Y.D. was stiffening, but his daughter averted what would in another moment have been an embarrassing 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.”