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 chapter 1
Understanding How Your Computer Works.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 1

chapter 2
Setting Up and Using Your PC.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 15

chapter 3

easy
Using Microsoft Windows 7. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 27

chapter 4
Working with Files and Folders.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 57

chapter 5
Computer Basics Using Microsoft Word.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 75

Windows® 7 Edition
chapter 6
Connecting to the Internet.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 93

chapter 7
Michael Miller Browsing the Web.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 101

chapter 8
Communicating Online.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 127

chapter 9
Setting Up a Wireless Home Network.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 145

chapter 10
Playing Music and Movies. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 161

chapter 11
Working with Digital Photos. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 181

chapter 12
Protecting Your Computer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 203

chapter 13
Taking Care of Your Computer.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 215
Glossary.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 229
Index.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pg. 235

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

ii
Contents

CHAPTER 1 Understanding How Your Computer

Works.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
The Parts of Your Computer System.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
Getting to Know Your Computer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
Connectors. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Memory Card Reader.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6
Keyboard.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Touchpad.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
Hard Disk Drives: Long-Term Storage.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
CD and DVD Drives.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
Sound. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
Video.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
Printers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Scanners.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14

CHAPTER 2 Setting Up and Using Your PC.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15

Typical Desktop PC Connections.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
Setting Up a Desktop PC.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
Setting Up a Notebook PC. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
Powering On.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
Logging On to Windows 7.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22
Shutting Down.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
Running on Batteries.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
Adding New Devices to Your System.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 iii

CHAPTER 3 Using Microsoft Windows 7.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27

Exploring the Windows 7 Desktop.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
Using the Mouse.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
Scrolling a Window.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
Maximizing, Minimizing, and Closing a Window.. . . . . 32
Using Aero Snaps.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
Using the Windows Start Menu.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
Opening a Program. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
Displaying and Peeking at the Desktop. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
Switching Between Programs.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37
Managing the Windows Taskbar. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
Working with Gadgets.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
Managing Drives with Computer Explorer.. . . . . . . . . . . 42
Using Menus.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Using Toolbars and Ribbons.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
Managing Windows with the Control Panel.. . . . . . . . . . 45
Changing Desktop Themes.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
Changing the Color Scheme.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
Using a Screensaver. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
Personalizing the Desktop Background.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
Creating a Desktop Slideshow.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
Setting Up Additional Users.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Downloading Windows Live Applications.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
Getting Help in Windows. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

iv

CHAPTER 4 Working with Files and Folders.. . . . . . . . 57

Windows Explorer.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58
Changing the Way Files Are Displayed.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
Sorting Files and Folders.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60
Navigating Folders.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
Navigating with the Navigation Pane.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62
Creating a New Folder. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
Renaming a File or Folder.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
Copying a File or Folder.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
Moving a File or Folder.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
Deleting a File or Folder.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
Restoring Deleted Files.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
Emptying the Recycle Bin.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
Working with Libraries.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
Creating a New Library. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
Compressing a File.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
Extracting Files from a Compressed Folder.. . . . . . . . . . 74

CHAPTER 5 Using Microsoft Word.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75

The Word 2007 Workspace.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
Navigating Word 2007.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
Creating a New Document. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
Saving a Document.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
Opening an Existing Document.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
Entering Text.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
Cutting/Copying and Pasting Text.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84
Formatting Text.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85
Formatting Paragraphs.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 v

Applying Styles.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
Checking Your Spelling.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
Printing a Document. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92

CHAPTER 6 Connecting to the Internet.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93

How the Internet Works.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
Connecting a Broadband Modem.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
Setting Up a New Home Internet Connection.. . . . . . . 97
Connecting to an Internet WiFi Hotspot.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99

CHAPTER 7 Browsing the Web.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101

Internet Explorer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
Surfing the Web with Internet Explorer.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
Saving Your Favorite Pages. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
Returning to a Favorite Page.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108
Revisiting History.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
page

Searching the Web with Google.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110

Finding News and Other Information Online. . . . . . . . . 111
Shopping for Bargains at Shopping.com.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
Bidding for Items on eBay.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117
Buying Items on craigslist.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
Selling Items on craigslist.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Watching Web Videos on YouTube.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 123
Uploading Your Own YouTube Videos.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 125

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

vi

CHAPTER 8 Communicating Online. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127

Gmail.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128
Setting Up a Gmail Account. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
Reading an Email Message.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131
Replying to an Email Message. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132
Composing a New Email Message. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133
Sending a File via Email.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134
Managing Gmail Messages.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
Adding Gmail Contacts. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
Downloading AOL Instant Messenger. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137
Instant Messaging with AOL Instant Messenger.. . 138
Adding Buddies in AOL Instant Messenger. . . . . . . . . . 139
Micro-Blogging with Twitter.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140
Following Other Twitter Users. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
Setting Up a Facebook Account. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143
Managing Your Facebook Profile Page. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144

CHAPTER 9 Setting Up a Wireless Home

Network. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145
How a Wireless Network Works. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146
Setting Up Your Network’s Main PC.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147
Connecting Additional PCs to Your Wireless
Network. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149
Managing Your Network with the Network and
Sharing Center.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
Enabling Public Folder and Printer Sharing.. . . . . . . . . . 151
Adding a Computer to a HomeGroup.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153
Accessing Other Computers on Your Network. . . . 155
Installing a Network Printer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157
Printing to a Network Printer.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 vii

CHAPTER 10 Playing Music and Movies.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161

Windows Media Player.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162
Playing a CD with Windows Media Player. . . . . . . . . . . . 163
Ripping a CD to Your Hard Disk.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165
Creating a Playlist. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167
Playing a Playlist.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169
Burning a Music CD.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 170
Connecting an iPod to Your PC.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 171
Creating iPod Playlists. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
Downloading Music from the iTunes Store.. . . . . . . . . . . 175
Playing a DVD.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177
Creating a Home Movie DVD. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179

CHAPTER 11 Working with Digital Photos. . . . . . . . . . . . . 181

Windows Photo Gallery.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182
Transferring Pictures from a Digital Camera.. . . . . . . 183
Transferring Pictures from a Memory Card. . . . . . . . . 185
Scanning a Picture.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189
Viewing Photos with Windows Live Photo
Gallery. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193
Cropping a Photo. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195
Removing Red Eye.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196
Adjusting Brightness and Contrast.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 197
Adjusting Color and Hue. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
Printing a Photo. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 199
Ordering Prints Online.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

viii

CHAPTER 12 Protecting Your Computer.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203

How a Firewall Works. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204
Defending Against Computer Attacks with
Windows Firewall. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205
Removing Spyware with Windows Defender.. . . . . . 207
Protecting Against Computer Viruses.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209
Protecting Against Phishing Scams. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210
Reducing Email Spam. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 211
Configuring User Account Control.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213

CHAPTER 13 Taking Care of Your Computer.. . . . . . . . 215

Windows Action Center.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216
Backing Up Important Files.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
Restoring Your Computer After a Crash.. . . . . . . . . . . . . 219
Deleting Unnecessary Files.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221
Deleting Unused Programs.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 222
Defragmenting Your Hard Disk. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223
Checking Your Hard Disk for Errors.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225
Managing Your Notebook’s Mobility Settings.. . . . . . 227
Keeping Your Computer in Tip-Top Shape.. . . . . . . . . . . 228

Glossary.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229

IndeX. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

Easy Computer Basics, Windows® 7 Associate Publisher
Edition Greg Wiegand
Copyright © 2010 by Pearson Education, Inc.
Acquisitions Editor
All rights reserved. No part of this book shall be reproduced, stored in a retrieval sys- Michelle Newcomb
tem, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. No patent liability is assumed Development Editor
with respect to the use of the information contained herein. Although every precaution Charlotte Kughen
has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher and author assume no
responsibility for errors or omissions. Nor is any liability assumed for damages resulting Managing Editor
from the use of the information contained herein. Patrick Kanouse

ISBN-13: 978-0-7897-4227-8 Project Editor

ISBN-10: 0-7897-4227-6 Mandie Frank
U.K. ISBN-13: 978-0-7897-4232-2 Copy Editor
U.K. ISBN-10: 0-7897-4232-2 Karen Gill
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Indexer
Miller, Michael, 1958-
Heather McNeill
Easy computer basics : Windows 7 edition / Michael Miller.
p. cm. Proofreader
Includes index. Water Crest Publishing
ISBN 978-0-7897-4227-8
1. Microsoft Windows (Computer file) 2. Microcomputers. I. Title. Technical Editor
QA76.5M5314135 2009 Vince Averello
004.165--dc22
2009023684 Publishing Coordinator
Cindy Teeters
Printed in the United States of America
Designer
First Printing: September 2009
Anne Jones

Trademarks Compositor
Bronkella Publishing
All terms mentioned in this book that are known to be trademarks or service marks
have been appropriately capitalized. Que Publishing cannot attest to the accuracy of
this information. Use of a term in this book should not be regarded as affecting the
validity of any trademark or service mark.

