with hand outstretched, "you have--done--a great thing--to-day--for
me.  I shall not--forget it."

"Tut tut, Cameron, simple thing.  I fancy you are still a few
points ahead," said Raven, taking his hand in a strong grip.
"After all, it was Night Hawk did it."

"You saved--my sister's life," continued Cameron, still struggling
for breath.

"Perhaps, perhaps, but I don't forget," and here Raven leaned over
his saddle and spoke in a lower voice, "I don't forget the day you
saved mine, my boy."

"Come," said Cameron, "let me present you to my sister."

Instantly Raven swung himself from his horse.

"Stand, Night Hawk!" he commanded, and the horse stood like a
soldier on guard.

"Moira," said Cameron, still panting hard, "this is--my friend--Mr.
Raven."

Raven stood bowing before her with his hat in his hand, but the
girl leaned far down from her seat with both hands outstretched.

"I thank you, Mr. Raven," she said in a quiet voice, but her brown
eyes were shining like stars in her white face.  "You are a
wonderful rider."

"I could not have done it, Miss Cameron," said Raven, a wonderfully
sweet smile lighting up his hard face, "I could not have done it
had you ever lost your nerve."

"I had no fear after I saw your face," said the girl simply.  "I
knew you could do it."

"Ah, and how did you know that?"  His gray-brown eyes searched her
face more keenly.

"I cannot tell.  I just knew."

"Let me introduce my friend, Dr. Martin," said Cameron as the
doctor came up.

"I--too--want to thank you--Mr. Raven," said the doctor, seizing
him with both hands.  "I never can--we never can forget it--or
repay you."

"Oh," said Raven, with a careless laugh, "what else could I do?
After all it was Night Hawk did the trick."  He lifted his hat
again to Moira, bowed with a beautiful grace, threw himself on his
horse and stood till the two men, after carefully examining the
harness and securing the reins, had climbed to their places on the
wagon seat.

Then he trotted on before toward the Stopping Place, where the
minister's wife and indeed the whole company of villagers awaited
them.

"Oh, isn't he wonderful!" cried Moira, with her eyes upon the rider
in front of them.  "And he did it so easily."  But the men sat
silent.  "Who is he, Allan?  You know him."

"Yes--he is--he is a chap I met when I was on the Force."

"A Policeman?"

"No, no," replied her brother hastily.

"What then?  Does he live here?"

"He lives somewhere south.  Don't know exactly where he lives."

"What is he?  A rancher?"

"A rancher?  Ah--yes, yes, he is a rancher I fancy.  Don't know
very well.  That is--I have seen little of him--in fact--only a
couple of times--or so."

"He seems to know you, Allan," said his sister a little
reproachfully.  "Anyway," she continued with a deep breath, "he is
just splendid."  Dr. Martin glanced at her face glowing with
enthusiasm and was shamefully conscious of a jealous pang at his
heart.  "He is just splendid," continued Moira, with growing
enthusiasm, "and I mean to know more of him."

"What?" said her brother sharply, as if waking from a dream.
"Nonsense, Moira!  You do not know what you are talking about.
You must not speak like that."

"And why, pray?" asked his sister in surprise.

"Oh, never mind just now, Moira.  In this country we don't take up
with strangers."

"Strangers?" echoed the girl, pain mingling with her surprise.
"And yet he saved my life!"

"Yes, thank God, he saved your life," cried her brother, "and we
shall never cease to be grateful to him, but--but--oh, drop it just
now please, Moira.  You don't know and--here we are.  How white
Mandy is.  What a terrible experience for us all!"

"Terrible indeed," echoed the doctor.

"Terrible?" said Moira.  "It might have been worse."

To this neither made reply, but there came a day when both doubted
such a possibility.



CHAPTER XI

SMITH'S WORK


The short September day was nearly gone.  The sun still rode above
the great peaks that outlined the western horizon.  Already the
shadows were beginning to creep up the eastern slope of the hills
that clambered till they reached the bases of the great mountains.
A purple haze hung over mountain, hill and rolling plain, softening
the sharp outlines that ordinarily defined the features of the
foothill landscape.

With the approach of evening the fierce sun heat had ceased and a
fresh cooling western breeze from the mountain passes brought
welcome refreshment alike to the travelers and their beasts,
wearied with their three days' drive.

"That is the last hill, Moira," cried her sister-in-law, pointing
to a long slope before them.  "The very last, I promise you.  From
the top we can see our home.  Our home, alas, I had forgotten!
There is no home there, only a black spot on the prairie."

Her husband grunted savagely and cut sharply at the bronchos.

"But the tent will be fine, Mandy.  I just long for the experience,"
said Moira.

"Yes, but just think of all my pretty things, and some of Allan's
too, all gone."

"Were the pipes burned, Allan?" cried Moira with a sudden anxiety.

