“How do you do, Conniston?” Mr. Crawford took his hand warmly, the fine lines of his stern old face softening genially.  “I was mighty glad when Argyl told me that she had asked you over.  Sit down, sit down.  Have something to smoke.  Tell us about yourself, and how”—­the deep-set eyes twinkling—­“you like the work?”

Conniston saw that Argyl had seated herself and dropped into one of the big chairs himself, his whole body enjoying the luxury of it.  At his elbow was a little table with cigars and cigarettes.  Mr. Crawford laughed when he saw that Conniston, having glanced at the table, drew out his own cheap muslin bag of tobacco and rough, brown papers.

“I’m getting used to them,” Greek apologized.  “And do you know that I’m beginning to like to roll my own ’cigareet’?”

Argyl clapped her hands, laughing with her father.

“I told you so, daddy!” she cried, merrily.  “Didn’t I say that Mr. Conniston was born to be a good cow-puncher!”

“And I’m half persuaded that you are right, Argyl,” came from behind the dense cloud of cigar-smoke.  “But you haven’t told us how you like the work, Conniston.”

“If you had asked me a week ago I should have had to ask to be excused from trying to tell you in the presence of ladies.  I would have quit if I hadn’t been too much of a coward.  But now—­”

“Now?” asked Argyl, quickly.

And it was to her that he made his answer, not to her father.

“Now I like it.  And I am going to stick—­unless I get fired for incompetency!”

“I like that,” said Mr. Crawford, slowly.  “Yes, I like that.  I was afraid that it was rather too much for you.  It’s hard work, Conniston, and long hours and little pay.  But Brayley tells me that you have the makings of a rattling good cow-hand.”

“Thank you, sir.  It was very decent of Brayley.”

“I ought not to mix business into a social call, I know, but I want to tell you personally that I am very much pleased with the way you are tucking in.  You asked if any one needed a good man the day you came.  We all do.  I do.  Why, I always want more of them than I can find.  A young man like you, with your advantages, your education—­there are all kinds of opportunities.  Yes, right with me.  The West is the place for young men—­provided simply that they are men!  That’s as true to-day as it was in forty-nine.  And truer.  Opportunities are greater, the need of men is more urgent.  Right now, right to-day, I am looking for a man, a young man, who knows a thing or two about engineering, who can build bridges and cut irrigation ditches and save me money doing it.”  He threw out his hands.  “And I can’t get him!”

“Will you tell me about the position?” asked Conniston, with keen interest in voice and eyes alike.

“Certainly.  I am running four cattle-ranges, using close to eighty thousand acres doing it, too.  That, of course, you know.  But that is getting to be a side issue with me.  I am doing something else which is going to be a thousand times bigger—­ten thousand times more worth while.  Have you been to Crawfordsville?”