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Title: The Uphill Climb

Author: B. M. Bower

Release Date: December 25, 2004 [eBook#14456]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

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"Hell-o, Ford, where the blazes did youdrop down from?" a welcoming voice

yelled.

THE UPHILLCLIMB

BY

B. M. BOWER

AUTHOR OF

GOOD INDIAN,CHIP, OF THE

FLYING U, ETC.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

CHARLES M.RUSSELL

New YorkGrosset & Dunlap

Publishers

1913

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.--"Married! and I Don'tKnow Her Name!"CHAPTER II.--Wanted: InformationCHAPTER III.--One Way to DrownSorrowCHAPTER IV.--ReactionCHAPTER V.--"I Can Spare thisParticular Girl"CHAPTER VI.--The Problem ofGetting SomewhereCHAPTER VII.--The Foreman of theDouble CrossCHAPTER VIII.--"I Wish You'd Quit

Believing in Me!"CHAPTER IX.--ImpressionsCHAPTER X.--In Which the DemonOpens and Eye and YawnsCHAPTER XI.--"It's Going to Be anUphill Climb!"CHAPTER XII.--At Hand-Grips withthe DemonCHAPTER XIII.--A Plan Gone WrongCHAPTER XIV.--The Feminine Pointof ViewCHAPTER XV.--The ClimbCHAPTER XVI.--To Find and Free aWifeCHAPTER XVII.--What Ford Found atthe Top

LIST OFILLUSTRATIONS

"Hell-o, Ford, where the blazes did youdrop down from?" a welcoming voiceyelled.

She lifted her head and looked at him,and drew away.

Dick tottered upon the step and wentoff backward.

"Ford, I'm no coquette," she saidstraightforwardly.

The Uphill Climb

CHAPTER I

"Married! And I Don't KnowHer Name!"

Ford lifted his arms above his head toyawn as does a man who has slept tooheavily, found his biceps stiffened andsore, and massaged them gingerly with hisfinger-tips. His eyes took on the vacancyof memory straining at the leash offorgetfulness. He sighed largely, swunghis head slowly from left to right in muteadmission of failure to grasp what lay just

behind his slumber, and therebydiscovered other muscles that protestedagainst sudden movement. He felt his neckwith a careful, rubbing gesture. One handstrayed to his left cheekbone, hoveredthere tentatively, wandered to the bridgeof his nose, and from there dropped inertlyto the bed.

"Lordy me! I must have been drunk lastnight," he said aloud, mechanically takingthe straight line of logic from effect tocause, as much experience had taught himto do.

"You was—and then some," replied anunemotional voice from somewherebehind him.

"Oh! That you, Sandy?" Ford lay quiet,

trying to remember. His finger-tipsexplored the right side of his face; nowand then he winced under their touch, lightas it was.

"I must have carried an awful load," hedecided, again unerringly taking thebackward trail from effect to cause. Later,logic carried him farther. "Who'd I lick,Sandy?"

"Several." The unseen Sandy gave one theimpression of a man smoking and speakingbetween puffs. "Can't say just who—youdid start in on. You wound up on—thepreacher."

"Preacher?" Ford's tone matched theflicker of interest in his eyes.

"Uhn-hunh."

Ford meditated a moment. "I don'trecollect ever licking a preacher before,"he observed curiously.

Life, stale and drab since his eyes opened,gathered to itself the pale glow ofawakening interest. Ford rose painfully,inch by inch, until he was sitting upon theside of the bed, got from there to his feet,looked down and saw that he was clothedto his boots, and crossed slowly to wherea cheap, flyspecked looking-glass hungawry upon the wall. His self-inspectionwas grave and minute. His eyes held thephilosophic calm of accustomedness.

"Who put this head on me, Sandy?" heinquired apathetically. "The preacher?"

"I d' know. You had it when you come upouta the heap. You licked the preacherafterwards, I think."

Sandy was reading a ragged-backed novelwhile he smoked; his interest in Ford andFord's battered countenance was plainlyperfunctory.

Outside, the rain fell aslant in the windand drummed dismally upon the littlewindow beside Sandy. It beat upon thedoor and trickled underneath in a thinrivulet to a shallow puddle, formed wherethe floor was sunken. A dank warmth andthe smell of wet wood heating to theblazing point pervaded the room andmingled with the coarse aroma of cheap,warmed-over coffee.

"Sandy!"

"Hunh?"

"Did anybody get married last night?" Theleash of forgetfulness was snapping,strand by strand. Troubled remembrancepeered out from behind the philosophiccalm in Ford's eyes.

"Unh-hunh." Sandy turned a leaf and at thesame time flicked the ashes from hiscigarette with a mechanical fingermovement. "You did." He looked brieflyup from the page. "That's why you lickedthe preacher," he assisted, and went backto his reading.

A subdued rumble of mid-autumn thunderjarred sullenly overhead. Ford ceased

caressing the purple half-moon whichinclosed his left eye and began moodilystraightening his tie.

"Now what'n hell did I do that for?" heinquired complainingly.

"Search me," mumbled Sandy over hisbook. He read half a page farther. "Dowhat for?" he asked, with belatedattention.

Ford swore and went over and lifted thecoffeepot from the stove, shook it, lookedin, and made a grimace of disgust as thesteam smote him in the face. "Paugh!" Heset down the pot and turned upon Sandy.

"Get your nose out of that book a minuteand talk!" he commanded in a tone

beseeching for all its surly growl. "Yousay I got married. I kinda recollectsomething of the kind. What I want toknow is who's the lady? And what did Ido it for?" He sat down, leaned hisbruised head upon his palms, and spatmorosely into the stove-hearth. "Lordyme," he grumbled. "I don't know any ladywell enough to marry her—and I sure can'tthink of any female lady that would marryme—not even by proxy!"

Sandy closed the book upon a forefingerand regarded Ford with that blend of pity,amusement, and tolerance which is soabsolutely unbearable to one who hasbehaved foolishly and knows it. Fordwould not have borne the look if he hadseen it; but he was caressing a bruise on

the point of his jaw and staring dejectedlyinto the meager blaze which rimmed thelower edge of the stove's front door, andso remained unconscious of hiscompanion's impertinence.

"Who was the lady, Sandy?" he beggeddispiritedly, after a silence.