"Were they, Mandy?  I never thought," said Cameron.

"The pipes?  Let me see.  No--no--you remember, Allan, young--
what's his name?--that young Highlander at the Fort wanted them."

"Sure enough--Macgregor," said her husband in a tone of immense
relief.

"Yes, young Mr. Macgregor."

"My, but that is fine, Allan," said his sister.  "I should have
grieved if we could not hear the pipes again among these hills.
Oh, it is all so bonny; just look at the big Bens yonder."

It was, as she said, all bonny.  Far toward their left the low
hills rolled in soft swelling waves toward the level prairie, and
far away to the right the hills climbed by sharper ascents, flecked
here and there with dark patches of fir, and broken with jutting
ledges of gray limestone, climbed till they reached the great
Rockies, majestic in their massive serried ranges that pierced the
western sky.  And all that lay between, the hills, the hollows, the
rolling prairie, was bathed in a multitudinous riot of color that
made a scene of loveliness beyond power of speech to describe.

"Oh, Allan, Allan," cried his sister, "I never thought to see
anything as lovely as the Cuagh Oir, but this is up to it I do
believe."

"It must indeed be lovely, then," said her brother with a smile,
"if you can say that.  And I am glad you like it.  I was afraid
that you might not."

"Here we are, just at the top," cried Mandy.  "In a minute beyond
the shoulder there we shall see the Big Horn Valley and the place
where our home used to be.  There, wait Allan."

The ponies came to a stand.  Exclamations of amazement burst from
Cameron and his wife.

"Why, Allan?  What?  Is this the trail?"

"It is the trail all right," said her husband in a low voice, "but
what in thunder does this mean?"

"It is a house, Allan, a new house."

"It looks like it--but--"

"And there are people all about!"

For some breathless moments they gazed upon the scene.  A wide
valley, flanked by hills and threaded by a gleaming river, lay
before them and in a bend of the river against the gold and yellow
of a poplar bluff stood a log house of comfortable size gleaming in
all its newness fresh from the ax and saw.

"What does it all mean, Allan?" inquired his wife.

"Blest if I know!"

"Look at the people.  I know now, Allan.  It's a 'raising bee.'  A
raising bee!" she cried with growing enthusiasm.  "You remember
them in Ontario.  It's a bee, sure enough.  Oh, hurry, let's go!"

The bronchos seemed to catch her excitement, their weariness
disappeared, and, pulling hard on the bit, they tore down the
winding trail as if at the beginning rather than at the end of
their hundred and fifty mile drive.

"What a size!" cried Mandy.

"And a cook house, too!"

"And a verandah!"

"And a shingled roof!"

"And all the people!  Where in the world can they have come from?"

"There's the Inspector, anyway," said Cameron.  "He is at the
bottom of this, I'll bet you."

"And Mr. Cochrane!  And that young Englishman, Mr. Newsome!"

"And old Thatcher!"

"And Mrs. Cochrane, and Mr. Dent, and, oh, there's my friend Smith!
You remember he helped me put out the fire."

Soon they were at the gate of the corral where a group of men and
women stood awaiting them.  Inspector Dickson was first:

"Hello, Cameron!  Got back, eh?  Welcome home, Mrs. Cameron," he
said as he helped her to alight.

Smith stood at the bronchos' heads.

"Now, Inspector," said Cameron, holding him by hand and collar,
"now what does this business mean?"

"Mean?" cried the Inspector with a laugh.  "Means just what you
see.  But won't you introduce us all?"

After all had been presented to his sister Cameron pursued his
question.  "What does it mean, Inspector?"

"Mean?  Ask Cochrane."

"Mr. Cochrane, tell me," cried Mandy, "who began this?"

"Ask Mr. Thatcher there," replied Mr. Cochrane.

"Who is responsible for this, Mr. Thatcher?" cried Mandy.

"Don't rightly know how the thing started.  First thing I knowed
they was all at it."

"See here, Thatcher, you might as well own up.  I am going to know
anyway.  Where did the logs come from, for instance?" said Cameron
in a determined voice.

"Logs?  Guess Bracken knows," replied Cochrane, turning to a tall,
lanky rancher who was standing at a little distance.

"Bracken," cried Cameron, striding to him with hand outstretched,
"what about the logs for the house?  Where did they come from?"

"Well, I dunno.  Smith was sayin' somethin' about a bee and gettin'
green logs."

"Smith?" cried Cameron, glancing at that individual now busy
unhitching the bronchos.

"And of course," continued Bracken, "green logs ain't any use for a
real good house, so--and then--well, I happened to have a bunch of
logs up the Big Horn.  I guess the boys floated 'em down."

"Come away, Mrs. Cameron, and inspect your house," cried a stout,
red-faced matron.  "I said they ought to await your coming to get
your plans, but Mr. Smith said he knew a little about building and
that they might as well go on with it.  It was getting late in the
season, and so they went at it.  Come away, we're having a great
time over it.  Indeed, I think we've enjoyed it more than ever you
will."

