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Rh a few straggling tents stood reflected in the blue water, noted how two men were overhauling a launch and some canoes, and then was lost to the settlement as he continued on his way toward the Junction.

It was reserved for him to learn that afternoon that Beatrice meant all that she had told him, meant it rather more sweepingly than he had imagined. The Junction was a small railroad station, Junction by name only as never had persistent rumour borne fruit in an actually accomplished line from it to the vicinity of Summit City. Like the latter place it had one hotel, so called through courtesy, one store, one chop house. Steele, hungry from his ride, turned into the hotel's front room and demanded something to eat. The man behind a newspaper at a little counter, regarded him keenly, and then abruptly asked:

"Name of Steele?"

"Yes," returned Steele. "Why?"

"Nothin' to eat this time of day," was the rejoinder around the stem of a pipe.

"Bread and butter, a hunk of cold meat, anything will do," insisted Steele carelessly. But his eyes, as keen as the other's with speculation partook of none of the quality of his voice.

"Nothin' to eat," he was informed a second time. "Dinner ain't till six, an' mos' likely there won't be a extry place at the table then. We're filled up."

"Who owns this place?" demanded Steele. "Miss Corliss of Thunder River Ranch," was the more than half-expected reply. "Bought me out this week."