" S e a r c h me" Sandy replied againsuccinctly. "Some stranger that blew inhere with a license and the preacher andsaid you was her fee-ancy." (Sandy readromances, mostly, and permitted hisvocabulary to profit thereby.) "You neverdenied it, even when she said your namewas a nomdy gair; and you let her marryyou, all right."

"Are you sure of that?" Ford looked up

from under lowering eyebrows.

"Unh-hunh—that's what you done, allright." Sandy's voice was dishearteninglypositive.

"Lordy me!" gasped Ford under his breath.

There was a silence which slid Sandy'sinterest back into his book. He turned aleaf and was half-way down the pagebefore he was interrupted by morequestions.

"Say! Where's she at now?" Ford spokewith a certain furtive lowering of hisvoice.

"I d' know." Sandy read a line with greedyinterest. "She took the 'leven-twenty," headded then. Another mental lapse. "You

seen her to the train yourself."

"The hell I did!" Ford's good eye glaredincredulity, but Sandy was againfollowing hungrily the love-tangle of anunpronounceable count in the depths of theBlack Forest, and he remained perfectlyunconscious of the look and the mentaldistress which caused it. Ford went backto studying the meager blaze and trying toremember. He might be able to extract thewhole truth from Sandy, but that wouldinvolve taking his novel away from him—by force, probably; and the loss of thebook would be very likely to turn Sandyso sullen that he would refuse to answer,or to tell the truth, at any rate; and Ford'smuscles were very, very sore. He did notfeel equal to a scuffle with Sandy, just

then. He repeated something whichsounded like an impromptu litany and hadto do with the ultimate disposal of his ownsoul.

"Hunh?" asked Sandy.

Whereupon Ford, being harassed mentallyand in great physical discomfort as well,specifically disposed of Sandy's immortalsoul also.

Sandy merely grinned at him. "You don'twant to take it to heart like that," heremonstrated cheerfully.

Ford, by way of reply, painstakinglyanalyzed the chief deficiencies of Sandy'simmediate relatives, and was beginningupon his grandparents when Sandy

reached barren ground in the shape ofthree long paragraphs of snow, cold, andsunrise artistically blended with prismaticadjectives. He waded through the firstparagraph and well into the second beforehe mired in a hopeless jumble ofunfamiliar polysyllables. Sandy was notthe skipping kind; he threw the book upona bench and gave his attention wholly tohis companion in time to save his great-grandfather from utter condemnation.

"What's eating you, Ford?" he beganpacifically—for Sandy was a weakling."You might be a lot worse off. You'remarried, all right enough, from all I c'nhear—but she's left town. It ain't as if youhad to live with her."

Ford looked at him a minute and groaned

dismally.

"Oh, I ain't meaning anything against thelady herself," Sandy hastened to assurehim. "Far as I know, she's all right—"

"What I want to know," Ford broke in,impatient of condolence when he neededfacts, "is, who is she? And what did I goand marry her for?"

"Well, you'll have to ask somebody thatknows. I never seen her, myself, exceptwhen you was leadin' her down to thedepot, and you and her talked it overprivate like—the way I heard it. I wasgitting a hair-cut and shampoo at the time.First I heard, you was married. I shouldthink you'd remember it yourself." Sandylooked at Ford curiously.

"I kinda remember standing up andholding hands with some woman andsomebody saying: 'I now pronounce youman and wife,'" Ford confessedmiserably, his face in his hands again. "Iguess I must have done it, all right."

Sandy was kind enough when nototherwise engaged. He got up and put abasin of water on the stove to warm, thatFord might bathe his hurts, and he madehim a very creditable drink with lemonand whisky and not too much water.

"The way I heard it," he explained further,"this lady come to town looking for FrankFord Cameron, and seen you, and said youwas him. So—"

"I ain't," Ford interrupted indignantly. "My

name's Ford Campbell and I'll lick anydarned son-of-a-gun—"

"Likely she made a mistake," Sandysoothed. "Frank Ford Cameron, she hadyou down for, and you went ahead andmarried her willing enough. Seems likethere was some hurry-up reason that sheexplained to you private. She had thelicense all made out and brought apreacher down from Garbin. Bill Wrightsaid he overheard you tellin' her you'd doanything to oblige a lady—"

"That's the worst of it; I'm always toodamned polite when I'm drunk!" grumbledFord.

Sandy, looking upon his bruised anddistorted countenance and recalling,

perhaps, the process by which Fordreached that lamentable condition, made asound like a diplomatically disguisedlaugh. "Not always," he qualified mildly.

"Anyway," he went on, "you sure marriedher. That's straight goods. Bill Wright andRock was the witnesses. And if you don'tknow why you done it—" Sandy wavedhis hands to indicate his inability toenlighten Ford. "Right afterwards youwent out to the bar and had another drink—all this takin' place in the hotel dining-room, and Mother McGrew down withneuralagy and not bein' present—and onedrink leads to another, you know. I comein then, and the bunch was drinkin' luck toyou fast as Sam could push the bottlesalong. Then you went back to the lady—

and if you don't know what took place youcan search me—and pretty soon Bill saidyou'd took her and her grip to the depot.Anyway, when you come back, you wasn'ttroubled with no attack of politeness!

"You went in the air with Bill, first,"continued Sandy, testing with his fingerthe temperature of the water in the basin,"and bawled him out something fierce forstanding by and seeing you make a breaklike that without doing something. Youlicked him—and then Rock bought inbecause some of your remarks kindaincluded him too. I d' know," said Sandy,scratching his unshaven jaw reflectively,"just how the fight did go between you 'n'Rock. You was both using the wholeroom, I know. Near as I could make out,

you—or maybe it was Rock—tromped onBig Jim's bunion. This cold spell's hard onbunions—and Big Jim went after you bothwith blood in his eye.

"After that"—Sandy spread his armslargely—"it was go-as-you-please. Samand me was the only ones that kept out,near as I can recollect, and when itthinned up a bit, you had Aleck down andwas pounding the liver outa him, and BigJim was whanging away at you, and Rockwas clawin' Jim in the back of the neck,and you was all kickin' like bay steers inbrandin' time. I reached in under the pileand dragged you out by one leg and left therest of 'em fighting. They never seemed tomiss you none." He grinned. "Jimcommenced to bump Aleck's head up and

down on the floor instead of you—and Iknew he didn't have nothing againstAleck."

