. I don't see how

we could get on without him."

Frieda ended her remarks without any special significance; nevertheless,

her last few words continued to repeat themselves in Jacqueline Kent's

mind during her walk back to the lodge.

The storm of the afternoon had passed over and it was turning a good

deal colder. Jack was not ordinarily impressionable and yet it seemed to

her that to-night the sky possessed a peculiar hard brilliance, as if

the mood of the outside world and the persons she loved were both harsh

and unsympathetic.

Even Jean and Olive had not been near her in twenty-four hours, and if

they should pretend they were trying to spare her, she knew that in

former times they would not have wished to keep her shut out either from

their happiness or sorrow.

Jim Colter would be different. Never at any moment in her life could

Jack recall that he had been either harsh or unsympathetic, although

stern he might be and had been when he thought it necessary. How

infinitely kind he had been concerning this latest adventure of hers,

regardless of his own disapproval.

About her difficulty of the afternoon he must never hear if she could

keep the news from him. Yet of course if he had to know, Jack felt she

would prefer to describe the situation herself, making as light of it as

possible. All of her family and friends would be angry should they learn

of it, even if some of them believed she deserved what she had received.

But Jim would take the matter far more to heart.

How stupid of Frieda to talk of their ever having to get on without Jim

Colter's guardianship! In any case it could not mean so much to Frieda,

who had her devoted if eccentric husband always at her service. Besides,

Frieda and Jim had never been devoted friends. Jim had cared for Frieda,

of course, as her guardian and for Jean and Olive, but the other Rainbow

ranch girls had never shared his interests and tastes as she had done.

Jack drew her shawl more closely about her and started to run toward

home. She was feeling uncommonly forlorn and depressed. Yet surely the

day had been a sufficiently trying one to depress almost any human

being!

The following morning Jacqueline was in the act of dressing when she

heard Jean's voice calling her from below.

"Jack, hurry, will you, and come up to the big house. Peace is ever so

much worse and the news has just reached us that Jim was hurt yesterday

afternoon. No one understands exactly what has happened. Billy Preston

telephoned, saying he was with Jim and would remain with him. We are not

to go to him for the present. I answered the telephone myself and tried

my best to find out how badly Jim was hurt. Billy says he was not run

over and had not had a fall, only there had been some kind of an

accident. He would not say what kind and I guessed by his voice that he

was not telling all the truth."

"I'll be with you in half a moment if you'll wait for me, Jean,"

responded Jack.

A little later she joined Jean. "I wonder if you can tell me the name of

the town where Jim was hurt yesterday?" she asked. "Surely Billy

Preston told you as much as that! I must go to him of course."

The name of the town was what she had expected to be told. It was the

village where she had attempted making a speech the afternoon before and

been interrupted. Jim must have known of her plans and also learned of

what might take place. How like him to have gone quietly to her

protection without letting her hear of his presence! Yet in what way had

he been hurt and how serious was his injury? Whatever other consequences

she might hope to escape, for Jim's hurt she was entirely responsible.

Whatever Frieda might say of her selfish interest in her own future, of

her desire for a career outside her own home and family, she would never

be able to deny that Jim Colter had suffered because of her.

"Will you see that a car is ready for me immediately, please, Jean. I

won't come back to the lodge. Jim will want me if anyone and I have the

first right to go to him, because I am responsible."

Jean was scarcely listening.

"You won't be able to leave just now, Jack. After all Frieda's

antagonism toward you she has been begging to have you come to her

since dawn. You seem to be the only person she wants."

Jean nodded.

"There is only one hope. The doctor means to try a transfusion of blood.

I don't know from whom. We have all offered."

"Oh, Jean," Jack's voice shook, "I am the one person who will be best. I

am stronger than any one else and Peace has always responded to my

vitality. Yet if I am chosen I can't go to Jim."

"The choice is pretty hard, Jack. If you can not go Olive and Captain

MacDonnell and I will. And some one will come back with the news as soon

as possible. Yet you may not be the one."

