"Margaret!" came an excited, impatient call from the front room.
"Yes, Father; I'm coming," she answered, turning and entering the house.
"It begins to look like people are getting friendly," he exclaimed, smiles playing on his drawn face. "Perhaps things will change, and we can make the ranch a success!"
"'Luck always turns,'" she smiled.
"Are you getting to believe in luck?" he demanded.
"'I do; when somebody's behind it pushing hard,'" she replied, turning her face away.
"Are you crying my dear?" he exclaimed, but she had left the room.
While events were moving smoothly and swiftly on the SV, a new freight wagon rumbled north over the Highbank-Gunsight trail; and about the time that a circle of tired but happy punchers sat around a roaring fire on the west end of the SV ranch, the great wagon rolled around the corner of the hotel in Gunsight and the weary driver got down stiffly to put up and attend to his four-horse team. After becoming acquainted with George, and eating a hasty supper in the hotel, Jerry Wheatley went around to Dave's to make the acquaintance of that person and whoever else might be in the saloon, and to tell about Wolf Forbes and his trip to Highbank. He found the place quiet, but he left it full of hysterical laughter, wet eyes, sore sides, and some hiccups. And before he had gone to sleep, Dave's patrons were emulating some of the substantial citizens of Highbank in the avidity with which they sought strength from Dave's merchandise. An occasional burst of uproarious laughter brought the freighter back from the shadowy boundaries of sleep and set his bed shaking as he silently joined in. Realizing that Wolf's miseries were going to do more for him in the matter of getting acquainted along the way than a dozen ordinary trips up the trail would accomplish, he smiled contentedly and fell asleep.