"Not dead, girl; only dormant," Harris said, when she remarked upon this fact. "Like a seed in frozen ground. In the spring it will come to life and sprout. The Three Bar isn't hurt. We're in better shape than ever before and a clear field out in front; for the country is cleaned up and the law is clamped on top."
She honestly tried to rouse a spark of interest deep within her, some ray of enthusiasm for the future of the Three Bar. But there was no response. She assured herself again that the old brand which had meant so much to her meant less than nothing now. That part of her was dead.
The trail of smoke was drawing near and there was a rhythmic clicking along the rails. Harris leaned and kissed her.
"Just once for luck," he said, and slipped from his seat on the truck as the train roared in. It halted with a screech of brakes and he handed her up the steps.
"Good-by, little fellow," he said. "I'll see you next round-up time."
As the train slid away from the station she looked from her window and saw him riding up the single street on the big paint-horse. The train cleared the edge of the little town and passed the cattle chute. A long white line through the sage marked the course of the Coldriver Trail. Three wagons, each drawn by four big mules, moved toward the cluster of buildings which comprised the town, the freighters on their way to haul out materials for the rebuilding of the ranch.
The work was going on but she no longer had a share in it. She was looking ahead and planning a future in which the Three Bar played no part.
Deane was with Judge Colton, her father's old friend, to meet her at the station. The news of the Three Bar fight had preceded her and the press had given it to the world, including her part of it. As they rode toward the Colton home she told the Judge she had come to stay and Deane was content. After the strenuous days she had just passed through she needed a long period of rest, he reflected; but the older man smiled when he suggested this.
"What she needs now is action," he said. "And no rest at all. If it was me I'd try to wear her down instead of resting her up—keep her busy from first to last. Cal Warren's girl isn't the sit-around type."
Deane acted on this and no day passed without his having planned a part of it to help fill her time. Her interest in the new life was genuine and she was conscious of no active regret at parting from the old. It was so different as to seem part of another world. The people she met, their mode of life, their manner of speech; all were foreign to the customs of the range. And this very dissimilarity kept her interest alive until she grew to feel that she belonged.