"Why didn't you come back?" Hollister asked.
Hayes grinned sheepishly.
"Kinda hated to," he admitted. "Pulled the same old stuff--dry town,
too. Shot the roll. Dang it, I'd ought to had more sense. Well, that's
the way she goes. You want men?"
"Sure I want men," Hollister said. "Look here, if you can rustle five
or six men, I'll make it easier for you all. I'll take up a cook for
the bolt camp. And I won't shut down for anything but snow too deep to
work in."
"You're on. I think I can rustle some men. Try it, anyhow."
Hayes got a crew together in twenty-four hours. Doris attended to her
business, which required the help of her married cousin and a round of
certain shops. Almost the last article they bought was a piano, the
one luxury Doris longed for, a treat they had promised themselves as
soon as the cedar got them out of the financial doldrums.
"I suppose it's extravagance," Doris said, her fingers caressing the
smooth mahogany, feeling the black and ivory of the keyboard, "but
it's one of the few things one doesn't need eyes for.
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