"Bill—"

"Bill, he'd quit right in the start." Sandy'sgrin became a laugh. "Seems like pore oldBill always gits in bad when youcommence on your third pint. You wasn'tthrough, though, seems like. You wasgoing to start in at the beginning and en-core the whole performance, and youstarted out after Bill. Bill, he was lookin'for a hole big enough to crawl into by thattime. But you run into the preacher. Andyou licked him to a fare-you-well and hadhim crying real tears before I or anybodyelse could stop you."

"What'd I lick him for?" Ford inquired in atone of deep discouragement.

Sandy's indeterminate, blue-gray eyesrounded with puzzlement.

"Search me," he repeated automatically.But later he inadvertently shedenlightenment. He laughed, bendingdouble, and slapping his thigh at theirresistible urge of a mental picture.

"Thought I'd die," he gasped. "Me andSam was watching from the door. You hadthe preacher by the collar, shakin' him,and once in awhile liftin' him clean off theground on the toe of your boot; and youkept saying: 'A sober man, and a preacher—and you'd marry that girl to a fellowlike me!' And then biff! And he'd let out a

squawk. 'A drinkin', fightin', gamblin' son-of-a-gun like me, you swine!' you'd tellhim. And when we finally pulled youloose, he picked up his hat and made a runfor it."

Ford meditated gloomily. "I'll lick himagain, and lick him when I'm sober, bythunder!" he promised grimly. "Who washe, do you know?"

"No, I don't. Little, dried-up geezer with anose like a kit-fox's and a whine to hisvoice. He won't come around here nomore."

The door opened gustily and a big fellowwith a skinned nose and a whimsical pairof eyes looked in, hesitated while hestared hard at Ford, and then entered and

shut the door by the simple method ofthrowing his shoulders back against it.

"Hello, old sport—how you comin'?" hecried cheerfully. "Kinda wet for makin'calls, but when a man's loaded down witha guilty conscience—" He sighedsomewhat ostentatiously and pulledforward a chair rejuvenated with baling-wire braces between the legs, and acowhide seat. "What's that cookin'—coffee, or sheep-dip?" he inquiredfacetiously of Sandy, though his eyesdwelt solicitously upon Ford's bowedhead. He leaned forward and slappedFord in friendly fashion upon the shoulder.

"Buck up—'the worst is yet to come,'" heshouted, and laughed with an exaggerationof cheerfulness. "You can't ever tell when

death or matrimony's goin' to get a man.By hokey, seems like there's no dodgin'either one."

Ford lifted a bloodshot eye to the other."And I always counted you for a friend,Bill," he reproached heavily. "Sandy saysI licked you good and plenty. Well, looksto me like you had it coming, all right."

"Well—I got it, didn't I?" snorted Bill, hishand lifting involuntarily to his nose. "AndI ain't bellering, am I?" His mouth took anabused, downward droop. "I ain't holdin'any grudge, am I? Why, Sandy here cantell you that I held one side of you upwhilst he was leadin' the other side of youhome! And I am sorry I stood there andseen you get married off and never lifted afinger; I'm darned sorry. I shoulda

hollered misdeal, all right. I know itnow." He pulled remorsefully at his wetmustache, which very much resembled aworn-out sharing brush.

Ford straightened up, dropped a handupon his thigh, and thereby discoveredanother sore spot, which he caressedgently with his palm.

"Say, Bill, you were there, and you sawher. On the square now—what's she like?And what made me marry her?"

Bill pulled so hard upon his mustache thathis teeth showed; his breath becameunpleasantly audible with the stress ofemotion. "So help me, I can't tell you whatshe's like, Ford," he confessed. "I don'tremember nothing about her looks, except

she looked good to me, and I never seenher before, and her hair wasn't red—Ialways remember red hair when I see it,drunk or sober. You see," he added as anextenuation, "I was pretty well jaggedmyself. I musta been. I recollect I was realput out because my name wasn't FrankFord—By hokey!" He laid an impressiveforefinger upon Ford's knee and tappedseveral times. "I never knew your namewas rightly Frank Ford Cameron. I always—"

"It ain't." Ford winced and drew awayfrom the tapping process, as if his kneealso was sensitive that morning.

"You told her it was. I mind that perfectly,because I was so su'prised I swore rightout loud and was so damned ashamed I

couldn't apologize. And say! She mustabeen a real lady or I wouldn't uh felt thatway about it!" Bill glanced triumphantlyfrom one to the other. "Take it from me,you married a lady, Ford. Drunk or sober,I always make it a point to speak properbefore the ladies—t'other kind don't count—and when I make a break, you betcherlife I remember it. She's a real lady—I'dswear to that on a stack uh bibles ten feethigh!" He settled back and unbuttoned hissteaming coat with the air of a man whohas established beyond question the vitalpoint of an argument.

"Did I tell her so myself, or did I just let itgo that way?" Ford, as his brain cleared,stuck close to his groping for the essentialfacts.

"Well, now—I ain't dead sure as to that.Maybe Rock'll remember. Kinda seems tome now, that she asked you if you wasreally Frank Ford Cameron, and you said:'I sure am,' or something like that. Thepreacher'd know, maybe. He musta beenthe only sober one in the bunch—exceptthe girl. But you done chased him off, so—"

"Sandy, I wish you'd go hunt Rock up andtell him I want to see him." Ford spokewith more of his natural spirit than he hadshown since waking.

"Rock's gone on out to Riley's camp,"volunteered Bill. "Left this morning,before the rain started in."

"What was her name—do you know?"

Ford went back to the mystery.

"Ida—or was it Jenny? Some darned name—I heard it, when the preacher wasmarrying you." Bill was flounderinghopelessly in mental fog, but he persisted."And I seen it wrote in the paper I signedmy name to. I mind she rolled up the paperafterwards and put it—well, I dunnowhere, but she took it away with her, andsays to you: 'That's safe, now'—or 'You'resafe,' or 'I'm safe,'—anyway, some darnedthing was safe. And I was goin' to kiss thebride—mebbe I did kiss her—only I'dlikely remember it if I had, drunk orsober! And—oh, now I got it!" Bill'svoice was full of elation. "You was goin'to kiss the bride—that was it, it was yougoin' to kiss her, and she slap—no, by

hokey, she didn't slap you, she just—orwas it Rock, now?" Doubt filled his eyesdistressfully. "Darn my everlastin' hide,"he finished lamely, "there was somekissin' somew'ere in the deal, and I mindher cryin' afterwards, but whether it wasabout that, or—Say, Sandy, what was itFord was lickin' the preacher for? Wasn'tit for kissin' the bride?"