"But you haven't told us yet who started it," cried Mandy.

"Where did you get the lumber?" said Cameron.

"Well, the lumber," replied Cochrane, "came from the Fort, I guess.
Didn't it, Inspector?"

"Yes," replied the Inspector.  "We had no immediate use for it, and
Smith told us just how much it would take."

"Smith?" said Cameron again.  "Hello, Smith!"  But Smith was
already leading the bronchos away to the stable.

"Yes," continued the Inspector, "and Smith was wondering how a
notice could be sent up to the Spruce Creek boys and to Loon Lake,
so I sent a man with the word and they brought down the lumber
without any trouble.  But," continued the Inspector, "come along,
Cameron, let us follow the ladies."

"But this is growing more and more mysterious," protested Cameron.
"Can no one tell me how the thing originated?  The sash and doors
now, where did they come from?"

"Oh, that's easy," said Cochrane.  "I was at the Post Office, and,
hearin' Smith talkin' 'bout this raisin' bee and how they were
stuck for sash and door, so seein' I wasn't goin' to build this
fall I told him he might as well have the use of these.  My team
was laid up and Smith got Jim Bracken to haul 'em down."

"Well, this gets me," said Cameron.  "It appears no one started
this thing.  Everything just happened.  Now the shingles, I suppose
they just tumbled up into their place there."

"The shingles?" said Cochrane.  "I dunno 'bout them.  Didn't know
there were any in the country."

"Oh, they just got up into place there of themselves I have no
doubt," said Cameron.

"The shingles?  Ah, bay Jove!  Rawthah!  Funny thing, don't-che-
naow," chimed in a young fellow attired in rather emphasized cow-
boy style, "funny thing!  A Johnnie--quite a strangah to me, don't-
che-naow, was riding pawst my place lawst week and mentioned about
this--ah--raisin' bee he called it I think, and in fact abaout the
blawsted Indian, and the fire, don't-che-naow, and all the rest of
it, and how the chaps were all chipping in as he said, logs and
lumbah and so fowth.  And then, bay Jove, he happened to mention
that they were rathah stumped for shingles, don't-che-naow, and,
funny thing, there chawnced to be behind my stable a few bunches,
and I was awfully glad to tu'n them ovah, and this--eh--pehson--
most extraordinary chap I assuah you--got 'em down somehow."

"Who was it inquired?" asked Cameron.

"Don't naow him in the least.  But it's the chap that seems to be
bossing the job."

"Oh, that's Smith," said Cochrane.

"Smith!" said Cameron, in great surprise.  "I don't even know the
man.  He was good enough to help my wife to beat back the fire.  I
don't believe I even spoke to him.  Who is he anyway?"

"Oh, he's Thatcher's man."

"Yes, but--"

"Come away, Mr. Cameron," cried Mrs. Cochrane from the door of the
new house.  "Come away in and look at the result of our bee."

"This beats me," said Cameron, obeying the invitation, "but, say,
Dickson, it is mighty good of all these men.  I have no claim--"

"Claim?" said Mr. Cochrane.  "It might have been any of us.  We
must stand together in this country, and especially these days, eh,
Inspector?  Things are gettin' serious."

The Inspector nodded his head gravely.

"Yes," he said.  "But, Mr. Cochrane," he added in a low voice, "it
is very necessary that as little as possible should be said about
these things just now.  No occasion for any excitement or fuss.
The quieter things are kept the better."

"All right, Inspector, I understand, but--"

"What do you think of your new house, Mr. Cameron?" cried Mrs.
Cochrane.  "Come in.  Now what do you think of this for three days'
work?"

"Oh, Allan, I have been all through it and it's perfectly wonderful,"
said his wife.

"Oh nothing very wonderful, Mrs. Cameron," said Cochrane, "but it
will do for a while."

"Perfectly wonderful in its whole plan, and beautifully complete,"
insisted Mandy.  "See, a living-room, a lovely large one, two
bedrooms off it, and, look here, cupboards and closets, and a
pantry, and--" here she opened the door in the corner--"a perfectly
lovely up-stairs!  Not to speak of the cook-house out at the back."

"Wonderful is the word," said Cameron, "for why in all the world
should these people--?"

"And look, Allan, at Moira!  She's just lost in rapture over that
fireplace."

"And I don't wonder," said her husband.  "It is really fine.  Whose
idea was it?" he continued, moving toward Moira's side, who was
standing before a large fireplace of beautiful masonry set in
between the two doors that led to the bedrooms at the far end of
the living-room.

"It was Andy Hepburn from Loon Lake that built it," said Mr.
Cochrane.

"I wish I could thank him," said Moira fervently.

"Well, there he is outside the window, Miss Moira," said a young

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