Warning and Disclaimer

Every effort has been made to make this book as complete and as accurate as pos-
sible, but no warranty or fitness is implied. The information provided is on an “as is”
basis. The author and the publisher shall have neither liability nor responsibility to
any person or entity with respect to any loss or damages arising from the information
contained in this book.

Bulk Sales
Que Publishing offers excellent discounts on this book when ordered in quantity for
bulk purchases or special sales. For more information, please contact
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From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 xx

About the Author We Want to Hear from

Michael Miller is a successful and prolific author You!
with a reputation for practical advice, technical ac- As the reader of this book, you are our most impor-
curacy, and an unerring empathy for the needs of his tant critic and commentator. We value your opinion
readers. and want to know what we’re doing right, what we
Mr. Miller has written more than 90 best-selling could do better, what areas you’d like to see us pub-
books over the past two decades. His books for lish in, and any other words of wisdom you’re willing
Que include Absolute Beginner’s Guide to Com- to pass our way.
puter Basics, Absolute Beginner’s Guide to eBay, As an associate publisher for Que Publishing, I
How Microsoft Windows Vista Works, Speed It Up: welcome your comments. You can email or write me
A Non-Technical Guide to Speeding Up Slow Com- directly to let me know what you did or didn’t like
puters, Your First Notebook PC, and Googlepedia: about this book—as well as what we can do to make
The Ultimate Google Resource. He is known for his our books better.
casual, easy-to-read writing style and his practical,
real-world advice—as well as his ability to explain a Please note that I cannot help you with technical
variety of complex topics to an everyday audience. problems related to the topic of this book. We do
have a User Services group, however, where I will
You can email Mr. Miller directly at easycomputer@ forward specific technical questions related to the
molehillgroup.com. His website is located at www. book.
molehillgroup.com.
When you write, please be sure to include this
Dedication book’s title and author as well as your name, email
address, and phone number. I will carefully review
To Sherry—life together is easier. your comments and share them with the author and
editors who worked on the book.
Acknowledgments
Email: [email protected]
Thanks to the usual suspects at Que, including but
not limited to Greg Wiegand, Michelle Newcomb, Mail: Greg Wiegand
Charlotte Kughen, Mandie Frank, Karen Gill, and Associate Publisher
technical editor Vince Averello. Que Publishing
800 East 96th Street
Indianapolis, IN 46240 USA

Reader Services
Visit our website and register this book at www.
informit.com/title/9780789742278 for conve-
nient access to any updates, downloads, or er-
rata that might be available for this book.

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 xi

It’s as Easy as 1-2-3

Each part of this book is made up of a series of
short, instructional lessons, designed to help you
understand basic information.
Each step is fully illustrated to show you how
it looks on screen.
Each task includes a series of quick, easy steps
designed to guide you through the procedure.
Items that you select or click in menus, dialog
boxes, tabs, and windows are shown in bold.
Tips, notes, and cautions give you a heads-up for
any extra information you may need while working
through the task.

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 xii

Introduction to Easy Chapter 2, “Setting Up and Using Your PC,” shows

you how to connect all the pieces and parts of a
Computer Basics, typical PC and get your new computer system up
Windows 7 Edition and running.

Computers don’t have to be scary or difficult. Com- Chapter 3, “Using Microsoft Windows 7,” introduces
puters can be easy—if you know what to do. the backbone of your entire system—the Microsoft
Windows 7 operating system—including how it works
That’s where this book comes in. Easy Computer Ba-
and how to use it.
sics, Windows 7 Edition is an illustrated, step-by-step
guide to setting up and using your new computer. Chapter 4, “Working with Files and Folders,” shows
You’ll learn how computers work, how to connect all you how to manage all the computer files you
the pieces and parts, and how to start using them. create—by moving, copying, renaming, and deleting
All you have to do is look at the pictures and follow them.
the instructions. Pretty easy. Chapter 5, “Using Microsoft Word,” shows you how
After you learn the basics, I’ll show you how to do to use Microsoft’s popular word processor to create
lots of useful stuff with your new PC. You’ll learn letters and other documents.
how to use Microsoft Windows to copy and delete Chapter 6, “Connecting to the Internet,” is all about
files; use Microsoft Word to write letters and how to get online—both at home and on the road, via
memos; use Gmail to send and receive email mes- Wi-Fi hotspots.
sages; and use Internet Explorer to search for infor-
mation on the Internet. We’ll even cover some fun Chapter 7, “Browsing the Web,” shows you what to
stuff, including listening to music, working with digital do when you get online. You’ll learn how to use Inter-
photographs, and using Facebook and Twitter. net Explorer to surf the Web, search for information,
shop for items online, and view and upload YouTube
If you’re worried about how to keep your PC up and videos.
running, we’ll cover some basic system maintenance,
too. And, just to be safe, I’ll show you how to protect Chapter 8, “Communicating Online,” is all about
your computer when you’re online—against viruses, using the Internet to talk to other users. You’ll learn
spam, spyware, and computer attacks. It’s not hard about email, instant messaging, Twitter, and Face-
to do. book.

To help you find the information you need, I’ve orga- Chapter 9, “Setting Up a Wireless Home Network,”
nized Easy Computer Basics, Windows 7 Edition into helps you connect all the computers in your house
13 chapters. to a wireless network and share a broadband Inter-
net connection.
Chapter 1, “Understanding How Your Computer
Works,” describes all the pieces and parts of a typi- Chapter 10, “Playing Music and Movies,” shows you
cal notebook or desktop computer system. Read this how to download and play digital music files, listen
section to find out all about hard drives, keyboards, to CDs on your PC, burn your own audio CDs, copy
speakers, and the like. songs from your PC to your Apple iPod, and watch
DVDs on your computer screen.

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 xiii

Chapter 11, “Working with Digital Photos,” helps you

connect a digital camera to your PC and edit your
digital photos using the Windows Photo Gallery
program.
Chapter 12, “Protecting Your Computer,” is all about
stopping spam, viruses, spyware, phishing scams, and
the like.
Chapter 13, “Taking Care of Your Computer,” shows
you how to keep your PC running smoothly, back
up your important data, and recover from serious
crashes.
And that’s not all. At the back of the book, you’ll
find a glossary of common computer terms—so you
can understand what all the techie types are talking
about!
So, is using a computer really this easy? You bet—just
follow the simple step-by-step instructions, and you’ll
be computing like a pro!

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

This page intentionally left blank

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

Chapter 1

Understanding How Your

Computer Works
Chances are you're reading this book because you have a new computer. At
this point, you might not be totally sure what it is you've gotten yourself into.
Just what is this mess of boxes and cables—how does it all go together, and how
does it work?
We'll start by looking at the physical components of your system—the stuff we
call computer hardware. A lot of different pieces and parts make up a typical
computer system. You should note, however, that no two computer systems
are identical because you can always add new components to your system—or
disconnect other pieces you don't have any use for. And notebook computers
are a bit different from desktop models, even though they do the same thing;
the parts are just assembled a little differently.

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 The Parts of Your Computer System
System unit (CPU) Monitor

Keyboard Mouse

Speakers

Screen

Keyboard

Touchpad

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 3

Getting to Know Your Computer

Most new computers today are notebook models. A notebook or laptop PC differs from a
desktop PC in that all the pieces and parts are combined into a single unit that you can take
with you virtually anywhere. And since all components are built-in, you don’t have to worry
about making sure everything is connected!

Start Modem (telephone)

connector

Continued

End

Start
USB ports CD-ROM/ Power cable
DVD drive connection
Continued

End

NOTE NOTE
Connecting Ports Because not all components External Peripherals Even though a notebook
you plug into your system have the same type of PC has the keyboard, mouse, and monitor built-in,
connectors, you end up with an assortment of differ- you can still connect external keyboards, mice, and
ent jacks—called ports in the computer world. n monitors to the unit. This is convenient if you want
to use a bigger keyboard or monitor or a real mouse
(instead of the notebook’s track pad). n

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 4

Start Ethernet networking port

Continued
ontinued

End
nd

Start
VGA port (for external USB ports
video monitor)
Continued

End

NOTE NOTE
Desktops and Laptops Most desktop computers Desktop Front and Back On a desktop PC, most
differ from notebook units in that all the compo- of the primary components connect to ports on the
nents are separate. The primary component of a back of the system unit. The front of the system unit
desktop PC is the system unit, and to it you connect is where you insert CDs, DVDs, and other types of
your PC’s external monitor, keyboard, mouse, and storage media. n
speakers. (So-called “all in one” desktops have the
monitor, system unit, and speakers in a single unit,
however.) n

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 5
Connectors
Every component you plug into your computer has its own connector, and not all connec-
tors are the same. This results in an assortment of jacks—called ports in the computer world.
The USB port is probably the most common, used to connect all sorts of external peripher-
als, including printers, keyboards, mice, and disk drives.

Start
Continued

End USB Firewire

Ethernet

VGA DVI

Start
Continued

End

NOTE
Portable Devices Most portable devices that you
connect to your computer, such as iPods and digital
cameras, connect via USB. n

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 6
Memory Card Reader
Most computers today include a set of memory card readers, typically grouped on the front
or side of the unit. Memory cards store photos and movies recorded on digital cameras and
camcorders. To read the contents of a memory card, simply insert the card into the proper
slot of the memory card reader.

