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 rings.

exposing her face and head to the caress of the balmladen air.

A minute later, and the stranger was by her side. She noticed that he carried in a careless way a long, oldfashioned rifle; that a pipe was in his mouth, and a pistol of the "pepper-box" variety protruded from the leg of his boot.

"Are you the Ranger gal what got left at Green River?"

She turned ghastly pale at mention of the locality where her thoughts were centred, but made no audible reply.

"My name is Henry Jackman,—better known as Happy Jack," he said, as he dropped the butt-end of his rifle to the ground with a thud, and stood waiting for her to speak.

"I Ve heard of you before," said Jean; "you are the man who's been talking sawmill to my daddie."

"That's what!"

"Then we may as well become acquainted. I am Jean Ranger, and I have an older sister Mary and a younger one named Marjorie, besides my brother Hal and two little sisters."

"I seed yer dad yisti'dy an' we talked things over. Thar's a fine prospec' hyer fur a sawmill."

"So I perceive."

"Yer dad an' me's goin' to go snucks."

"I do not understand."

"I mean pardners. He's got the sabe an' I've got the rocks, so we can make a go of it. The kentry's settlinup powerful fast, an' thar'll be lots o' demand for lumber for bridges an' barns an' houses an' fencin' an' sich."

"I see. We had a lot of spavined, wind-broken old horses for our sawmill power in the States, sir."

"Thar's a water-power yander that beats bosses all to thunder, miss."

"So I see, sir."

"Thar's millions o' feet o' logs in sight; an' out