"But very unjust," she protested.

"Our sense of justice is due to our education," he continued. "If we are taught to believe that a certain thing is just, we believe it is just.

I am convinced that there is no sense of justice inherent in humanity; whatever sense we have is the result of education, and the kind of justice we believe in is the kind of justice to which we are educated.

For example, the justice of the plains is not the justice of the cities; the justice of the vigilance committee is not the justice of judge and jury. Now to get back to our subject. When Baron Battle Ax, back in the fifth or sixth century, knocked all his rivals on the head and took their wealth away from them, I suppose there was here and there an advanced thinker who said the thing was unjust, but I am quite sure the great majority of people said things had always been that way and always would be that way. But the little minority of thinkers gradually grew in strength. The Truth was with them. It is worthy of notice that the advance guard of Truth always travels with minorities. And the day came that society organized itself to say that the man who uses physical force to take wealth from another is an enemy of society and must not be allowed at large.

"But we have pa.s.sed largely out of the era of physical force. To-day, an engineer presses a b.u.t.ton and releases more physical force than could be commanded by all the armies of Rome. Brain power is to-day the dominant power. And just as physical force was once used to take wealth without earning it, so is brain force now used to take wealth without earning it. And just as the ma.s.ses in the days of Battle Ax said things had always been that way and always would be that way, just so do the ma.s.ses in these days of brain supremacy say things have always been that way and always will be that way. But just as there was a minority with an advanced vision of Truth in those days, so is there a minority with an advanced vision of Truth in these days. You may be absolutely sure that, just as society found a way to deal with muscle brigands, so also it will find a way to deal with brain brigands. I confess I don't see how the details are to be worked out, but there must be a plan under which the value of the services rendered to society by every man and every woman will be determined, and they will be rewarded according to the services rendered."

"Is that Socialism?" she ventured.

"I don't know. I don't think so. Certainly it does not contemplate an equal distribution of the world's wealth. Some men are a menace to themselves and society when they have a hundred dollars. Others can be trusted with a hundred million. All men have not been equally gifted by nature--we know that. We can't make them equal. But surely we can prevent the gifted ones from preying upon those who are not gifted. That is what the coming reorganization of society will aim to do."

"It is very interesting," she said. "And very deep. I have never heard it discussed before. Why don't people think about these things more?"

"I don't know," he answered, "but I suppose it is because they are too busy in the fight. When a self was dodging Battle Ax he hadn't much time to think about evolving a Magna Charta. But most of all I suppose it is just natural laziness. People refuse to think. It calls for effort. Most people would find it easier to pitch a load of hay than to think of a new thought."

The moon was now well up; the smoke clouds had been scattered by the breeze; the sky was studded with diamonds. Zen had a feeling of being very happy. True, a certain haunting spectre at times would break into her consciousness, but in the companionship of such a man as Grant she could easily beat it off. She studied the face in the moon, and invited her soul. She was living through a new experience--an experience she could not understand. In spite of the discomfort of her injuries, in spite of the events of the day, she was very, very happy....

If only that horrid memory of Drazk would not keep tormenting her! She began to have some glimpse of what remorse must mean. She did not blame herself; she could not have done otherwise; and yet--it was horrible to think about, and it would not stay away. She felt a tremendous desire to tell Grant all about it.... She wondered how much he knew. He must have discovered that her clothing had been wet.

She shivered slightly.

"You're cold," he said, as he placed his arm about her, and there was something very far removed from political economy in the timbre of his voice.

"I'm a little chilly," she admitted. "I had to swim my horse across the river to-day--he got into a deep spot--and I got wet." She congratulated herself that she had made a very clever explanation.

He put his coat about her shoulders and drew it tight. Then he sat beside her in silence. There were many things he could have said, but this seemed to be neither the time nor the place. Grant was not Transley. He had for this girl a delicate consideration which Transley's nature could never know. Grant was a thinker--Transley a doer. Grant knew that the charm which enveloped him in this girl's presence was the perfectly natural product of a set of conditions. He was worldly-wise enough to suspect that Zen also felt that charm. It was as natural as the bursting of a seed in moist soil; as natural as the unfolding of a rose in warm air....

Presently he felt her head rest against his shoulder. He looked down upon her in awed delight. Her eyes had closed; her lips were smiling faintly; her figure had relaxed. He could feel her warm breath upon his face. He could have touched her lips with his.

Slowly the moon traced its long arc in the heavens.

CHAPTER VIII

Just as the first flush of dawn mellowed the East Grant heard the pounding of horses' feet and the sound of voices borne across the valley. They rapidly approached; he could tell by the hard pounding of the hoofs that they were on a trail which he took to be the one he had followed before he met Zen. It pa.s.sed possibly a hundred yards to the left. He must in some way make his presence known.