Start
SmartMedia/xD-Picture Card SD/SDHC card

Continued
ontinued

End
nd

CompactFlash Memory Stick/PRO Duo

Start
Continued

End

NOTE
Memory Card Formats Different portable devices
use different types of memory cards—which is why
your computer has so many memory card slots. The
most popular memory cards today are the Secure
Digital (SD), Secure Digital High Capacity (SDHC),
CompactFlash (CF), Memory Stick, and xD-Picture
Card formats. n

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 7
Keyboard
A computer keyboard looks and functions just like a typewriter keyboard, except that com-
puter keyboards have a few more keys (for navigation and special program functions). When
you press a key on your keyboard, it sends an electronic signal to your system unit that tells
your machine what you want it to do.

Start
Function keys
Continued

End
Alpha/
numeric keys

Control key Windows key Menu key Arrow keys

Start
Continued

End

TIP TIP
Numeric Keypad Because of the small form factor, Wireless Keyboards If you want to cut the cord,
notebook PC keyboards typically lack the separate consider a wireless keyboard or mouse. These wire-
numeric keypad found on desktop PC keyboards. If less devices operate via radio frequency signals and
you need a numeric keypad with your notebook PC, let you work several feet away from your computer,
you can connect an external keyboard—with built-in with no cables necessary. n
keypad—to your computer. n

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 8
Touchpad
On a desktop PC, you control your computer’s onscreen pointer (called a cursor) with an
external device called a mouse. On a notebook PC, you use a small touchpad instead. Move
your finger around the touchpad to move the cursor, and then click the left and right but-
tons below the touchpad to initiate actions in your program.

Touchpad

Start
Continued
ontinued

End
nd

Start
Left button Right button
Continued

End

TIP TIP
External Mice If you’d rather use a mouse than a Mouse Options Most external mice offer more
touchpad, you can connect any external mouse to control options than built-in touchpads. For
your notebook PC via the USB port. Some manufac- example, some mice include a scrollwheel you can
turers sell so-called notebook mice that are smaller use to quickly scroll through a web page or word
and more portable than normal models. n processing document. n

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 9
Hard Disk Drives: Long-Term Storage
The hard disk drive inside your computer stores all your important data—up to 1 terabyte
(TB) or more, depending on your computer. A hard disk consists of metallic platters that
store data magnetically. Special read/write heads realign magnetic particles on the platters,
much like a recording head records data onto magnetic recording tape.

Start
Continued

End

Hard disk light

Start
Continued

End

TIP
Formatting the Drive Before data can be
stored on a hard disk, the disk must first be
formatted. When you format a hard disk, your
computer prepares each track and sector of the
disk to accept and store data magnetically. (Most
new hard disks, such as the one in your new PC,
come preformatted.) n

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

 10
CD and DVD Drives
Computer or data CDs and DVDs look just like the compact discs and movie DVDs you
play on your home audio/video system. Data is encoded in microscopic pits below the disc’s
surface and is read from the disc via a drive that uses a consumer-grade laser. The laser
beam follows the tracks of the disc and reads the pits, translating the data into a form your
computer can understand.

Start
Continued
ontinued

End
nd

Disc tray
Start
Continued

End

NOTE NOTE
DVD Versus CD Most new PCs come with com- Music and Movies A computer CD drive can
bination CD/DVD drives that can read and write play back both data and commercial music CDs. A
both CDs and DVDs. The advantage of a data DVD computer DVD drive can play back both data and
over a data CD is that a DVD disc can hold much commercial movie DVDs. n
more data—4.7 gigabytes (GB) on a DVD versus 700
megabytes (MB) for a typical CD. n

From the Library of Gayle M. Noll

Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
manager realized that he would need to find other cattle to take on
the shares in order to fill up, and he was glad to receive a
proposition from Colonel Lee Marchbanks of Encinal County, New
Mexico, who wrote to say that the range out there had failed badly
from drouth, and he would like to pasture a herd of probably two
thousand of his Flying M stock cattle on the Sorrows, where he knew
the grass was unfailing. Sitting in the office, Uncle Hank showed that
letter to Hilda; the old man kept to his idea of making her as full a
partner in the running of the ranch as a girl of her age could be.
“Seems kind of funny, doesn’t it, Uncle Hank,” she said, “to think
of Marchbanks cattle on our pastures? Do you remember Fayte
Marchbanks telling me when we first came here, and I didn’t know
anything about such things, that this was his ranch?”
The old man nodded, smiling a little, and turned to the letter he
was writing, to arrange terms. The herd was brought over by
Marchbanks’ range boss in October and left at the Sorrows, to
remain six months.
They arrived, gaunt and sorry-looking from the long trail and the
months of poor grass that had gone before. But to at least one
person on the ranch they possessed a secret interest and charm.
They had come all the way from Encinal County, in which lies the
J I C ranch, where Pearse Masters lived. Why, any one of those sad-
faced brindle cows might have seen Pearse himself—in the flesh! In
some indefinite way, Pearse seemed nearer to her while the
Marchbanks cattle were on the ranch.
Late in the following March, Hank announced, one evening at the
supper table, that all hands would be needed next day for rounding
up the Flying M’s.
Hilda’s head was lifted; her glance fixed eagerly on the old man’s
face.
“Who’s coming for them, Uncle Hank?” Burch asked, and saved
her the necessity of doing so.
“The Colonel himself, this time,” rejoined Hank, taking a letter
from his pocket and running over its lines. “He’s liable to be here to-
morrow or next day; going to camp at Tres Piños the last night and
get in here fresh to help us work the cattle and road-brand.” Hilda
had come and leaned over his shoulder to look at the letter. “Even
so,” he told her, as she rubbed her cheek against the grizzled curls,
“it’s going to take every hand we’ve got. You children can both help.”
He glanced across to where Burch, close under the lamp, had gone
back to his figuring and diagrams. “Son, I’ll need even you.”
The men were out by daybreak. Hilda was not much behind them.
As she hurried down to the corral, after a snatched breakfast, to get
her horse, she was trying to picture Colonel Marchbanks to herself;
she was carrying on some light, easy conversation with him, in
which there always came up a careless question, variously phrased,
as to whether or not he knew a young man employed on the J I C
ranch by the name of Masters. Buster, the last man out, checked his
pony to point to the mail bag, hanging on the corral wall, and shout:
“I brought it in so late last night that I hated to wake you all. Take
it up to the house, won’t you, Hilda?”
She saddled up swiftly, curbed an impulse to leave the bag till she
got back, reached it from its nail, when she was in the saddle, and
rode around toward the back to throw it in on the sacred precincts
of Sam Kee’s porch. Nobody but Hilda dared to do a thing like that.
As she got through the corral gate, she saw Burch half-way out
toward the main trail. He turned and yelled at her—a brother’s yell—
but she had drawn from among the other mail in the bag a letter,
addressed in a dashing, clerkly hand, to Miss Hilda Van Brunt, The
Three Sorrows, Dawn, Lame Jones County, Texas. In that hand had
come addressed all her anonymous gifts. She neither heard nor saw
anything about her.
Burch whooped long and derisively, while she sat her pony and
read, over and over, the brief letter the envelope contained:

Dear Hilda,
I wonder if this will get to Lame Jones County before I
do. Hope it will, for I’m certainly not going to ride up to the
Three Sorrows and call, and I do want to see you. I’m
making a quick trip through for my company, and I think I’ll
 be somewhere in your neighborhood about March 28th.
That sounds pretty uncertain to you, maybe, but if you
should happen to be on the main trail any time that day—
why, then you’d happen to see
Your friend,
Pearse Masters.