However, as Jean Merritt looked at her cousin she had little doubt. In

spite of the fatigue and chagrin of the day before, even of her anxious

night, Jack walked with the swinging grace of perfect health and poise.

At this moment of dreadful double anxiety, harder upon her than any one

save Frieda, she was for the time when the need was greatest, perfectly

self-controlled. No one had ever seen Jack break down until the moment

for action had passed.

"It is because I have been so unkind to you, Jack darling, _this_ is my

punishment," Frieda confessed brokenly, meeting her sister outside

Peace's door. "But I have wanted to make up more times than you can

dream, only I am so dreadfully spoiled and do so hate to give in, and I

have despised your running for a public office chiefly I suppose because

I realized it would separate us. Peace won't know you."

Two hours later Frieda and Jack were in Frieda's bedroom, Jack undressed

and in a loose white wrapper, her hair braided in two heavy braids.

"Now you must not be a goose, Frieda, dear," she expostulated. "I am not

in the least danger from the blood transfusion, as the doctor has just

told you. I may be laid up for a little while afterwards, perhaps not

long. And there are many chances that Peace will get better at once. You

know how glad I am of the opportunity to help. What is the use of being

a healthy person if one cannot be useful."

"But, Jack, you may be more exhausted than you dream. You may be forced

to give up your political work for several weeks. And Henry said only

yesterday that these were the most important weeks of all, if you are

to be elected. At the very last people will probably have made up their

minds one way or the other."

"Oh, well, perhaps the question of my election is not so important to me

as you may think, Frieda. In any case it does not count the tiniest

little bit in comparison with either you or Peace, now that you actually

need me. When I accepted the nomination for Congress I did not know that

anybody needed me especially except Jimmie. I thought perhaps I was

freer than most women."

Jack was talking to distract Frieda, who had not been told of Jim

Colter's injury and so did not realize the extent of the sacrifice her

sister was making.

CHAPTER XVI

THE ELECTION

"When do you think we will hear, Jack?"

"Toward late evening, Jim. At least I was told that at about eight

o'clock a fairly good guess could be made. But suppose we don't talk of

it. Let me read to you."

Jim Colter, who was lying on a couch in a large sunny, empty room moved

a little impatiently.

"If you lose the election, Jack, it will be because of the demands we

have all made upon you in these last weeks. You had nothing much to go

upon but your personality, your chance of pleasing people and convincing

them of your sincerity, and here you have been shut up at the Rainbow

ranch for weeks. It has not been in the least necessary for you to take

care of me, any one of the girls could have looked after me equally

well. You are not a born nurse, Jack, as the saying goes. So when you

recovered and I was safe at home you should have gone on with your

election campaign."

"Really, Jim, 'ingratitude, more fierce than traitors' arms, quite

vanquished him,' or her, in this case. If I'm not a 'born nurse' you

don't dare say that of late I have not become a cultivated one.

Moreover, if the other girls could have taken equally good care of you,

please remember that they have been doing their share, they and every

member of this household! Do you suppose a man can continue in perfect

health for as many years as you have and then in case of illness not

require a regiment of nurses to look after him? But confess, if I am not

a good nurse, you can growl more successfully at me than at any one

else."

"Am I growling, Jack? Perhaps I do pretty often, but at present it is

because I regret so deeply that you have to devote yourself first to

Frieda and Peace and afterwards to me, when you have needed all your

time and energy for your political work. If you are defeated I shall

always feel responsible."

"Vain of you, don't you think?" Jack answered. "Besides, Jim Colter, you

are well enough now for us to talk of something that I have been

thinking of for a long time. Never have you confessed to me or to any

one else, so far as I know, how in the world you happened to be so

seriously hurt. In the first place, what brought you to town on that

especial afternoon when you were supposed to be miles away attending to

some business connected with the ranch? Then arriving there, how did you

manage to get into the midst of a rough-and-tumble fight? Billy Preston

did tell me this much. But I presume you must have ordered him to keep

quiet, else he would not have been so non-committal."

