Upon returning to the grove, Ina found several of the cowboys there with tents, lumber, tools, all eager to set to work, and incidentally to make sheep’s–eyes at her. Presently her father and mother arrived and the task of making a comfortable summer camp began.

“Daughter, show us where you want your tent,” he said, “an’ I’ll set these lazy boys to work.”

Ina chose a spot beside the large juniper under which she had slept. By the magic of swift cowboy hands a floor of boards was quickly erected high off the ground, with a skeleton framework over which the tent was stretched. And over this they put up a wide canvas fly that projected out in front, serving as a roof for a porch.

For the present Ina and Dall decided to sleep out in the open, under the spreading juniper, and use their tent for all other purposes. To which end they carried their numerous bags and boxes into the tent, where they proceeded to unpack them. While they were thus engaged two cowboys appeared at the tent door, one with hammer and nails, and the other with a huge pine box into which shelves had been built.

“Wal now, Miss Ina, I reckon you’ll need somethin’ to hang things on,” said one, proceeding to hammer nails into the wooden crossbeam of the framework.

“Heah’s a box I fixed for a washstand,” offered the other cowboy. “It ain’t very good, but I couldn’t find no better. An’ I spotted a big new water pail down by the chuck wagon. I’ll fetch it up full of water, if I don’t happen to run into your dad.”

“Why, what difference would that make?” laughed Ina, looking up.

The cowboy, a fine–faced, square–jawed young fellow, stood bareheaded and respectful, but he was all eyes.

“Wal, he says go slow on the water we fetched from Tule, an’ if we have to wash, to use the lake water heah.”

“But, my gracious! we have to wash—and that muddy water is impossible!” protested Ina.

“Shore. We told him so. But you know your dad. He didn’t say just us cowboys, so he might have meant everybody.”

Ina knew full well that her father was quite capable of including his women folk in an order forbidding the use of water.

“Why in the world did dad buy this place?” she queried, blankly.

“He got it for nothin’, Miss Ina. An’ he has his eye on Forlorn River. We shore tried to persuade him not to come heah, this awful dry time, anyhow. There ain’t any water. It’s all dried up. Diggin’ wells won’t do no good. An’ we’d have talked him into waitin’ till the rains come if it hadn’t been for Mr. Setter. He shore was set on comin’.”

“Well … thank you, boys,” replied Ina, thoughtfully. “Fetch a bucket of water, anyway. I’ll take the responsibility.”

Ina almost yielded to the temptation to ask a pertinent question about Mr. Setter. Upon reflection, however, she felt that the frank cowboy’s tone had intimated a dislike for her father’s partner. At former times she had received impressions as to the regard in which some of the cowboys held Less Setter. The sum of these impressions added weight to her own, and she had an inkling that the next few weeks would be prolific of most interesting developments.