March twenty-eighth! That was to-day! What luck, that they were
going to work Flying M cattle in the small pasture lying beside the
Ojo Bravo trail! That was what Pearse must mean. She sent one last
shout after the departing Burch, rode her pony along the garden
walk and deftly shot the mail bag in, while Sam Kee grumbled at her,
then loped off to join the working force. Had the small pasture not
commanded the Ojo Bravo trail, Uncle Hank would have lacked her
help that day—in which case, many things might have been
different.
As it was, her eyes, continually turned to the westward way, were
first to see a light outfit coming in on the lower trail. She waved and
shouted to Uncle Hank to call his attention. There were only six
riders and a chuck wagon. Hank joined brother and sister at the
fence and studied the newcomers in the distance with some
surprise. The work of getting ready was well under way. All the
Marchbanks cattle were in one enclosure. It was barely ten o’clock,
yet the sun was beginning to be unpleasantly warm, and Hank
pushed back his hat to rub his forehead dubiously and say:
“If there was anybody else for that to be, I’d say it wasn’t them.
They’re flyin’ mighty light and goin’ might fast for an outfit that
expects to pick up two-thousand-and-some cows.”
On they came, the riders at a thundering gallop, the chuck wagon
bumping behind. There was something dashing, arresting,
inconsequent about their approach. Hank rode slowly down the
fence line, Hilda and Burch after him, and greeted the men half
doubtfully.
The leader raised a hand in salute. Here was the father of
Maybelle and Fayte. Here was that Lee Marchbanks, the Virginian
whom Guadalupe Romero had run away to marry. Somehow he was
disappointing to Hilda. Dressed about as any cattleman would be,
well mounted, and unusually well armed, he was still very different
from the mental picture she had of him. In this open-range country
it was customary for an outfit to carry weapons, yet the rifle swung
under every rider’s right leg, the handle of the bowie knife
protruding here and there from a casual boot-leg, in addition to the
familiar pair of six-shooters at each belt, made the group look
positively warlike. Naturally Hilda’s attention centered most on a
young fellow, slim, dark, but with odd, long, slate-gray eyes, who
rode next to the leader and regarded everybody about him with an
air of authority and a little half smile that lifted a small dark
mustache.
“I reckon them are my cattle,” said the leader, abruptly, and
without a greeting. “I’ve come for ’em.”
“Colonel Marchbanks?” Hank spoke with his usual politeness. The
man across the barbed-wire fence shot him a quick glance of
surprise—or was it suspicion? Then, with a bare nod, repeated:
“We’ve come for the cattle.”
“I see,” said Hank.
The others sat their ponies, alert, looking about them as men who
have never been in a country before may do. Hilda saw the young
fellow nearest to the Colonel say something to him in a low tone,
and Marchbanks spoke again, on a somewhat different note:
“Sorry to hurry you, Pearsall. We’re taking the cattle right out.”
“What!” ejaculated Hank, startled into the mild indiscretion of
questioning. “This afternoon? Turn right around and take the trail
without waiting to rest?”
The colonel reddened angrily.
“The cattle’s fresh, ain’t they?” he snapped. “They don’t need to
rest. I aim to take em out—and that as damned quick as I can get
’em out!”
Speech and manner were sufficiently surprising. Hilda looked
anxiously at Uncle Hank. But the manager had caught his breath
now. His steady eyes studied the outfit unhurriedly. The horses were
good, they and the men well accoutered. But the letter in Hank’s
pocket mentioned things that couldn’t be done and get the cattle out
in one day.
“Well,” he allowed, “I don’t know but by pressing all hands in to
help, we might get ’em out and worked and tallied over for ye. But
what about the road-branding?”
The colonel shook his head. It might have meant anything. The
slim dark young fellow who held Hilda’s rather unwilling attention,
and got her grudging admiration, in spite of lingering doubts, turned
and spoke to the four others in so low a tone that Hilda thought
Uncle Hank could hardly hear him. What he said was:
“We’ll go through here, boys—cut the fence. Gid, you’ve got the
nippers—cut here.”
Gid was instantly off his horse and at work.
The angry blood flew to Hilda’s face.
“Hold on!” cried Pearsall. “Hold on! There’s a gate up yonder a
piece. It won’t take you fifteen minutes longer, I—” He hesitated to
characterize so wanton an outrage. “Don’t cut my fence.”
The wires had already sprung, jangling and quivering, to the
ground.
“The boys’ll mend it. I’ll pay you,” Marchbanks said briefly, putting
his horse through the gap. “Come on.”
The seven men rode to the herd, from whose edges Burch and
the Three S cowboys were watching the maneuvers of the
newcomers.
“Get to work, men,” said Marchbanks, and the cutting out of
calves was soon in full swing.
Hilda and her brother were set to hold the “cut.” Burch wasn’t
skillful, but Hilda made up for it. She could keep her eye on the
cattle and still have plenty of attention to give to the young man she
thought was Fayte Marchbanks, riding close to his father, acting as
though he really directed every move the colonel made. If it was
Fayte, he paid no attention whatever to her; didn’t seem to
remember her at all. When he did lift a glance her way, she had a
queer little thrill, not entirely pleasant, at the flashing out of his odd,
slate-gray eyes under the black brows; eyes whose reckless light
matched the bravo slant of his sombrero and went well with the
general air of the heavily armed Marchbanks party. She had half a
mind to leave Burch holding the cut a moment while she rode over
and said “Hello” to him and asked about Maybelle. There was even a
daring thought that she’d inquire of him, instead of his father, if he’d
met Pearse Masters over in New Mexico. She did start to do it, but
Uncle Hank waved her back. Then she noticed how funny Uncle
Hank was acting—so heavy and slow-witted.
“Careful about cutting out them calves,” he cautioned his men,
again and again. “I don’t want to rob the owner, nor have the owner
rob the Sorrows. We’re all young. Ain’t such an awful haste.”
“The hell they ain’t!” broke out Marchbanks, in whose hearing this
was said. “Who told you?”
There was an instant of dubious silence. Old Snake bristled for all
the world like a faithful dog who suspects that his master is
affronted. Shorty sat up suddenly in the saddle, his blue eyes fairly
blazing in his brick-red face. Then Pearsall spoke, with mild civility:
“Didn’t camp at Tres Piños—did you?”
Marchbanks, hustling an unruly calf toward the cut, ejaculated:
“At Tres Piños—no! Who said I was camping there?”
Pearsall pulled up his buckskin pony and let a cow get past him
unnoticed. The Flying M man’s active young lieutenant yelled a
protest in vain. Hilda edged in toward Uncle Hank. She had read that
letter, too; yet it was characteristic of the western cattle country—of
which she was growing to be a well-seasoned citizen—that not a
word, not a glance, passed between them. They both knew that this
might be Marchbanks, and his behavior merely a matter of
temperament or eccentricity; but he might be a rustler. Such high-
handed robbery was not unknown. She knew that there was more
than fifty thousand dollars’ worth of stock concerned. The outsiders
were seven, all suspiciously well armed. Presently Uncle Hank drifted
himself to her side, dismounted and, under pretext of tightening her
cinch, spoke to her:
 “Listen sharp, Pettie. Mind, I ain’t sure—you never can tell—there
ain’t one of us here, as it chances, that’s ever seen Lee Marchbanks.
You heard these fellers over there at the fence. What I’m thinking is
that if Shorty, or me, or Thompson—or even Burch—was to try to
leave this pasture, we’d have war on our hands. But you can go, I
reckon. You can make it this-away: talk around free about being
hungry, and ask me to let you go up to the house and get your
dinner. Then, the minute you’re out of sight, you put spurs to that
pony and ride all you know, straight for Tres Piños. If there’s nobody
there, come back easy, for I reckon it’ll be all right. If you find the
Flying M outfit camped at the spring, fetch ’em on the jump, honey.”
He raised his voice. “There, I reckon that’ll hold—but it needs
mending with a new one.”
They sheered apart. Hilda whirled her pony to help Marchbanks
with a calf he was heading.
“Thank you, little lady,” he said, with an admiring glance for her
horsemanship and skill. “You’re the girl for my money.”
“I could work better if I wasn’t so hungry,” laughed Hilda. “Oh,
Uncle Hank,” as Pearsall came past, “can’t I, please, go up to the
house and get something to eat? I’m starving.”
“Aw—you’re shirking, Hilda!” cried Burch, overhearing. “No fair!
Uncle Hank, make her stay, and we’ll all go up together.”
This accidental detail made Hilda’s exit very plausible. Marchbanks
himself, pleased by the girl’s apparent liking, put in:
“This work’s not fit for young ladies, anyhow. Let Miss Hilda go.”
Hilda wheeled her pony and gave him the spur. “I’ll bring you all
some of Sam Kee’s pi-i-ie!” she called back, as she galloped away
toward the gate.
Through all the excitement of the morning, she had not failed to
keep an eye on the western trail. Suppose Pearse should be coming
along now—just as she crossed it! Her nerves tautened to the
thought.
Back at the herd, Uncle Hank, a most patient and skillful handler
of cattle, began to make a series of strange blunders. Twice he
nearly stampeded the Marchbanks cut. Once he put his pony so
squarely across the colonel’s path that it was only by fine
horsemanship that that gentleman missed a bad fall.
“For God’s sake, old man!” he snarled. “Get in the house and tend
to your knitting, and let us work these cows. You needn’t be afraid I
won’t leave you your share. If you stay out here and make many
more passes like that, we’ll have men to bury.”
“I was thinking about something else.” Pearsall seemed to
overlook the rebuke. “I ain’t generally so awkward. Maybe I’d better
go down and mend fence.”
“Not till we’ve put our cattle through that gap!” cried Marchbanks.
“Oh—all right, all right,” agreed the manager.
Meanwhile, Hilda was pushing Sunday toward the house at his top
speed—which wasn’t very much—Sunday had been faster when he
was three years younger. As she went, there thrilled through her
exultantly the thought of Creeping Mose in the home corral. His
breaking had been interrupted for the gathering of the Flying M
cattle. She shut her lips tight together, and gave Sunday the spur.
She remembered Buster’s first proud introduction of the blue roan to
her attention:
“Run! He can run like a scared wolf.”
Having crossed the trail and got no sight of a solitary rider whom
she could identify as Pearse, Hilda was desperate. She must not
refuse to ride to Tres Piños to save the Marchbanks cattle; but
Sunday would be all the rest of the day making such a trip. Pearse
would pass by while she was gone. Creeping Mose was the only
thing on the place that could get her there and back in time to have
a chance of meeting Pearse. Again she spurred Sunday, and he went
past the porch, where Miss Valeria dozed over a novel, with such a
burst of speed that the lady waked up, looked after her niece,
somewhat aggrieved, and called a remonstrance, settling down to a
murmured: “Getting too big a girl for these hoyden tricks. I ought to
speak to Mr. Pearsall. The man encourages her.”
Hilda took a short-cut through the kitchen garden, where Sam
Kee, cutting delectable heads of lettuce from their stalks, rose in
wrath as the pony’s hoofs plunged into the soft, brown, irrigated
soil.
“You spoil ’um!” he squealed. “Unc’ Hank—he spoil ’um you.”
For only answer the girl glanced back over her shoulder to where,
in his faded denim, he hopped about like an infuriated and oversized
bluejay, his squawks inevitably suggesting the comparison, and
called: “Come on—come on, Sam. Help me.”
“No help!” the Chinaman ejaculated, toddling after her. When he
reached the corral and found her with the saddle off the sweating
Sunday, her rope swinging, saw it settle over Creeping Mose and
bring him up short, Sam stopped in the tall, door-like gateway and
burst out in a splutter of dismay:
“You let ’um blue horse ’lone. Blue horse debbil. Unc’ Hankie say
let ’um ’lone.”
Hilda had got the bridle on Mose.
“Come here and hold him for me,” she cried. “Come on—quick,
Sam. He won’t try to stamp you—he never does. He’ll be all right
when I’m up on him. Hurry. He’ll only buck and run.”
The Chinaman came. He took the reins in practiced yellow fingers.
“You die an’ be kill,” he said.
Up went the saddle, but the pony dodged it, lowering himself and
flinching away just at the right instant. Again this maneuver was
repeated, Hilda, panting, desperate over the loss of time.
“Take your apron off and flap it in his face. Go on, Sam Kee—flap
your apron,” she commanded chokingly.
Protesting, refusing, “No! No take off ape’!” Sam Kee obeyed.
Once more, Hilda swung the saddle; this time it landed. Almost in
the instant of jerking tight the last cinch-strap, she was up.
Creeping Mose hung a moment, as in surprise, then humped his
back for the first plunge. She whirled her heavy quirt and brought it
down with all her might. Mose, with lowered head stuck out straight,
shot through the gate in a series of long leaps.
Sam Kee sat down, legs rigid before him, black eyes blinking,
listening to the thunder of the hoofs as Creeping Mose ran like a
streak out along the Tres Piños trail.
 CHAPTER XX
HILDA AND THE BLUE ROAN