Jim Colter stared at the opposite wall rather than toward the figure of

the girl sitting near him, or through either of the two large windows

with wide outlooks over the Rainbow ranch. It was mid-afternoon of an

early autumn day with a faint haze in the air, unusual in the prairie

country.

"I don't believe I feel equal to talking, Jack, not just at present, or

for any length of time," he answered a trifle uneasily. "Perhaps I'd

better try to sleep."

"Very well," Jacqueline Kent agreed, smiling and at the same time with a

serious expression in her eyes. "But, Jim, when you wake you might as

well decide to tell me the truth. Don't you suppose I have guessed the

greater part of it?"

There was a silence for some time in the big room, Jim Colter closing

his eyes, Jack staring out the window at the familiar scenes she loved.

By and by, when he did not believe she was aware of what he was doing,

Jim opened his eyes and stared at his companion's profile.

Jack looked more fatigued than he often remembered to have seen her; she

had less color, less her old suggestion of vitality. There were circles

under her eyes, little hollows in her cheeks. Yet she did not look ill

and one could scarcely marvel at the change in her after the past trying

months, first the strain of her effort at electioneering on her own

behalf, and more recently the tax which he and Frieda's little girl had

put upon her.

If she were elected to Congress would she ever be the old-time Jack

again? Jim Colter had to suppress a sigh of dissatisfaction over the

thought, which may have sounded more like a groan. To think of Jack with

her youth and charm shut up within the Legislative halls in Washington

was not only an absurdity, but something far worse! Well, of course if

caught by a wave of enthusiasm and desire for change, Jack should be

elected to the United States Congress he must arrange to spend part of

the year with her. The two older of the new little Ranch girls must go

to school and Jean Merritt would look after the others. The Rainbow

ranch and his own adjoining ranch would have to be turned over to one of

his assistants, since Jack would need him more than any other person or

any other thing.

Then Jim Colter closed his eyes. Would she actually need him more, or

was it because he cared more for her need than for any possible human

demand that could be made upon him? Always he had been tremendously fond

of Jack, unhesitatingly more fond of her than of the other three Ranch

girls in her gallant but wilful girlhood. Now, since his own loss and

hers, and since Jack's return to the Rainbow ranch, surely there was no

point in denying to himself that the affection which held him to her was

stronger than ever, stronger than any other emotion in his life.

"Jim, you are not asleep, you are only pretending," Jack said suddenly.

"Now tell me, didn't you go over to the village on the day you were

hurt because you heard I was to make a speech and there might be

trouble? And didn't you arrive so late you felt it best not to tell me

to go home, because I had already started to speak? And after the rumpus

began and Jimmie and I were safely on the way home didn't you try to

find out who was responsible for the discourtesy to me? Afterwards what

happened, Jim?

"Jack, I suppose I forgot a good many things I should have remembered,

first and foremost that I did not wish you made conspicuous and that I

was older than I used to be, and that I ought by this time to have

learned to control my temper."

"Yes, but Billy Preston declares that when he arrived you seemed to have

half a dozen persons against you and that you were managing pretty well.

It was disgraceful of you, Jim; you who have been preaching for as many

years as I can remember that there was to be no fighting on the Rainbow

ranch for any cause whatsoever and that no excuse would be accepted by

you as a justifiable one. What influence do you suppose your sermons

will now have among the cowboys? As for making me conspicuous, it seems

rather a funny thing that neither you nor I recognized that running for

a public office is apt to make one conspicuous. One can hardly vote for

a person one has never heard of."

Jim sighed.

"Yes, you are right, Jack, but it is too late now to discuss this side

of the situation. If you are elected it won't be any better; sure to be

worse, in fact. I suppose you realize that if you live in Washington the

greater part of the year, you'll have to bear with my society most of

the time."

Jacqueline Kent bit her lip for an instant and then shook her head.

"Good of you to suggest it, Jim, but out of the question of course.

Jimmie and I'll have to manage somehow, trusting members of the family

will visit us now and then to see how we are getting on. But as for you,

you are too much needed here at the ranch, besides having to look after

the new little ranch girls. I could never accept the sacrifice."

"Yes? But I don't see how you are going to prevent it, Jack," Jim

answered abruptly and in a tone Jack had never contradicted in her life.

Always Jim Colter had been the one person whose will was stronger than

her own, even in the important matters in which she always felt she had

the better right to judge.

"Oh, well, we won't quarrel on the subject yet, Jim, because of course

there are ninety-nine chances to one that I won't be elected. I must go

now and dress for dinner. Here comes Professor Russell to sit with you.

I'll come back later if I hear the returns to-night."

A little after eight o'clock on this same evening, a group of Jacqueline

Kent's friends, her own family, and Jacqueline herself, were standing

talking together in the drawing-room of the big house; occasionally one

or two of them disappeared to come back with the latest news of the

election returns.

Earlier in the afternoon the reports from the neighborhood districts had

given a majority to the feminine candidate. Later, when the counting

began to take place in the cities, there appeared a change in the

results, with Peter Stevens leading. Then Jacqueline Kent's victory

seemed assured by a sudden spurt in the figures giving her an important

lead throughout the western portion of the state.

"Do you think we will know to-night without doubt?" Frieda Russell

inquired of John Marshall, who had driven over and had dinner with his

friends at the Rainbow ranch.

"One cannot be positive in any election until the next day, Mrs.

Russell," he assured Frieda, "but I think between ten o'clock and

midnight we can be pretty positive, at least that is the view my father

takes, and he has been in politics nearly as long as I can remember. He

told me to tell 'Jack' as he calls her, that he congratulates her

whatever occurs, whether she is defeated or elected."

"Well, I don't know what to hope," Frieda murmured. "For months I have

been praying Jack would _not_ win, and now to-night I feel I may hate it

if she is not elected. You know I shall also feel responsible in a way

since so many of Jack's friends insist that her taking no part in the

campaign during the last weeks has made such a difference."

"Oh, that could not be helped! And sometimes I think, though I have done

my best to help Mrs. Kent win, that she is too young and that an older

and perhaps a different kind of woman might be more suitable. See, even

after all she has been through, she looks like a young girl to-night. I

don't believe she cares very much."

Frieda glanced toward her sister, who was standing before the

drawing-room fire laughing and talking to several friends and appearing

less perturbed than she herself felt.

Jack was paler than usual and there were circles under her eyes which

Frieda knew were uncommon, notwithstanding her eyes and lips were both

smiling. She wore a white serge dress trimmed with silver braid, her

hair was slightly parted on one side and coiled low on her neck.

"One cannot always tell how Jack feels, she is braver than most persons.

Frankly, I don't know any more than you do how much she is interested in

winning. I do think she scarcely realized what it meant when she was

originally nominated. It isn't like Jack to turn back once she has

started, although I believe she did find the publicity harder to bear

than she anticipated. You see, an older person, or one who had had more

experience in political life, would have understood, but Jack has lived

in England for the past years. On her return home it appeared a

wonderful experience to play some part in American politics, as the

women are beginning to do in England. I don't think Jack realized she

might not be fitted for a political career when other people began

urging her forward."

John Marshall laughed.

"No, I don't feel she is unsuited to a great career, but it was of her

personally I was thinking. If you'll excuse me for a few moments I will

go to the telephone again. It is growing late and my father has promised

to telephone me from headquarters at a little before ten o'clock. Even

if he has been working for Peter Stevens because he wants a man to be

elected rather than a woman, we can count on his figures being

accurate."

John Marshall disappeared. A quarter of an hour passed and he did not

return. In the meantime three or four other persons went away to join

him.

The clock on the mantel was striking half-past ten when Jack herself

heard the noise of a horse galloping toward the house. It was she who

walked quietly to an already open window and stretched forth her hand to

receive the telegram.