The girl had slept soundly, almost without stirring. Now he must wake her. He shook her gently, and called her name; her eyes opened; he could see them, strange and wondering, in the thin grey light. Then, with a sudden start, she was quite awake.

"I have been sleeping!" she exclaimed, reproachfully. "You let me sleep!"

"No use of two watching the moon," he returned, lightly.

"But you shouldn't have let me sleep," she reprimanded. "Besides, you had to stay awake. You have had no sleep at all!"

There was a sympathy in her voice very pleasant to the ear. But Grant could not continue so delightful an indulgence.

"I had to wake you," he explained. "There are several people riding up the valley; undoubtedly a search party. I must attract their attention."

They listened, and could now hear the hoof-beats close at hand. Grant called; not a loud shout; it seemed little more than his speaking voice, but instantly there was silence, save for the echo of the sound rolling down the valley. Then a voice answered, and Grant gave a word or two of directions. In a minute or two several hors.e.m.e.n loomed up through the vague light.

"Here we are," said Zen, as she distinguished her father. "Gone lame on the off foot and held up for repairs."

Y.D. swung down from his saddle. "Are you all right, Zen?" he cried, as he advanced with outstretched arms. There was an eagerness and a relief in his voice which would have surprised many who knew Y.D. only as a shrewd cattleman.

Zen accepted and returned his embrace, with a word of a.s.surance that she was really nothing the worse. Then she introduced her companion.

"This is Mr. Dennison Grant, foreman of the Landson ranch, Dad."

Grant extended his hand, but Y.D. hesitated. The truce occasioned by the fire did not by any means imply permanent peace. Far from it, with the valley in ruins--

Y.D. was stiffening, but his daughter averted what would in another moment have been an embarra.s.sing situation with a quick remark.

"This is no time, even for explanations," she said, "except that Mr.

Grant saved my life last evening at the risk of his own, and has lost a night's sleep for his pains."

"That was a man's work," said Y.D. It would not have been possible for his lips to have framed a greater compliment. "I'm obliged to you, Grant. You know how it is with us cattlemen; we run mostly to horns and hoofs, but I suppose we have some heart, too, if you can find it."

They shook hands with as much cordiality as the situation permitted, and then Zen introduced Transley and Linder, who were in the party. There were two or three others whom she did not know, but they all shook hands.

"What happened, Zen?" said Transley, with his usual directness. "Give us the whole story."

Then she told them what she knew, from the point where she had met Grant on the fire-encircled hill.

"Two lucky people--two lucky people," was all Transley's comment. Words could not have expressed the jealousy he felt. But Linder was not too shy to place his hand with a friendly pressure upon Grant's shoulder.

"Good work," he said, and with two words sealed a friendship.

Two of the unnamed members of the party volunteered their horses to Zen and Grant, and all hands started back to camp. Y.D. talked almost garrulously; not even himself had known how heavily the hand of Fate had lain on him through the night.

"The haymakin' is all off, Darter," he said. "We will trek back to the Y.D. as soon as you feel fit. The steers will have to take chances next winter."

The girl professed her fitness to make the trip at once, and indeed they did make it that very day. Y.D. pressed Grant to remain for breakfast, and Tompkins, notwithstanding the demoralization of equipment and supplies effected by the fire, again excelled himself. After breakfast the old rancher found occasion for a word with Grant.

"You know how it is, Grant," he said. "There's a couple of things that ain't explained, an' perhaps it's as well all round not to press for opinions. I don't know how the iron stakes got in my meadow, an' you don't know how the fire got in yours. But I give you Y.D.'s word--which goes at par except in a cattle trade--" and Y.D. laughed cordially at his own limitations--"I give you my word that I don't know any more about the fire than you do."

"And I don't know anything more about the stakes than you do," returned Grant.

"Well, then, let it stand at that. But mind," he added, with returning heat, "I'm not committin' myself to anythin' in advance. This gra.s.s'll grow again next year, an' by heavens if I want it I'll cut it! No son of a sheep herder can bluff Y.D!"

Grant did not reply. He had heard enough of Y.D.'s boisterous nature to make some allowances.

"An' mind I mean it," continued Y.D., whose chagrin over being baffled out of a thousand tons of hay overrode, temporarily at least, his appreciation of Grant's services. "Mind, I mean it. No monkey-doodles next season, young man."

Obviously Y.D. was becoming worked up, and it seemed to Grant that the time had come to speak.

"There will be none," he said, quietly. "If you come over the hills to cut the South Y.D. next summer I will personally escort you home again."