"Dear Vance," she sighed, "a great many people say that I'm a hard woman.
I suppose I am. And I like to look facts squarely in the face. Your
prospects begin with my death, of course."

He had no answer, but bit his lip nervously and wished the ordeal would
come to an end.

"Vance," she went on, "I'm glad to have this talk with you. It's
something you have to know. Of course I'll see that during my life or my
death you'll be provided for. But as for your main prospects, do you know
where they are?"

"Well?"

She was needlessly brutal about it, but as she had told him, her
education had been one of pain.

"Your prospects are down there by the river on the back of Le Sangre."

Vance Cornish gasped.

"I'll show you what I mean, Vance. Come along."

The moment she rose, some of her age fell from her. Her carriage was
erect. Her step was still full of spring and decision, as she led the way
into the house. It was a big, solid, two-story building which the
mightiest wind could not shake. Henry Cornish had merely founded the
house, just as he had founded the ranch; the main portion of the work had
been done by his daughter. And as they passed through, her stern old eye