"This telegram comes from Cheyenne, I suppose it will be official and we

shall know the best or the worst," she announced. Then opening it she

read aloud:

"Victory conceded to Peter Stevens. Better luck next time."

Afterwards, in the brief silence which followed, Frieda Russell burst

into tears.

"But, Frieda," Jack expostulated, slipping an arm about her sister and

smiling as she faced the group of people gazing directly at her, "I

thought you wanted me to be defeated. You have never wished for anything

else." She turned to the others. "I can only say that I am deeply

grateful for everybody's kindness, yet the voters of Wyoming probably

have acted wisely. All women may not need longer preparation before

holding public office, but I am afraid I do. Now if you will pardon me,

I confess I am tired and would like to say good-night."

Running swiftly upstairs, Jacqueline Kent paused for an instant outside

her former guardian's door. She had been staying in the big house during

his illness.

"Is that you, Jack?" a voice asked instantly. "Well, what is the news?"

"I was defeated, Jim. Peter Stevens is the next Congressman from

Wyoming."

"Well, Jack, I'd hate to tell you how glad I am. Are you very deeply

disappointed?"

"No, Jim, I am not. I believe I feel relieved. But please don't tell

other people. Good-night."

CHAPTER XVII

THE HEART'S DESIRE

"Mrs. Kent, there is some one down at the ranch house inquiring either

for you or for Jim Colter. He will not give his name. Since you do not

wish Mr. Colter to be disturbed I thought it best to bring the message

to you. The man looks as if he had been ill for some time and his

clothes are pretty shabby, but otherwise he seems all right."

The man who was speaking was one of the new ranchmen on the Rainbow

ranch whom Jacqueline Kent had lately employed.

As Jim Colter had not recovered from his injury so rapidly as might have

been expected, Jack had taken upon herself the entire management of the

Rainbow ranch and was assisting with the management of the adjoining

place, which belonged to Jim Colter.

"Yes, thank you, I am glad you came to me; I'll ride down to the ranch

house as soon as I can get away. I have some things that must be

attended to first. You'll see that the man is properly cared for until

I can get there."

"Yes."

Smiling after he had turned his back, the ranchman rode away.

It suddenly had struck him that Mrs. Kent looked absurdly young for the

responsibilities of her present position, but that they did not seem to

trouble her in the least, in fact she appeared to enjoy them. Moreover,

she was extremely popular with all he employees on the place, who would

do a good deal to win her thanks.

This morning Jack's costume was an extremely businesslike one, a dark

brown corduroy riding habit with a short skirt and trousers and a fairly

long coat. It was a cold morning in early December. She had not yet put

on her hat and gloves, as she was waiting to consult with a neighboring

ranchman in regard to the purchase of a thousand head of cattle.

Jimmie had gone off to school an hour earlier with the four little new

ranch girls and Jean's two daughters. These daily excursions to school

were an annoyance to Jimmie and he would have preferred to have walked

or ridden his pony instead of being driven in the family motor car with

so many girls. However, as the school was five or six miles from the

Rainbow ranch, this appeared one of the crosses he was forced to endure.

Half an hour later, following a talk with her neighbor, Jacqueline Kent

was on her way to the ranch house.

A busy day lay ahead of her. First of all she had agreed to buy the

cattle for the Rainbow ranch at the price offered, subject to Jim

Colter's approval. But as Jim rarely interfered with her recent control

of the ranch she did not expect him to object to her latest venture. In

the afternoon, escorted by Billy Preston, whom she had promoted to being

one of her chief assistants, she intended riding over to look at the

cattle. In the meantime, beside her housekeeping, which was already

finished for the day, she had to look at some fencing that needed

repairing, consult with a veterinary surgeon concerning an injury to one

of the finest mares on the ranch, and hear reports from several ranchmen

who had charge of details of the work upon the place.

Nevertheless, Jack felt extremely fit and not in the least perturbed by

the number of her duties, as this was the character of outdoor life she

had always loved and been trained to since her childhood.

The question of the man who was waiting to see her at the ranch house

did not particularly absorb her attention. Frequently of late men had

wished to see her either to ask for employment on the Rainbow ranch or

to discuss projects for new agricultural schemes to raise grains in

greater abundance by a more scientific development of the soil.

Moreover, there were always persons who insisted that the Rainbow gold

mine could be made to yield a fresh output of gold by the application of

new methods in mining. But at least Jack had nothing to do with the

Rainbow mine, always referring any such enthusiasts to her scientific

brother-in-law, Professor Russell, now that Jim Colter was taking a

temporary rest from the affairs of the place, the first he had ever

taken for as long as Jack had known him.

Billy Preston was standing on the front porch of the ranch house in

spite of the coldness of the day and as Jack rode up he came forward to

help her dismount.

"The fellow waiting to see you is rather a queer looking beggar, so I

thought I'd hang round till you'd had a talk with him," Billy grinned

boyishly. "We don't want another of the Rainbow ranch managers knocked

out in a fight at present."

"But I was knocked out in a fight, a big one, Billy Preston, by failing

to be elected, and you have all been awfully good not to reproach me

after taking such a lot of trouble in my behalf."

"Oh, but we cowboys are glad you lost, though as long as we thought you

wanted to win the boys on the Rainbow ranch and a good many other

ranches were for you to the last man. No one of us really liked the idea

of your either being elected or being licked. But now it can't be

helped, it's kind of pleasanter to think of you just trying to run the

old ranch."

"Trying, Billy? But I thought I _was_ running it," Jack returned,

"although I suppose you realize the men are still doing the work and

trying to humor me at the same time. Well, it is kind of you and it is

fun. Now show me my man and stand outside, Billy, to see nothing

happens. But please remember you are an assistant ranch manager these

days and hide that dreadful Kentucky mountain pistol."

Inside the ranch house living-room, a crude enough place but bright and

comfortable, there was a fire burning in the fireplace and a man sitting

slumped before it in such a position that Jack upon entering the room

could not see his face.

He heard her, however, and got up and stumbled forward with both hands

outstretched.

"Ralph Merritt, but we thought you were lost forever, thought you

were--" Jack hesitated and stopped an instant. "Why, we have sought for

you all over the United States in every possible place and in every

possible fashion! But you have been ill. Do sit down, you can't know how

glad I am to see you. Don't try to talk to me, let us go first to Jean.

It is cruel to keep her in ignorance another moment."

Ralph Merritt shook his head.

"No, Jack, I want to talk to _you_ first. I am glad it is you rather

than Jim Colter. Then you can tell me what I should do next. I have been

ill and in a strange way and so perhaps I need advice more than one

usually does. I will sit down, if you don't mind and you'll be seated."

It was one of Jacqueline Kent's good qualities that she did not talk

when talking was unnecessary.

Now she dropped into the nearest chair, opened her coat and took off her

hat and gloves.

"Try and tell me from the beginning if you can remember, Ralph. We have

heard nothing of you or from you since the news that you appeared to

have been slightly hurt at the mine in New Mexico and then disappeared."

Ralph Merritt nodded.

"I will try to tell as much as I can remember although it is remarkably

little. I remember the fall at the mine and also that I did not seem to

have been much hurt, only bruised and shaken up a bit and that my head

ached a good deal from a blow I had received. I recall going into my own

tent a little after dusk and lying down because my head ached. Then, you

may not believe me, yet the truth is, I know of nothing else that has

taken place in my life for over a year, nothing until a few months ago."

"Yes, go on," Jack answered. "The blow on your head occasioned a loss of

memory?"

"A complete loss of memory. How I ever got my living in the meantime,

whether I worked or whether I was cared for through other people's

kindness I am not sure, except that I did work on a farm for a time and

probably worked on others. I know this from some one who befriended me

and partly guessed what my trouble was. Through this friend I was taken

to a hospital and an operation performed and my memory partially

restored. I now remember perfectly everything that took place before my

injury, but nothing in the interval between then and now."

"But that is not important, Ralph dear; perhaps it is better not to be

able to recall what must have been days of suffering. The wonderful

thing is now that you are alive and at home again, and with Jean and the

little girls well and waiting for you."

Ralph Merritt shook his head.

"I am afraid returning in the plight I am in at present will not be a

pleasant surprise for Jean. Remember I told you, Jack, that I would not

come back until I had earned money enough to make Jean happier. I told

her the same story. And I haven't the money, in fact I haven't even the

chance of making it until I am stronger. So I want you to tell Jean for

me that I am alive and care for her and the little girls as much as I

ever did, and have not yet given up hope of accomplishing what she has a

right to expect of me. Then if you'll tell me about the family I'll be

off again. I'll write Jean, but I thought it might be best that you

speak to her and explain what has occurred first."

"I will do no such thing, Ralph Merritt," Jack returned more sharply

than she was in the habit of speaking. "You'll see and talk to Jean

yourself in a quarter of an hour. Don't you think Jean has had a long

enough period of agony and suspense? The desire of her heart is to know

you are alive. She asks for nothing else, has asked for nothing else all

along. I do wish men were not so stupid. You always believe the wrong

things girls and women say. Jean did care for wealth and position, most

people do, but that is no reason to think that she did not always care

more for you than anything or anybody else. I'll ride up to the big

house this instant and try to prepare Jean a little for seeing you. But

right away you are to follow me. If you are strong enough to ride

horseback Billy Preston will saddle a horse and ride up with you."

Jack was already up and half way to the door.

"Don't be long. Jean already has been waiting a long time, and I shall

tell her nothing except that you are here."

"All right, Jack," Ralph Merritt answered and squared his shoulders,

appearing fifty per cent more like his former self than before Jack had

spoken.

At eight o'clock that night Jacqueline Kent was walking up and down the

front porch of the Rainbow lodge alone. There was a light snow falling

outside and she had slipped on a fur coat, but her head was uncovered.

At a little distance away she heard a familiar whistle.

"Do hurry, Jim, I can't wait any longer," she called out. "You promised

to come over immediately after dinner."

"Yes, and I'm here," Jim returned, "dinner has not been over ten minutes

at the big house, and please remember I am a semi-invalid and cannot

walk with white hot speed. I can only report, 'all is well.' Jean and

Ralph both appear extraordinarily happy and Ralph Merritt does not look

so ill, not half so badly off as I do. I won't have the honor of being

the family invalid taken from me. He and Jean expressed themselves as

being disappointed at your not coming up to dinner, but I told them you

wanted them to have the dinner to themselves, which they managed to have

along with Professor Russell and Frieda and six small girls clamoring

for attention beside your humble servant. You might have asked me to

dine with you."

"Why, I never thought of it, but then you would have if you had wished

to anyhow. Besides, you should of course have been at home to welcome

Ralph. I trust you told him right away that we were going to start work

on the old Rainbow mine so Ralph can stay here at home and have

something to do at the same time. I have decided on this; there must be

gold enough in the old mine to pay expenses and to give Ralph a good

salary, and otherwise it does not matter. Oh, Jim, please do come in out

of the snow. I want to tell you also that I am going to buy a thousand

new head of cattle for the Rainbow ranch. It is all right, isn't it?"

"It is _not_, Jack. Rainbow ranch has all the cattle it can take care of

at present. We have stocked up as far as we ought to go unless we can

buy more land for grazing and raising grain, and I don't see any

prospect of that in this immediate neighborhood."

"But I have almost made a bargain for the cattle, Jim."

"How far has the bargain gone?"

"Oh, the agreement was not positive until I had consulted with you, but

I thought I was being allowed to run the Rainbow ranch. Of course if you

interfere with what I think best, why it is not managing the ranch at

all."

"But I never agreed to allow you to run the ranch into debt, Jack, and

that is _what would_ happen if you have to pay for feed for a thousand

new head of cattle this winter."

In silence the man and girl continued to walk up and down the porch of

the Rainbow lodge.

"Want me to give up trying to manage the ranch, Jim? Now you are better,

I suppose I am only a nuisance."

"I want you to keep on if the work interests you and if you are willing

to listen to my advice now and then. You have some ideas for running

things that are considerably better than mine, but I have had a good

deal longer experience."

"All right, Jim, I am sorry," and Jack slipped her hand through her

companion's arm. "Good gracious, what a hard-headed person I am and

always have been, Jim Colter. I wonder if that is why life seems to find

it necessary to give me so many knocks?"

"Has it given you more than most people, Jack? Are you more disappointed

over that wretched election than you have been willing to confess? If

you like, go ahead and buy your cattle then. I only don't want you to

lose money, because the ranch belongs to you girls and I suppose I

always shall feel more or less responsible. If it were mine----"

"I have no desire to lose the family money," said Jack, "and I am

properly penitent. I even no longer _desire_ one thousand new cattle

purchased for the Rainbow ranch."

"But what do you desire then, Jacqueline Kent? Suppose just for an

experiment you tell me your greatest desire. We were speaking on the

subject at dinner to-night. Jean of course felt that she had received

hers in Ralph's return. Frieda announced that she was in a fair way to

be fully satisfied now Peace was growing strong and well and Professor

Russell had succeeded in his latest scientific experiment, and also I am

obliged to state that Frieda added the negative fact that she was

particularly pleased that you had failed in your recent political

enterprise."

Jack laughed. "How exactly like Frieda! It is the things she has that

she is grateful for and the mistakes I am not permitted to make because

of her excellent advice. But don't worry over me, Jim, at present my

greatest desire is to walk up and down the lodge porch with you and see

the sky and the prairie beneath the stars and feel the damp sweetness of

the wind with the little eddies of snow. What is your heart's desire,

Jim Colter?"

"To be always with you, Jack, I suppose," Jim Colter answered as

unexpectedly to himself as to the girl beside him. His voice did not

hold the light raillery of hers. "Queer ambition, isn't it, for a man

old enough to be your father, who has been your father after a poor

fashion! I don't know, Jack, I have not meant to tell you this, but I

always have told you pretty much everything that was in my mind, and

after I say this I want you to forget it. I care for you differently

from the old days, Jack. Of course I appreciate the differences between

us more than any living human being can appreciate them, the distance

from the earth to the stars is small in comparison. And I want you to

care for me always, Jack, in the old friendly, daughterly fashion."

"But I don't feel like a daughter to you, Jim, and never have, certainly

not as a little girl, so why should I begin now? I simply like you

better than any one else in the world except Jimmie, now you have made

me think of it, and we understand each other better. I suppose I would

have taken this for granted if you had not spoken. What do you suppose

we ought to do about it, Jim?"

"Nothing, Jack."

"But suppose I should want to do something? And suppose what I wanted to

do should become my heart's desire? Would you withhold it from me, Jim?"

"Yes, if I thought it would do you harm."

"But suppose it would not do me harm, but bring me great happiness, what

then?"

Jim Colter made no reply.

Jack smiled.

"Ah, Jim, you never can make me believe that you will refuse to travel

with me to the Land of the Heart's Desire, since it is a journey one can

rarely take alone."

* * * * *

THE "RANCH GIRLS" SERIES

BY MARGARET VANDERCOOK

THE RANCH GIRLS AT RAINBOW LODGE

THE RANCH GIRLS' POT OF GOLD

THE RANCH GIRLS AT BOARDING SCHOOL

THE RANCH GIRLS IN EUROPE

THE RANCH GIRLS AT HOME AGAIN

THE RANCH GIRLS AND THEIR GREAT ADVENTURE

THE RANCH GIRLS AND THEIR HEART'S DESIRE