"It was for marrying him to her," Sandyinformed him sententiously.

Ford got up and went to the little windowand looked out. Presently he came back tothe stove and stood staring disgustedlydown upon the effusively friendly Bill,leering up at him pacifically.

"If I didn't feel so rotten," he said glumly,

"I'd give you another licking right now,Bill—you boozing old devil. I'd like tolick every darned galoot that stood backand let me in for this. You'd ought to havestopped me. You'd oughta pounded theface off me before you let me do such afool thing. That," he said bitterly, "showshow much a man can bank on his friends!"

"It shows," snorted Bill indignantly, "howmuch he can bank on himself!"

"On whisky, to let him in for all kinds uhtrouble," revised Sandy virtuously. Sandyhad a stomach which invariably rebelledat the second glass and therefore,remaining always sober perforce, he tookto himself great credit for his morality.

"Married!—and I don't so much as know

her name!" gritted Ford, and went overand laid himself down upon the bed, andsulked for the rest of that day of rain andgloom.

CHAPTER II

Wanted: Information

Sulking never yet solved a mystery norwill it accomplish much toward betteringan unpleasant situation. After a day ofunmitigated gloom and a night of uneasydreams, Ford awoke to a white, shiftingworld of the season's first blizzard, and tosomething like his normal outlook uponlife.

That outlook had ever been cheerful, withthe cheerfulness which comes of taking

life in twenty-four-hour doses only, and oflooking not too far ahead and backwardnot at all. Plenty of persons live after thatfashion and thereby attain middle life withsmooth foreheads and cheeks unlined bythought; and Ford was therefore not muchdifferent from his fellows. Never beforehad he found himself with anything worsethan bodily bruises to sour life for himafter a tumultuous night or two in town,and the sensation of a discomfort whichhad not sprung from some well-definedphysical sense was therefore sufficientlynovel to claim all his attention.

It was not the first time he had fought andforgotten it afterwards. Nor was it a newexperience for him to seek informationfrom his friends after a night full of

incident. Sandy he had always foundtolerably reliable, because Sandy, beingof that inquisitive nature so common tosmall persons, made it a point to seeeverything there was to be seen; and hispeculiar digestive organs might becounted upon to keep him sober. It was areal grievance to Ford that Sandy shouldhave chosen the hour he did for indulgingin such trivialities as hair-cuts andshampoos, while events of realimportance were permitted to transpireunseen and unrecorded. Ford, when thegrievance thrust itself keenly upon him,roused the recreant Sandy by pitilesslythrusting an elbow against his diaphragm.

Sandy grunted at the impact and sat boltupright in bed before he was fairly awake.

He glanced reproachfully down at Ford,who stared back at him from a badlycrumpled pillow.

"Get up," growled Ford, "and start a firegoing, darn you. You kept me awake halfthe night, snoring. I want a beefsteak withmushrooms, devilled kidneys, waffleswith honey, and four banana fritters forbreakfast. I'll take it in bed; and while I'mwaiting, you can bring me the morningpaper and a package of Egyptian Houris."

Sandy grunted again, slid reluctantly outinto the bitterly cold room, and creptshivering into his clothes. He never quiteunderstood Ford's sense of humor, at suchtimes, but he had learned that it is morecomfortable to crawl out of bed than to bekicked out, and that vituperation is a mere

waste of time when matched against sheerheartlessness and a superior musculardevelopment.

"Y' ought to make your wife build thefires," he taunted, when he was clothedand at a safe distance from the bed. Heducked instinctively afterwards, but Fordwas merely placing a match by itself onthe bench close by.

"That's one," Ford remarked calmly. "I'mgoing to thrash every misguided humoristwho mentions that subject to me inanything but a helpful spirit of purefriendship. I'm going to give him aseparate licking for every alleged joke. I'llwant two steaks, Sandy. I'll likely have togive you about seven distinct wallopings.Hand me some more matches to keep tally

with. I don't want to cheat you out of yourjust dues."

Sandy eyed him doubtfully while hescraped the ashes from the grate.

"You may want a dozen steaks, but thatain't saying you're going to git 'em," heretorted, with a feeble show ofaggression. "And 's far as licking me goes—" He stopped to blow warmth upon hisfingers, which were numbed with theirgrasp of the poker. "As for licking me, Iguess you'll have to do that on the strengthuh bacon and sour-dough biscuits; if youdo it at all, which I claim the privilege uhdoubting a whole lot."

Ford laughed a little at the covertchallenge, made ridiculous by Sandy's

diminutive stature, pulled the blankets upto his eyes, and dozed off luxuriously; andalthough it is extremely tiresome to be toldin detail just what a man dreams uponcertain occasions, he did dream, and itwas something about being married. Atany rate, when the sizzling of bacon fryinginvaded even his slumber and woke him,he felt a distinct pang of disappointmentthat it was Sandy's carroty head bent overthe frying-pan, instead of a wife withblond hair which waved becomingly uponher temples.

"Wonder what color her hair is, anyway,"he observed inadvertently, before he waswide enough awake to put the seal ofsilence on his musings.

"Hunh?"

"I asked when those banana fritters arecoming up," lied Ford, getting out of bedand yawning so that his swollen jaw hurthim, and relapsed into his usualtaciturnity, which was his wall of defenseagainst Sandy's inquisitiveness.

He ate his breakfast almost in silence,astonishing Sandy somewhat by notcomplaining of the excess of soda in thebiscuits. Ford was inclined towardfastidiousness when he was sober—a traitwhich caused men to suspect him ofdescending from an upper stratum ofsociety; though just when, or just where,or how great that descent had been, theyhad no means of finding out. Ford, so faras his speech upon the subject wasconcerned, had no existence previous to

his appearance in Montana, five or sixyears before; but he bore certain earmarksof a higher civilization which, in Sandy'smind, rather concentrated upon apronounced distaste for soda-yellowedbread, warmed-over coffee, and scorchedbacon. That he swallowed all these thingsand seemed not to notice them, struckSandy as being almost as remarkable ashis matrimonial adventure.

When he had eaten, Ford buttoned himselfinto his overcoat, pulled his moleskin capwell down, and went out into the stormwithout a word to Sandy, which was alsounusual; it was Ford's custom to wash thedishes, because he objected to Sandy'seconomy of clean, hot water. Sandyflattened his nose against the window,

saw that Ford, leaning well forwardagainst the drive of the wind, was battlinghis way toward the hotel, and guessedshrewdly that he would see him no morethat day.

"He better keep sober till his knuckles gitwell, anyway," he mumbleddisapprovingly. "If he goes to fighting, theshape he's in now—"

Ford had no intention of fighting. He wentstraight up to the bar, it is true, but thatwas because he saw that Sam was at thatmoment unoccupied, save with a largelump of gum. Being at the bar, he drank aglass of whisky; not of deliberate intent,but merely from force of habit. Oncedown, however, the familiar glow of itthrough his being was exceedingly

grateful, and he took another for goodmeasure.

"H'lo, Ford," Sam bethought him to say,after he had gravely taken mental note ofeach separate scar of battle, and hadshifted his cud to the other side of hismouth, and had squeezed it meditativelybetween his teeth. "Feel as rocky as youlook?"

"Possibly." Ford's eyes forbade furtherpersonalities. "I'm out after information,Sam, and if you've got any you aren'tusing, I'd advise you to pass it over; I canuse a lot, this morning. Were you sober,night before last?"

Sam chewed solemnly while heconsidered. "Tolerable sober, yes," he

decided at last. "Sober enough to tend tobusiness; why?"

With his empty glass Ford wrote invisiblescrolls upon the bar. "I—did you happento see—my—the lady I married?" He hadbeen embarrassed at first, but when hefinished he was glaring a challenge whichshifted the disquiet to Sam's manner.

"No. I was tendin' bar all evenin'—andshe didn't come in here."

Ford glanced behind him at the sound ofthe door opening, saw that it was onlyBill, and leaned over the bar for greatersecrecy, lowering his voice as well.

"Did you happen to hear who she was?"

Sam stared and shook his head.

"Don't you know anything about her at all—where she came from—and why, andwhere she went?"

Sam backed involuntarily. Ford's tonemade it a crime either to know these thingsor to be guilty of ignorance; which, Samcould not determine. Sam was of thesleek, oily-haired type of young men, withpimples and pale eyes and a predilectionfor gum and gossip. He was afraid of Fordand he showed it.

"That's just what (no offense, Ford—I ain'tresponsible) that's what everybody'swondering. Nobody seems to know. Theykinda hoped you'd explain—"

"Sure!" Ford's tone was growingextremely ominous. "I'll explain a lot of

things—if I hear any gabbling going onabout my affairs." He was seized thenwith an uncomfortable feeling that thewords were mere puerile blustering andturned away from the bar in disgust.

In disgust he pulled open the door,flinched before the blast of wind andsnow which smote him full in the face andblinded him, and went out again into thestorm. The hotel porch was a bleak place,with snow six inches deep and icy boardsupon which a man might easily slip andbreak a bone or two, and with a whineoverhead as the wind sucked under theroof. Ford stood there so long that his feetbegan to tingle. He was not thinking; hewas merely feeling the feeble struggles ofa newborn desire to be something and do

something worth while—a desire whichmanifested itself chiefly in bitternessagainst himself as he was, and in a mentalnausea against the life he had been contentto live.

The mystery of his marriage was growingfrom a mere untoward incident of a night'scarouse into a baffling thing which hungover him like an impending doom. He wasnot the sort of man who marries easily. Itseemed incredible that he could reallyhave done it; more incredible that hecould have done it and then have wipedthe slate of his memory clean; with thecrowning impossibility that a strangeyoung woman could come into town,marry him, and afterward depart and noman know who she was, whence she had

come, or where she had gone. Fordstepped suddenly off the porch and boredhis way through the blizzard toward thedepot. The station agent would be able toanswer the last question, at any rate.

The agent, however, proveddisappointingly ignorant of the matter. Hereminded Ford that there had not beentime to buy a ticket, and that the girl hadbeen compelled to run down the platformto reach the train before it started, and thatthe wheels began to turn before she wasup the steps of the day coach.

"And don't you remember turning aroundand saying to me: 'I'm a poor married man,but you can't notice the scar,' or somethinglike that?" The agent was plainlyinterested and desirous of rendering any

assistance possible, and also ratherdiffident about discussing so delicate amatter with a man like Ford.

Ford drummed his fingers impatientlyupon the shelf outside the ticket window."I don't remember a darned thing about it,"he confessed glumly. "I can't say I enjoyrunning all around town trying to find outwho it was I married, and why I marriedher, and where she went afterwards, butthat's just the kinda fix I'm in, Lew. I don'tsuppose she came here and did it just forfun—and I can't figure out any otherreason, unless she was plumb loco. Fromall I can gather, she was a nice girl, and itseems she thought I was Frank FordCameron—which I am not!" He laughed,as a man will laugh sometimes when he is

neither pleased nor amused.

"I might ask McCreery—he's conductor onFourteen. He might remember where shewanted to go," the agent suggestedhesitatingly. "And say! What's the matterwith going up to Garbin and looking up therecord? She had to get the license there,and they'd have her name, age, place ofresidence, and—and whether she's whiteor black." The agent smiled uncertainlyover his feeble attempt at a joke. "I got alicense for a friend once," he explainedhastily, when he saw that Ford's face didnot relax a muscle. "There's a train up inforty minutes—"

"Sure, I'll do that." Ford brightened. "Thatmust be what I've been trying to think ofand couldn't. I knew there was some way

of finding out. Throw me a round-tripticket, Lew. Lordy me! I can't afford to leta real, live wife slip the halter like thisand leave me stranded and not knowing athing about her. How much is it?"

The agent slid a dark red card into themouth of his office stamp, jerked down thelever, and swung his head quickly towardthe sounder chattering hysterically behindhim. His jaw slackened as he listened, andhe turned his eyes vacantly upon Ford fora moment before he looked back at theinstrument.

"Well, what do you know about that?" hequeried, under his breath, released theticket from the grip of the stamp, andflipped it into the drawer beneath the shelfas if it were so much waste paper.

"That's my ticket," Ford reminded himlevelly.

"You don't want it now, do you?" Theagent grinned at him. "Oh, I forgot youcouldn't read that." He tilted his head backtoward the instrument. "A wire just wentthrough—the court-house at Garbin caughtfire in the basement—something about thefurnace, they think—and she's going up insmoke. Hydrants are froze up so they can'tget water on it. That fixes your looking upthe record, Ford."

