It was so easy to convert her worries into anger at another that she was beginning to hate this brutal-minded Beau Brummel of the ranges.

Besides, she had had bitter experience with these noisy, careless fellows when they worked on her ranch.

Her foreman was such a type grown to middle-age.

Indeed her anger at the whole species called "cowpuncher" now focused to a burning-point on him of the gilded spurs.
The measuring was finished; he stepped back.
"Fifteen one and a quarter," he announced.

"You win, Dad!" Marianne wanted to cheer.
"You win, confound it! And where'll I get the mates of this pair?
You win and I'm the underdog." "A poor loser, too," thought Marianne.