The first four miles were covered at terrific speed, though three
times Creeping Mose stopped with a plunge and declared his
intention of fighting it out then and there. But Hilda was aflame.
Fear was wiped out. Between the level plain and burning sky, she
knew only Creeping Mose and herself—herself with neither flesh nor
bones, nor anything but a blind determination to force him to her
will.
She clung like a limpet. When the horse bucked most fiercely, she
swung the quirt and let him have it with all the strength of her arm.
Her black hair was shaken out of its plait and blew behind her, a
waving banner; her face was crimson with the heat and exertion. On
heaving chest and shoulders the shirt-waist clung, soaked. At every
jump sweat flew from the horse and spattered on the dry, hot earth.
At last Mose flung himself obliquely into the air in a whirling buck.
She set her teeth for what she’d seen the boys do, and brought the
head of her quirt down in a thump between his ears. She hated to
do that, but it seemed to be what Mose needed; with a snort, he
gathered himself; then, as though he decided that what he had on
his back was boss of the expedition, stretched out his neck and
broke away in a dead run that was a revelation to Hilda of horse
speed.
No captive of old Rome ever drove his chariot race down the great
hippodrome in a finer ecstasy of rashness than that which thrilled
through Hilda as the long levels streamed back beneath those flying
hoofs. This wasn’t the Hilda of the cyclone cellar who needed to
dress up and make believe for her romance.
Her whole thought had been to rush the thing through and get
back to the trail where it cut the road to El Capitan, where she
would meet Pearse; but this—this was real daring and adventure. It
was the sort of thing any one of the boys would have done, taking it
all as a part of the day’s work. She, too, let her whole self go in the
action, like one of them, like a soldier on a battlefield. She’d taken
Creeping Mose against Uncle Hank’s orders. But she knew the rules
of the range: if she made good—and she would—she was all right.
At the end of four breathless, flashing miles, the horse was still
running strongly.
Four miles and a half; he was coming down to a steady, swinging
lope. Five miles; the fierce sun stung her bare head and face, the
wind roared in her ears, continuous, browbeating, and her horse
was almost at the end of wind and strength.
As the blue roan ceased to fight her, Hilda’s thoughts had a
chance to clear a bit, she had breath and attention to admire him.
She leaned forward and patted him on the neck—and the sweat
fumed up around her hand like suds. A year—Uncle Hank had
thought he might be fit for her in a year—and here she was riding
him within three days!
What was happening back there on the Three Sorrows? That
outfit were rustlers. Uncle Hank thought so, or he’d never have sent
her on such an errand as this. She couldn’t get away from the belief
that the young fellow with them was Fayte Marchbanks. And the
cattle belonged to Fayte’s father. Well—that didn’t make any
difference—they were rustlers just the same.
Nobody but a rustler would have been as careless as that man
was about the count. People didn’t feel that way about their own
cattle. That look in his eye, when he praised her and called her “little
lady”—she wasn’t exactly sure where and how it offended her so
much, yet she knew that it did offend. Rustler! That’s what he was.
Far off on that open plain the three pines that stood above the
spring began to show like tiny weeds. With her breath coming in
gasps, scarce able to feel the saddle beneath her or the rein she
clutched in her hands, she yet brought her heels sharply against
Mose’s dripping sides, and he answered with a spurt. Taller and taller
the pines loomed; finally, she could make out beneath them a
hooded chuck-wagon, hobbled ponies, and men lying or sitting
about.
No need of the quirt now; Creeping Mose obeyed her hand or
voice humbly. As she used both to encourage him, he gave a sort of
convulsive cat-hop and, shaking his head, plunged forward at a
jolting, uneven run, which, exhausted, as she was, came near to
unseating her. She could hardly see the camp as she swept in to it,
hardly hear the shouts of the men, who jumped up and ran toward
her, one of them catching the bit, bringing the horse to a standstill,
another lifting her down as she rolled from the saddle.
She heard some one call: “Colonel Marchbanks—come here!” And
then another voice, saying:
“Whoa, Buck!”
“Hold up, sister! Steady, steady, young lady! Had a runaway?”
“Whoa, Buck—whoa!” roared the cowpuncher who had seized
Creeping Mose, revolving with him, kicking up a great dust. “You old
fool—don’t you know when you’re done?” Abruptly the horse halted,
he dropped at once into exhaustion, a sweat-soaked miserable
spectacle. The man who held Hilda called over his shoulder:
“Tarpy, fetch a pan of water, quick!” and when the squat little
cook hurried up with the basin, he dipped his handkerchief in it and
laved Hilda’s face and hands. “Plucky young ’un,” he said softly to
Tarpy. “She isn’t going to faint. Hey, you boys—Slim and Charley!
Pull that bedding roll over here.”
In those first moments, as Hilda lay there in a sort of daze, she
entirely forgot the errand that had brought her out here in such a
fury of eagerness. All she could see was Pearse, going past the
Sorrows gate—missing her. Oh—why had she come? Somebody was
lifting her into a more comfortable position against the bedding roll.
The big man drew the dripping handkerchief again and again across
her face; then dipped hands and wrists into the basin itself.
“You’re all right now,” he repeated. “You’re not hurt.”
Her eyes opened in a quick look about her and fixed upon his
face.
“Colonel Marchbanks?”
 “Yes, that’s my name,” he said. “Were you looking for me? What’s
the matter?”
Hilda’s gasping had moderated. She drew in as much breath as
she was able and spoke clearly:
“An outfit came in this morning after your cattle—”
“What outfit?”
“I don’t know. They came in this morning. They cut our fence and
made Uncle Hank begin work right away.”
Marchbanks bent forward sharply, Tarpy, the cook, beside him.
The two boys who had brought the bedding roll leaned frankly over
the others’ shoulders.
“Uncle Hank—they didn’t act right—he sent me here. We thought,
when they wouldn’t road-brand—”
“You’re a good girl,” said the colonel; “I’ll thank you later.”
Then he stood up, ordering:
“Get the hobbles off the best horses. Every man saddle his own.
All come with me but Tarpy and Slim. Tarpy,” he spoke in a lower
tone to the cook, “you stay with the little girl. If she gets able to go
back home and wants to [Hilda tried to say, ‘I do,’ but no sound
came], have Slim put her saddle on my sorrel, and ride over, easy,
with her.” Then he turned to question her again:
“How big an outfit is it? What do they look like?”
Hilda answered in little, broken sentences:
“Six of them—and a chuck-wagon. But they had so many guns.
He’s very young—almost a boy.”
The colonel was buckling his cartridge belt; he whirled and looked
at her, demanding:
“Which one is that you’re speaking of?”
“The one that rode right beside the man that called himself
Colonel Marchbanks. He looked like— We all took him for—”
The real Colonel Marchbanks glanced to where his men were
getting on their ponies. He waved to them to ride on, and they
whirled away in a cloud of dust. Then, bracing hands on knees, he
bent down and prompted:
 “You took him for—?”
“Your son.”
The colonel straightened up without a word, ran to his pony, flung
himself upon it, and was off after the others.
She rested, with closed eyes, glad to be let alone. Presently she
heard Slim’s voice, in guarded tones:
“Ye took notice what the little girl said. That’s Fayte, all right.”
There was silence for a few minutes, then Slim spoke again:
“Sort of sorry for the colonel.”
“Yeah,” assented Tarpy. “G’wan an’ round up them horses, Slim,
and have ’em all saddled an’ ready time she’s had this coffee. She’s
game; you’ll git over, mebbe, in time to git a look-in at the festivities
—or the funeral—after all.”
Slim hesitated, looking doubtfully at Hilda. She sat up as Tarpy
came toward her with a steaming tin cup, declared herself all right
and, to prove it, drank the strong coffee. Tarpy stood looking, and
then stated, respectfully:
“Slim’ll be ready, Miss, whenever you want to ride over. That
sorrel of the colonel’s is as easy as a rocking chair.”
“Mebbe we hadn’t ought to hurry the young lady,” Slim put in,
wistfully. “She’s had an awful trip, an’—”
“Oh, no, no!” cried Hilda, gathering up her hair, beginning to braid
it with hands that shook. “I must go—I’ve got to!”
“Sure, I know how you feel, ma’am,” sympathized Tarpy. “Fetch
up the sorrel, Slim.”
Slim responded promptly this time. Hilda turned again to look
where Creeping Mose stood motionless, his feet braced wide, his
head hanging, the streaming sweat drying on his blue-gray coat in
rough cakes. She got to her feet and stumbled over to him. She laid
a hand on his neck—there was no snorting and tossing up of his
head now. Creeping Mose never even flinched—he had all he could
do to just stand on those four wide-braced feet. Hilda choked a little.
“I feel the same way myself, Mose,” she muttered, a bit thickly, in
his drooping ear. “I ache all over, too. If I licked you, you certainly
hammered me. I wouldn’t have done it—if I hadn’t just had to.”
“He’ll be all right in the morning, ma’am,” Slim assured her.
“Tarpy’ll take good care of him, and they’ll lead him in with the outfit
when it follers us. Here’s the sorrel for you.”
Hilda crawled wincingly into the saddle, with his help. At first
every movement of the easy-gaited creature she rode was pain to
her, and Slim watched anxiously. But soon she swung into the
motion and her bruised, wearied body was forgotten in that fierce
eagerness to “get there.” Slim, on a wiry, glass-eyed mustang, set
the pace, and a stiff one it grew to be. There were scarcely two
dozen words spoken as they put the miles behind them; both leaned
forward eagerly in their saddles, Slim’s eyes always straight ahead,
Hilda’s continually sweeping the levels about them. Long before they
covered the distance, they saw a vast cloud of dust hanging on the
horizon.
“Stand it any faster?” Slim inquired.
Hilda nodded, and they spurred up. The big dust cloud grew
bigger and more palpable.
“Looks like they’s a-havin’ a kind of a time,” commented Slim. “We
mebbe could get a finger in the pie yet, if we shove ahead.” The
glass-eyed mustang shot forward, Hilda and the sorrel hanging close
at its quarter.
“Oh, look!” said Hilda. A flurry of dust approached them, out of
which emerged several head of Flying M cattle, running staggeringly.
Two or three showed long, bloody scratches on head and breast or
shoulders.
“Bust through the bob-wire!” Slim rose in his stirrups and swung
his quirt, whooping shrilly. He and Hilda, between them, turned the
animals and headed them back. Presently they met two more small
bunches, which they turned in like manner and took with them.
When they got within sight of the pasture where the Flying M stock
had been worked that morning, they saw that the herd was in a
pretty well-established mill, the main bulk of the cattle sweeping in a
great, brown, living, sweating circle. An occasional Three S man, or
one of the Flying M hands, came galloping around on the edge of
the surge. As Slim and Hilda rode gingerly across the prostrate
fence, they heard a shot fired off to the right, toward the Ojo Bravo
trail; another, then three in quick succession. Slim stopped like a
pointer dog and threw his nose up, sighting in that direction.
“Well, the colonel got there in time, that’s sure,” was his
comment.
Just then Burch came in sight, loping with the swing of the cattle.
“Hello, Hilda!” he cried. “You made it all right.”
They put their horses in alongside him and moved with him while
he told them, in a few quick sentences:
“Uncle Hank stampeded the cattle—only thing he could do—shook
a blanket. We weren’t fixed to open fight—not a gun amongst us—
them all armed. The cattle commenced to run, and everybody flew
in to turn ’em and mill ’em. While we were at it, Uncle Hank rode up
to me and hollered that the Flying M men were coming—and there
was Marchbanks and the whole outfit. The rustlers cut and run for
it.”
“What shooting was that we just heard, d’you reckon?”
“The colonel and two of his men went after the rustlers—out
yonder. They must have overhauled ’em.”
Burch rode on with the milling cattle, while Slim and Hilda pulled
out. Presently Uncle Hank came to her and told her to go to the
house and rest.
“Oh, I couldn’t, Uncle Hank!” she declared. “Let me stay.”
 CHAPTER XXI
ANOTHER CHANCE

As the afternoon wore on, Hilda, helping to gather strays,

watching always the westward trail for Pearse, began to lose hope.
The colonel had not come back from his chase of the rustlers, but
his men were here; again Uncle Hank came to her to say that they
were full-handed now—no need for her to half kill herself; she’d
better get to the house, wash up and have something to eat.
With her eyes on the way down which Pearse might have come,
she said, in a discouraged tone:
“I’ll go out just this once more; then I will give it up and ride to
the house; I suppose my face does need washing. I don’t feel as if I
could eat any supper. But I’ll be glad to get to bed to-night.”
She rode alone, and very slowly. The whole broad plain was
beginning to glow with sunset. But Hilda had no eyes for the glories
of the sky; all she could see was the empty trail that stretched
toward the golden rim in the west. Pearse hadn’t come—or she’d
missed him. Back of her, as she halted, was a break of the creek—a
deep, shadowy place of willows and wild plum. Well—she’d go down
there and wash her face—she knew from the way Uncle Hank had
looked at her that washing was badly needed. But when she turned
her pony she saw that some one else was there; a horse was
drinking at the creek; its rider looked sharply around as she came
down the slope.
It was very dusky in the hollow. For a moment she wondered if
she hadn’t stumbled onto one of the rustlers, or even overhauled
Colonel Marchbanks, who had gone after them. Then the man pulled
up his pony’s head, wheeled it and came toward her. She was in full
light, he in shadow; she could only see that he was a big, broad-
shouldered fellow, fair-haired, in the ordinary cowboy dress, and she
believed him to be some one she had never seen before until he
came close, lifting his hat, with:
“Why, it is Hilda—and I believe you don’t know me!”
“Oh, Pearse!” In the first shock of delight, the relief from the long
sense of disappointment, Hilda forgot her flying hair, her dust-
streaked face. “Oh, Pearse—oh, Pearse!”
He put his pony in close enough to shake hands, smiling at her a
little oddly. And, all at once, she was shy of him, after all. He looked
so terribly grown up. No, he wasn’t her Boy-On-The-Train any more.
It made her catch her breath to remember the five days in the
cyclone cellar, when he’d played games with her, and even taken a
sort of hand at being a princely fugitive while she was a princess.
This tall, dignified young man was different, too, from the big boy
with the grouch who brought the Sunday pony back to her that time
on the trail coming from El Capitan.
“How did you get here without my seeing you?” she asked, a little
breathlessly. “I was watching—right where you said—as well as I
could. We’ve had a stampede, and—well, I guess you might call it
rustlers—the Marchbanks cattle that we were pasturing on the
Sorrows.”
“Yes. I know.” Pearse gave her another of those queer looks. But
he let it go at that and finished: “I circled around the short-cut to
get here. Didn’t want to be seen.”
“Who—who didn’t you want to see you, Pearse?” Hilda asked
humbly. “Uncle Hank?”
He shook his head.
“Not that I’d mind going over to the ranch and speaking to him
to-day. I’m in no trouble. I’d not be asking anything of him. It’s
Marchbanks that I don’t want to see me this time, or know I’m in
Lame Jones County.”
“Oh,” said Hilda. Then, “Listen, Pearse. Pull back in here, if you
mean to keep out of sight.”
Hoof-beats coming from two directions on the trail. Hilda and
Pearse, drawn close in the shelter of the willows, saw the big gray
pony that Colonel Marchbanks rode splash through the creek. Just
on the further side he stopped. The other rider came on. As Hilda
peered through the screening branches, she saw the young fellow
that she’d been sure was Fayte Marchbanks pull up and meet the
rider of the gray pony.
“Fayte!” she heard the colonel call. The young man jerked off his
hat in a sarcastic bow and answered, hardily:
“It’s nobody else, Dad.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” the colonel snarled. “Turn that
pony and ride after the men you were helping to rob me. Go with
them. You can’t stay here.”
“You’re mistaken there.” Fayte spoke confidently, but there was
fear in the glance that flickered to his father’s face. “I was with those
men, all right. But we didn’t get the cattle. I’m staying with what’s
mine.”
“Yours?” The colonel’s tone was loud, furious. “You haven’t got a
cent but what I give you. You—”
“Just so.” Fayte had out his tobacco and was rolling a cigarette.
Hilda saw how the fingers shook, but his eyes were impudent.
“That’s the way you look at it. You treat me like a child. I’m not
standing for it. A man of my age has debts that he doesn’t care to
go to his daddy with. If you’d give me what belongs to me—I
wouldn’t try to take it.”
“You’ve got a big idea of what belongs to you,” the colonel
growled. “Get out of my sight. What do you suppose Pearsall and
the others are saying, back there?”
“Quién sabe?” Fayte shrugged, but he threw away the cigarette
he had not even attempted to light. “Hadn’t we better ride back
together—show ’em it’s all right?”
He still spoke confidently, and started his pony forward with a
swing, but the watchers both recognized his relief as the colonel,
after a little hesitation, wheeled his heavier mount into the trail after
him. They went off quarreling—but they went together.
Hilda and Pearse sat on their ponies, hidden, where they were, till
the sound of hoofs died away, then rode out. Pearse glanced about,
and said, uncomfortably:
 “We won’t have much time together, Hilda; I’ve got to be on my
way. But I’ll ride along with you in the direction of the house. You
need to get home.”
Slowly they took a little cross-cut Hilda knew of. Pearse spoke
again, frowning:
“I’d rather not have seen or heard that, myself. You see, Hilda,
the colonel’s a member of the Cattlemen’s Protective Association; my
company’s in it, too, of course, and I’m here representing them.
We’ve run up against crooked stuff that Fayte Marchbanks was
connected with before, and we always have to back away from it,
because of the colonel. Anyhow I’ll make my report; and they won’t
move because it concerns the colonel’s own cattle, and he’ll have to
settle it as a family affair.”
“You—you said when I saw you on the trail, that time you brought
Sunday back, that you knew Maybelle Marchbanks.” Hilda was,
unconsciously, trying to bring some more personal interest into the
talk. “I used to know her over here in Lame Jones County.”
“Yes.”
“Do you like her?”
“Oh,” negligently, “I hardly know her enough to say. There’s
mighty little doing between our ranch and the Marchbanks place.”
“Is she very pretty?” Hilda asked the girl’s question, and reddened
as Pearse answered, with a smile:
“You can tell whether she’s pretty or not by Fayte’s looks—they’re
a good deal alike.”
Hilda thought Maybelle might be very good-looking, indeed, but
some instinct kept her from saying so.
“Are there other young folks over where you’re living now?” She
put it rather wistfully.
“Yes, plenty of them,” returned Pearse, and somehow Hilda felt
chilled.
“Who?”
“Oh, most of the ranches have young folks on them. Our manager
has a niece visiting him just now, from Galveston. She plays the
piano beautifully.”
Hilda—tired, bedraggled, a truant at the music lessons—suddenly
hated that girl from Galveston—and was ashamed of herself for the
hatred—and couldn’t be content till she had more details for that
hatred to feed on.
“Is she pretty?”
“Our manager’s niece? Yes. Very.”
“Does she know Fayte Marchbanks?”
“Why, yes—I suppose she does.”
“Does she like him?”
“Why, Hilda—what possesses my little pal? Miss Esmond is a
young lady—you understand—a grown young lady. Fayte
Marchbanks has called on her once or twice since she’s been at the
ranch. I think she knew him in Galveston. He speaks good Spanish,
she’s traveled a whole lot in Old Mexico and likes to talk to some one
who speaks the language well. That’s all there is to it. Most of the
nice girls out our way—young ladies, I mean, of course—keep Fayte
Marchbanks at a distance, I think.”
They all knew each other; they spoke languages fluently; they
had unforbidden companionship with Pearse, and he with them. She
was an exile from it all.
“I never get to go anywhere or see anybody,” said Hilda,
gathering up her reins as though to start her pony ahead faster. “I
haven’t got any friends of my own age.”
“You haven’t?” groped Pearse, taken aback—“I thought you told
me about youngsters on the Capadine ranch that you played with.”
There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence after that
“youngsters,” a silence in which Hilda was conscious mostly of a
tired, aching body and smarting cheeks. Then she spoke again, in a
small choked voice:
“I must be getting home.”
“I’ll ride as far as I dare with you,” said Pearse, alert, concerned,
but all in the dark. “I wish we could have had more of a visit
together.”
 “Oh!” Hilda turned on him tear-blinded, angry eyes, “you needn’t
bother to come any further. I can just play with youngsters, I
suppose!” She lifted the rein and was off at a gallop, and she never
looked back to see how he took that blow.
She didn’t look back. She wouldn’t look back. But, after the first,
she went very slowly. Any one who’d wanted to could have
overtaken her in a minute. Almost walking her pony that way made
her late. Supper was over. She went in, head down, moving with
dragging steps. She felt beaten and bruised; sunburned till she was
almost in a fever. To these things she was more or less accustomed;
a night of sound sleep would put them right; but the wounds of that
interview with Pearse were new and terrifying; the sting of chagrin
that it had left upon the face of her spirit was intolerable. That
parting cut she had aimed at him was, by some cruel magic,
cleaving her own heart now. It ached and bled. How could she ever
bear it?
She washed up, stumbled into Sam Kee’s kitchen and sat down at
his little table to eat the supper he had saved for her. The old
Chinaman turned from the stove, where he was stirring something,
intending to give her one of his grumbling scoldings. When he saw
how worsted she looked, how she sipped at her coffee and ate
almost nothing, he went instead and fetched a little dish of lemon
jelly from the pantry, saying, more in sympathy than reproach:
“Sam Kee tell you blue horse debbil. Tell you he kill you.”
“I had to ride him,” murmured Hilda absently.
Oh, it hurt dreadfully to be angry at Pearse—to feel bitter toward
him. If she had a chance to talk with him now—only for a minute—
only a minute—she would put her pride in her pocket and make it all
right at any cost.
She shoved the lemon jelly away; then, catching Sam Kee’s
crestfallen look, drew it back and ate a little of it.
“That’s all, Sam,” she said, trying to smile. “Can’t eat any more
now. Too tired. Go to bed now.”
But as she was on her way to the stair’s foot, Hank’s voice called
to her from the office:
 “Come in here a minute, Pettie—I’ve got something to tell you
that won’t keep till morning.”
She went in and sat down on the low stool near his chair, leaning
over against his arm. Every line of her slim figure drooped; the arms
hung listlessly at her sides.
“Pettie!” he said, in quick alarm. “Anything the matter, honey?”
“Oh, I stayed out too long. I’m perfectly dog tired. That’s all.”
“Umm-humm,” agreed the old man gently, “I should think you
would be. When I went to the corral this evening I seen what horse
it was you rode to Tres Piños.”
Eyes down, Hilda waited for the reproof. She was at that dead
ebb, physical, mental, emotional, that could expect nothing but
blame, defeat.
“Mose was the only one that could get there,” she said, lifelessly,
offering it as a statement, not a defense.
“Why, I’m not mad at you about it, honey.” The old man’s voice
was soft. “I’m proud of you. You asked for the horse in the first
place—he’s your’n now.”
A little tingle of delight stirred the flat level of Hilda’s depression.
“You said he wouldn’t be fit for a lady for three years,” she began,
and then broke off—“but then I’m not a lady. I suppose I’m just one
of the youngsters. I can’t play decently on the piano, or—speak
good Spanish—or any of those things. Maybe I never will.”
Uncle Hank looked at her in blank amazement. When he spoke
there was sort of a reluctance in his voice.
“The—er—what I wanted to say to you just now has got
something to do with that—”
She looked up at him, a little startled.
“—That matter of education, I mean. Colonel Marchbanks rode in
pretty soon after you left the pasture. Brought that boy of his with
him; made some kind of a talk about Fayte having been mistaken in
the day he wanted them cows moved, but that he’d give the boy
orders to meet him here and to help him and—well, Pettie, what is a
man to say? Best we can do is to forget that we had any suspicions.
He’s gone on now to Amarillo—to be back here in about a week.”
“Yes?”
Hilda had dropped her head once more; she did not raise it now.
After a short pause, in which Hank regarded anxiously the bit of her
face which he could see, he went on:
“The colonel’s taken a great liking to you, Pettie. He praised you
high.”
This was Uncle Hank’s medicine for her depression. She managed
a smile. But he was not done. The tone in which he proceeded
suggested careful restraint. He did not look at her.
“Marchbanks has asked for you to go and stay at his ranch for a
year—or as much longer as we’re willing to have you—and study
under a good teacher with his daughter, Maybelle. Course, I wasn’t
making any such arrangements as that; but I talked it over with him
—on a business basis, you know. We settled what your board would
be and what our share of the teacher’s pay ought to come to—if you
went.”
Every line in Hilda’s figure had begun to change. She fetched a
long breath. The dusty feet were drawn back under her; slowly the
drooping shoulders straightened; her head lifted; in the eyes that
sought the old man’s face light was growing.
“Oh,” she breathed—“oh, Uncle Hank!”
Hank had expected at least some reluctance on his girl’s part to
leave the ranch. She’d had solid schooling, gone flying through the
grammar grades, was well grounded in all the essentials now. To
every proposition for further education she’d always said that she
expected to be a ranchwoman, and, beyond what she had already,
reading would have to take the place of schooling. But now, as he
studied the tremulous face, he saw there would be a different
answer, and he said quietly:
“That teacher’s a college graduate—the best to be had. She could
get you ready for any college in the country, I reckon.”
Hilda lowered her eyes hastily.
 “I—I liked Maybelle,” she said, speaking very low. “Isn’t it—a
pretty name—Uncle Hank?”
“Right nice,” agreed Hank, suppressing a twinge—his girl, like any
other girl, was looking for young companionship; that’s what made
her eager for the New Mexico trip, and change.
Hilda, her eyes held defensively down, was flying back in thought
to that unspoken prayer of hers for another minute—only a minute—
another chance to pocket her pride and make it all right with Pearse.
Hank watched her, puzzled.
“Er—you’re pleased, ain’t you, honey? You want to go—don’t
you?”
Hilda started, and the look flashed up at him was almost like
terror.
“Oh, yes!” she cried. “Why—doesn’t it come in splendidly? Aren’t
you glad?”
“Well,” said the old man mildly, “seeing that it makes you that-a-
way, I reckon I am. You see,” he took the slim hands that came out
anxiously toward him, “you see, when the colonel first named it to
me, I felt sort of doubtful, but now I know. You’ve showed me.”
 CHAPTER XXII
YOUNG WINGS

There was no going to bed for Hilda now. Once out of Uncle
Hank’s sight, she turned and ran noiselessly through the dim, empty,
clean-smelling kitchen to the cyclone cellar, lighted her candle and
began, with feverish eagerness, a letter to Pearse. She was tingling
with a joy that had to express itself; all thought of her unsatisfactory
talk with Pearse was swept away or changed. He’d be as glad of this
chance to see her, where they could openly be friends, as she was.
Out over the page bubbled her child’s heart, which was scarcely
yet the young girl’s heart, accusing herself—“I was horrid”—“I know
you’ll forgive me”—“Just cross and tired”—“and hate to have to meet
you on the sly.” She was almost drowned in the wonderfulness of the
thought that at last they were to be together without deceit and
without fear. The delight of it singing in her veins, she wrote with
impulsive confidence. “Won’t it be lovely not to have to hide or tell
any fibs, and to have our visit out at last? I have so many books I
want to talk over with you. I have read all of Dickens—have you?
Which one do you think is the best? Of course the critics praise
‘David Copperfield,’ but I love ‘Tale of Two Cities.’ I can’t ever read
that last chapter without crying, and I’ve read it very, very many
times.”
So, in sheer joy of heart, the letter ran on and on. It was nearly
ten o’clock when it was finally stamped and addressed, and she
slipped upstairs to find Burch in the front hall calling excitedly for
Uncle Hank, who was just going up the stairs to his own room.
“I tell you I saw it just as plain as I see that lamp. Buster saw it,
too.”
“I reckon it was the lamp—the shine of it through the winder, you
know,” Hank argued calmly. “Don’t disturb your auntie.”
 “What was it, Buddie?” inquired Hilda.
“A fire, out there in the brush by the irrigating ditch,” Burch
replied, glad to have a listener who might display some excitement.
“Buster and I were coming over from the bunk-house, and we saw it
in that vine there, all blazing. We ran as hard as we could and
hollered to the boys to bring a bucket—and just before we got there
it suddenly went out.”
“Why, that’s queer,” laughed Hilda nervously. How careless of her
to have forgotten the open shutter!
The letter was sent. She could not put it into the general mail.
The secrecy she felt obliged to maintain brought some small twinges
of conscience; yet it contributed an added thrill, too. She gave the
missive to Sam Kee and asked him to post it when he went in to
Dawn the next day.
There followed a time of anxious waiting. It seemed to Hilda that
discovery would be certain if the letter came after she was gone and
had to be forwarded. It worried her all the time she was getting
ready, but the day before Colonel Marchbanks was due from Amarillo
an envelope, addressed to Hilda in the fine, bold hand, arrived. As
Uncle Hank sorted the letters over and apportioned them, she felt
that the appearance of this one must shout aloud to him the name
and all the marvelous, romantic history of its writer. She snatched it
so swiftly that she had to be called back to get a magazine and
picture postal card which completed her portion. It was only in her
own room, with the door locked, that she dared open and read. It
began abruptly:
“Well, Hilda, I’m afraid you and I can see very little of each other
while you’re in Encinal County. So far as I am concerned, you might
almost as well be at the Three Sorrows.”
Hilda stopped there. She wasn’t going to cry. Nothing to cry
about. Her glance came back to the letter. There was one more
sheet. She turned the page and read:
“I probably didn’t make it clear to you about how I stand with the
Marchbanks family. I get along without the people at the Alamositas,
and they worry along without me; I couldn’t go to see you there,
Hilda, or take rides with you, and I think you will stand better with
them if you don’t tell them that you and I are friends—or acquainted
at all, for that matter.”
At about this point of the reading, Hilda raised her head and
looked around. Her eyes were bright and dry, and her cheeks glowed
like fire. This was Pearse’s answer to her childish, impulsive letter, to
the reminders of the time she sheltered him in the cyclone cellar.
Hilda was as generous as an Arab. She didn’t want his gratitude—
but, oh, she burned with an intolerable humiliation at this lack of
return for her friendship! And yet the letter was not unfriendly. In
conclusion, he spoke earnestly, urgently, of the value of a good
education; said how sorry he was that his own had been broken off
early, and how it delighted him to know that she was to have better
opportunities than his had been. This was the closing paragraph:
“I was awfully sorry to learn from your letter that you were so
lonely, and had no young friends. But your coming over to the
Alamositas will make that all right. They say Maybelle’s a very nice
girl, and I hear they have a great deal of young company at the
ranch; only, little girl as you are, I’m glad Fayte Marchbanks isn’t at
home now, or likely to be back, it seems, while you are there. He’s
not the sort of fellow for you to make a friend of.”
That was about all. He hadn’t thought worth while to say anything
about the books she wanted to discuss with him. He might have
written about them. They could have corresponded while she was at
the Alamositas, anyhow. She drew her wounded girl’s pride about
her with the declaration that she would never mention Pearse again
to any one, never write to him again nor make any effort to see him.
Then she thought miserably that this was what he had advised her
to do in the letter. Her heart sank to the ultimate zero.
Meantime Hank had his own worries. A year’s stay on a big,
prosperous ranch like the Alamositas, within easy distance of more
than one small New Mexican town—and he knew well how it went
with young folks in a ranching community, where it is out of the
question to draw any hard-and-fast social line. Quick courtships—
even the ill-considered marriages of boys and girls who were
scarcely more than children—those were the things that came about
under such an arrangement. He was full of anxiety for his girl; she
must not be sent unwarned into that sort of thing. He finally
mustered up courage to go to Miss Valeria and say that, under the
circumstances, he felt she ought to talk to Hilda about “goin’ with
the boys” and such things before they let her leave for New Mexico.
The little lady listened to him with a bewildered air, which finally
gave way to an embarrassed laugh. When he’d said his say, she
dismissed the whole matter airily with:
“But, Mr. Pearsall, the child isn’t ‘out’ yet.”
“No,” agreed Hank seriously, “but she’s a-goin’ out to-morrow,
when Marchbanks comes through for her.”
“You don’t understand me,” Miss Val said. “You don’t get my
meaning. At home, in New York, we used that expression—” She
broke off, drew her brows a little, and the bright black eyes behind
the glasses studied the ranch boss a moment before she went on:
“Hilda’s a schoolgirl—she goes to Mr. Marchbanks’ as a schoolgirl.
She’s not out in society. Naturally, she won’t be thinking of any of
those matters you mention. I certainly shouldn’t bring them up in
talking to her—it might put foolish ideas into her head.”
“You won’t take it on you to speak to her?” Hank asked.
“Certainly not. Those people—the Marchbankses—have a
daughter near Hilda’s age. Of course, Maybelle Marchbanks isn’t out
yet, either. I remember the child when she was here, visiting the
Capadine ranch. Mrs. Marchbanks can be trusted, I am sure, with
the management of the social affairs of two school-girls. Why, Mr.
Pearsall, in New York we shouldn’t be thinking, much less speaking,
of such things in connection with Hilda for—for some time yet. It is
the custom there, you know, to introduce a girl to society—when she
is through with her schooling, and has had, perhaps, some travel
abroad—at a ball or other large affair. They tell me that now a
luncheon or a tea is more usual. I haven’t begun to trouble my head
yet about which would be nicest for Hilda—when the time comes.
But I’ll attend to all that. I’ll attend to it, Mr. Pearsall. Don’t give it
another thought.”