She had even remarked that she could not understand how a rancher would ever want to build a board shack if there was any timber to be had.

Well, timber was to be had, and she should have her log house, though the hauling was not going to be any sunshine, in Brit's opinion.

With his axe he walked through the timber, craning upward for straight tree trunks and lightly blazing the ones he would want, the occasional axe strokes sounding distinctly in the quiet air.
Lorraine heard them as she rode old Yellowjacket puffing up the grade, following the wagon marks, and knew that she was nearing the end of her journey,--for which Yellowjacket, she supposed, would be thankful.

She had started not more than an hour later than her father, but the team had trotted along more briskly than her poor old nag would travel, so that she did not overtake her dad as she had hoped.
She was topping the last climb when she saw the team tied to the trees, and at the same moment she caught a glimpse of a man who crawled out from under the load of posts and climbed the slope farther on.

She was on the point of calling out to him, thinking that he was her dad, when he disappeared into the brush.