Ford stared hard at him. "Well, I mighthunt up the preacher and ask him," he said,his tone dropping again to dulldiscouragement.

The agent chuckled. "From all I hear," he

observed rashly, "you've made that samepreacher mighty hard to catch!"

Ford drummed upon the shelf and scowledat the smoke-blackened window, beyondwhich the snow was sweeping aslant.Upon his own side of the ticket window,the agent pared his nails with his pocket-knife and watched him furtively.

"Oh, hell! What do I care, anyway?"Revulsion seized Ford harshly. "I guess Ican stand it if she can. She came here andmarried me—it isn't my funeral any morethan it is hers. If she wants to be so darnedmysterious about it, she can go plumb—to—New York!" There were a few decenttraits in Ford Campbell; one was hisrespect for women, a respect which wouldnot permit him to swear about this wife of

his, however exasperating her behavior.

"That's the sensible way to look at it, ofcourse," assented the agent, who made it apoint to agree always with a man of Ford'ssize and caliber, on the theory thatamiability means popularity, and thatplacation is better than plasters. "You sureought to let her do the hunting—and theworrying, too. You aren't to blame if shemarried you unawares. She did it all onher own hook—and she must have knownwhat she was up against."

"No, she didn't," flared Fordunexpectedly. "She made a mistake, and Iwanted to point it out to her and help herout of it if I could. She took me for someone else, and I was just drunk enough tothink it was a joke, I suppose, and let it go

that way. I don't believe she found out shetied up to the wrong man. It's entirely myfault, for being drunk."

"Well, putting it that way, you're rightabout it," agreed the adaptable Lew. "Ofcourse, if you hadn't been—"

"If whisky's going to let a fellow in forthings like this, it's time to cut it outaltogether." Ford was looking at the agentattentively.

"That's right," assented the otherunsuspectingly. "Whisky is sure giving youthe worst of it all around. You ought toclimb on the water-wagon, Ford, andthat's a fact. Whisky's the worst enemyyou've got."

"Sure. And I'm going to punish all of it Ican get my hands on!" He turned towardthe door. "And when I'm good and full ofit," he added as an afterthought, "I'm liableto come over here and lick you, Lew, justfor being such an agreeable cuss. Youbetter leave your mother's address handy."He laughed a little to himself as he pulledthe door shut behind him. "I bet he'll keepthe frost thawed off the window to-day,just to see who comes up the platform," hechuckled.

He would have been more amused if hehad seen how the agent ducked anxiouslyforward to peer through the ticket windowwhenever the door of the waiting roomopened, and how he started whenever thesnow outside creaked under the tread of a

heavy step; and he would have beenconvulsed with mirth if he had caught sightof the formidable billet of wood whichLew kept beside his chair all that day, andhad guessed its purpose, and that it was amute witness to the reputation which oneFord Campbell bore among his fellows.Lew was too wise to consider for amoment the revolver meant to protect thecontents of the safe. Even the unintelligentknow better than to throw a lighted matchinto a keg of gunpowder.

Ford leaned backward against the push ofthe storm and was swept up to the hotel.He could not remember when he had feltso completely baffled; the incident of thegirl and the ceremony was growing tosomething very like a calamity, and the

mystery which surrounded it began to frethim intolerably; and the very unusualnessof a trouble he could not settle with hisfists whipped his temper to the point ofexplosion. He caught himself wavering,nevertheless, before the wind-swept porchof the hotel "office." That, too, wasstrange. Ford was not wont to hesitatebefore entering a saloon; more often hehesitated about leaving.

"What's the matter with me, anyway?" hequestioned himself impatiently. "I'm actinglike I hadn't a right to go in and take adrink when I feel like it! If just a slighttouch of matrimony acts like that with aman, what can the real thing be like? Ialways heard it made a fool of a fellow."To prove to himself that he was still

untrammeled and at liberty to follow hisown desire, he stamped across the porch,threw open the door, and entered with acertain defiance of manner.

Behind the bar, Sam was laughing with hismouth wide open so that his gum showedshamelessly. Bill and Aleck and Big Jimwere leaning heavily upon the bar,laughing also.

"I'll bet she's a Heart-and-Hander, tryin' anew scheme to git a man. Think uhnabbing a man when he's drunk. That's anew one," Sam brought his lips closeenough together to declare, and chewedvigorously upon the idea,—until heglanced up and saw Ford standing by thedoor. He turned abruptly, caught up atowel, and began polishing the bar with

the frenzy of industry which neverimposes upon one in the slightest degree.

Bill glanced behind him and nudged Aleckinto caution, and in the silence whichfollowed, the popping of a piece of slate-veined coal in the stove sounded like avolley of small-caliber pistol shots.

CHAPTER III

One Way to Drown Sorrow

Ford walked up to the bar, with a smileupon his face which Sam misunderstoodand so met with a conciliatory grin and ahand extended toward a certain round,ribbed bottle with a blue-and-silver label.Ford waved away the bottle and leaned,not on the bar but across it, and clutchingSam by the necktie, slapped him first uponone ear and next upon the other, until hewas forced by the tingling of his ownfingers to desist. By that time Sam's green

necktie was pulled tight just under hisnose, and he had swallowed his gum—which, considering the size of the lump,was likely to be the death of him.

Ford did not say a word. He permittedSam to jerk loose and back into a corner,and he watched the swift crimsoning of hisears with a keen interest. Since Sam's facehad the pasty pallor of the badly scared,the ears appeared much redder by contrastthan they really were. Next, Ford turnedhis attention to the man beside him, whohappened to be Bill. For one long minutethe grim spirit of war hovered just overthe two.

"Aw, forget it, Ford," Bill urgedingratiatingly at last. "You don't want tolick anybody—least of all old Bill! Look

at them knuckles! You couldn't thump afeather bed. Anyway, you got the guiltyparty when you done slapped Sam up to apeak and then knocked the peak off. Madehim swaller his cud, too, by hokey! Say,Sam, my old dad used to feed a cow onbacon-rinds when she done lost her cud.You try it, Sam. Mebby it might help themears! Shove that there trouble-killer overthis way, Sammy, and don't look so fierceat your uncle Bill; he's liable to turn youacross his knee and dust your pantsproper." He turned again to Ford,scowling at the group and at life ingeneral, while the snow melted upon hisbroad shoulders and trickled in little,hurrying drops down to the nearestjumping-off place. "Come, drownd yoursorrer," Bill advised amiably. "Nobody

said nothing but Sammy, and I'll gamble hewishes he hadn't, now." If his counsel wasvicious, his smile was engaging—whichdoes not, in this instance, mean that it wasbeautiful.

Ford's fingers closed upon the bottle, andwith reprehensible thoroughness heproceeded to drown what sorrows he thenpossessed. Unfortunately he straightwayproduced a fresh supply, after his usualmethod. In two hours he was flushed andargumentative. In three he had whippedBill—cause unknown to the chronicler,and somewhat hazy to Ford also after itwas all over. By mid-afternoon he hadSammy entrenched in the tiny strongholdwhere barreled liquors were kept, andscared to the babbling stage. Aleck had

been put to bed with a gash over his righteye where Ford had pointed his argumentwith a beer glass, and Big Jim hadsuccumbed to a billiard cue directed firstat his most sensitive bunion and later athis head. Ford was not using his fists, thatday, because even in his whisky-brewedrage he remembered, oddly enough, hisskinned knuckles.

Others had come—in fact, the entire malepopulation of Sunset was hovering in theimmediate vicinity of the hotel—but nonehad conquered. There had beenconsiderable ducking to avoid painfulcontact with flying glasses from the bar,and a few had retreated in search ofbandages and liniment; the luckier onesremained as near the storm-center as was

safe and expostulated. To those Ford hadbut one reply, which developed into a sortof war-chant, discouraging to the peace-loving listeners.

"I'm a rooting, tooting, shooting, fightingson-of-a-gun—and a good one!" Fordwould declaim, and with deadly intent aima lump of coal, billiard ball, or glass atsome unfortunate individual in hisaudience. "Hit the nigger and get a cigar!You're just hanging around out there till Idrink myself to sleep—but I'm fooling youa few! I'm watching the clock with oneeye, and I take my dose regular and not toofrequent. I'm going to kill off a few ofthese smart boys that have been talkingabout me and my wife. She's a lady, mywife is, and I'll kill the first man that says

she isn't." (One cannot, you willunderstand, be too explicit in a case likethis; not one thousandth part as explicit asFord was.)

"I'm going to begin on Sam, pretty quick,"he called through the open door. "I've gothim right where I want him." And hestated, with terrible exactness, hisimmediate intentions towards thebartender.

Behind his barricade of barrels, Samheard and shivered like a gun-shy collie ata turkey shoot; shivered until humannerves could bear no more, and like thecollie he left the storeroom and fled with ayelp of sheer terror. Ford turned just asSam shot through the doorway into thedining-room, and splintered a beer bottle

against the casing; glanced solemnly up atthe barroom clock and, retreating to thenearly denuded bar, gravely pouredhimself another drink; held up the glass tothe dusk-filmed window, squinted throughit, decided that he needed a little morethan that, and added another teaspoonful.Then he poured the contents of the glassdown his throat as if it were so muchwater, wiped his lips upon a bar towel,picked a handful of coal from the depletedcoal-hod, went to the door, and shouted tothose outside to produce Sam, that hemight be killed in an extremely unpleasantmanner.

The group outside withdrew across thestreet to grapple with the problem beforethem. It was obviously impossible for

civilized men to sacrifice Sam, even ifthey could catch him—which they couldnot. Sam had bolted through the dining-room, upset the Chinaman in the kitchen,and fallen over a bucket of ashes in thecoal-shed in his flight for freedom. He hadnot stopped at that, but had scurried off upthe railroad track. The general opinionamong the spectators was that he had, bythis time, reached the next station and washiding in a cellar there.

Bill Wright hysterically insisted that itwas up to Tom Aldershot, who was adeputy town marshal. Tom, however, wasworking on the house he hoped to haveready for his prospective bride byThanksgiving, and hated to be interruptedfor the sake of a few broken heads only.

"He ain't shooting up nobody," he arguedfrom the platform, where he was doing"inside work" on his dining-room whilethe storm lasted. "He never does cut loosewith his gun when he's drunk. If I arrestedhim, I'd have to take him clear up toGarbin—and I ain't got time. And itwouldn't be nothin' but a charge uhdisturbin' the peace, when I got him there.Y'oughta have a jail in Sunset, like I'vebeen telling yuh right along. Can't expect aman to stop his work just to take a man tojail—not for anything less than murder,anyhow."

Some member of the deputation hinted adoubt of his courage, and Tom flushed.

"I ain't scared of him," he snortedindignantly. "I should say not! I'll go over

and make him behave—as a man and acitizen. But I ain't going to arrest him as anofficer, when there ain't no place to puthim." Tom reluctantly threw down hishammer, grumbling because they wouldnot wait till it was too dark to drive nails,but must cut short his working day, andwent over to the hotel to quell Ford.

Ingress by way of the front door wasobviously impracticable; the marshalducked around the corner just in time toavoid a painful meeting with a billiardball. Mother McGrew had piled twotables against the dining-room door andbraced them with the mop, and stubbornlyrefused to let Tom touch the barricadeeither as man or officer of the law.

"Well, if I can't get in, I can't do nothing,"

stated Tom, with philosophic calm.

"He's tearing up the whole place, and hemusta found all them extra billiard ballsMike had under the bar, and is throwin''em away," wailed Mrs. McGrew, "andhe's drinkin' and not payin'. The damagethat man is doin' it would take a year'sprofits to make up. You gotta dosomething, Tom Aldershot—you that callsyourself a marshal, swore to pertect thecitizens uh Sunset! No, sir—I ain't a-goin'to open this door, neither. I'm tryin' tosave the dishes, if you want to know. Iain't goin' to let my cups and plates follerthe glasses in there. A town full uh men—and you stand back and let one crazy—"

Tom had heard Mrs. McGrew voice heropinion of the male population of Sunset

on certain previous occasions. He left herat that point, and went back to the groupacross the street.

At length Sandy, whose imagination hadbeen developed somewhat beyond theelementary stage by his reading ofromantic fiction, suggested luring Fordinto the liquor room by the simple methodof pretending an assault upon him by wayof the storeroom window, which could bebarred from without by heavy planks.Secure in his belief in Ford's friendshipfor him, Sandy even volunteered to slamthe door shut upon Ford and lock it withthe padlock which guarded the room fromrobbery. Tom took a chew of tobacco,decided that the ruse might work, anddonated the planks for the window.

It did work, up to a certain point. Fordheard a noise in the storeroom and went toinvestigate, caught a glimpse of TomAldershot apparently about to climbthrough the little window, and hurled ahammer and considerable vituperation atthe opening. Whereupon Sandy scuttled inand slammed the door, according to hisown plan, and locked it. There was aseason of frenzied hammering outside, andafter that Sunset breathed freer, anddiscussed the evils of strong drink, andwashed down their arguments by copiousdraughts of the stuff they maligned.

Later, they had to take him out of thestoreroom, because he insisted uponknocking the bungs out of all the barrelsand letting the liquor flood the floor, and

Mike McGrew's wife objected to thewaste, on the ground that whisky costsmoney. They fell upon him in a body,bundled him up, hustled him over to theice-house, and shut him in; and within tenminutes he kicked three boards off oneside and emerged breathing fire andbrimstone like the dragons of old. He hadforgotten about wanting to kill Sam; hewas willing—nay, anxious—to murderevery male human in Sunset.

They did not know what to do with himafter that. They liked Ford when he wassober, and so they hated to shoot him,though that seemed the only way in whichthey might dampen his enthusiasm forblood. Tom said that, if he failed toimprove in temper by the next day, he

would try and land him in jail, though itdid seem rigorous treatment for socommon a fault as getting drunk.Meanwhile they kept out of his way aswell as they could, and dodged missilesand swore. Even that was becoming moreand more difficult—except the swearing—because Ford developed a perfectlydiabolic tendency to empty every storethat contained a man, so that it became nouncommon sight to see a back doorbelching forth hurrying figures at the mostunseasonable times. No man could lift afull glass, that night, and feel sure ofdrinking the contents undisturbed; whereatSunset grumbled while it dodged.

It may have been nine o'clock before thesporadic talk of a jail crystallized into a

definite project which, it was unanimouslyagreed, could not too soon be made areality.

They built the jail that night, by the light ofbonfires which the slightly wounded keptblazing in the intervals of standing guardover the workers; ready to give warning incase Ford appeared as a war-cloud ontheir horizon. There were fifteen able-bodied men, and they worked fast, withFord's war-chant in the saloon down thestreet as an incentive to speed. Theyerected it close to Tom Aldershot's house,because the town borrowed lumber fromhim and they wanted to save carrying, andbecause it was Tom's duty to look after theprisoner, and he wanted the jail handy, sothat he need not lose any time from his

house-building.

They built it strong, and they built it tight,without any window save a narrow slitnear the ceiling; they heated it by setting astove outside under a shelter, where Tomcould keep up the fire without the risk ofgoing inside, and ran pipe and a borrowed"drum" through the jail high enough so thatFord could not kick it. And to discourageany thought of suicide by hanging, theyceiled the place tightly with Tom'smatched flooring of Oregon pine. Tom didnot like that, and said so; but the citizensof Sunset nailed it on and turned a deaf earto his complaints.

Chill dawn spread over the town, dullingthe light of the fires and bringing intorelief the sodden tramplings in the snow

around the jail, with the sharply definedpaths leading to Tom Aldershot's lumber-pile. The watchers had long beforesneaked off to their beds, for not a sign ofFord had they seen since midnight. Thestorm had ceased early in the evening andall the sky was glowing crimson with thecoming glory of the sun. The jail wasalmost finished. Up on the roof threecrouching figures were nailing downstrips of brick-red building paper as a fairsubstitute for shingles, and on the sidenearest town the marshal and another wereholding a yard-wide piece flat against thewall with fingers that tingled in the cold,while Bill Wright fastened it into placewith shingle nails driven through tin disksthe size of a half-dollar.

Ford, partly sober after a sleep on thebilliard table in the hotel barroom, heardthe hammering, wondered whatindustrious soul was up and doingcarpenter work at that unseemly hour, andafter helping himself to a generous "eye-opener" at the deserted bar, found his capand went over to investigate. He wasmuch surprised to see Bill Wrightworking, and smiled to himself as hewalked quietly up to him through the soft,step-muffling snow.

"What you doing, Bill—building a chickenhouse?" he asked, a quirk of amusement atthe corner of his lips.

Bill jumped and came near swallowing anail; so near that his eyes bulged at thefeel of it next his palate. Tom Aldershot

dropped his end of the strip of paper,which tore with a dull sound of ripping,and remarked that he would be damned.Necks craned, up on the roof, and startledeyes peered down like chipmunks from atree. Some one up there dropped ahammer which hit Bill on the head, but noone said a word.

"You act like you were nervous, thismorning," Ford observed, in the tonewhich indicates a conscious effort atgood-humored ignorance. "Working on abet, or what?"

"What!" snarled Bill sarcastically. "Iwisht, Ford, next time you bowl up, you'dpick on somebody that ain't too good afriend to fight back! I'm gittin' tired, byhokey—"

"What—did I lick you again, Bill?" Ford'ssmile was sympathetic to a degree. "That'stoo bad, now. Next time you want to hunt ahole and crawl into it, Bill. I don't want tohurt you—but seems like I've kinda got thehabit. You'll have to excuse me." Hehunched his shoulders at the chill of themorning and walked around the jail,inspecting it with half-hearted interest.

"What is this, anyway?" he inquired ofTom. "Smoke-house?"

"It's a jail," snapped Tom. "To put youinto if you don't watch your dodgers. What'n thunder you want to carry on like youdid last night, for? And then go and soberup just when we've got a jail built to putyou into! That ain't no way for a man to do—I'll leave it to Bill if it is! I've a darned

good mind to swear out a warrant,anyway, Ford, and pinch you for disturbin'the peace! That's what I ought to do, allright." Tom beat his hands about his bodyand glared at Ford with his ultra-officialscowl.

"All right, if you want to do it." Ford'stone embellished the reply with a you-take-the-consequences sort ofindifference. "Only, I'd advise you neverto turn me loose again if you do lock meup in this coop once."

"I know I wouldn't uh worked all night onthe thing if I'd knowed you was goin' tosleep it off," Bill complained, with deepreproach in his watery eyes. "I made sureyou was due to keep things agitatedaround here for a couple uh days, at the

very least, or I never woulda drove a nail,by hokey!"

"It is a darned shame, to have a nice, newjail and nobody to use it on," sympathizedFord, his eyes half-closed and steely. "I'dlike to help you out, all right. Maybe I'dbetter kill you, