“In that case I suppose you’d pray for a west wind, Dad,” Zen suggested, “but the winds in these valleys, even with your prayers to direct them, are none too reliable.”
“Everybody to work on fixing up these machines,” Transley ordered. “Linder, make a list of what repairs are needed and Drazk will ride to town with it at once. Some of them may have to come out from the city by express. Drazk can get the orders in and a team will follow to bring out the repairs.”
In a moment Transley’s men were busy with wrenches and hammers, replacing knives and appraising damages. Even in his anger Y.D. took approving note of the promptness of Transley’s decisions and the zest with which his men carried them into effect.
“A he-man, that fellow, Zen,” he confided to his daughter, “If he’d blowed into this country thirty years ago, like I did, he’d own it by this time plumb to the sky-line.”
When the list of repairs was completed Linder handed it to Drazk.
“Beat it to town on that Pete-horse of yours, George,” he said. “Burn the grass on the road.”
“I bet I’ll be ten miles on the road back when I meet my shadow goin’,” said Drazk, making a spectacular leap into his saddle. “Bye, Y.D!; bye, Zen!” he shouted while he whirled his horse’s head eastward and waved his hand to where they stood. In spite of her annoyance at him she had to smile and return his salute.
“Mr. Drazk is irrepressible,” she remarked to Transley.
“And irresponsible,” the contractor returned. “I sometimes wonder why I keep him. In fact, I don’t really keep him; he just stays. Every spring he hunts me up and fastens on. Still, I get a lot of good service out of him. Praise ‘that Pete-horse,’ and George would ride his head off for you. He has a weakness for wanting to marry every woman he sees, but his infatuations seem harmless enough.”
“I know something of his weakness,” Zen replied. “I have already been honored with a proposal.”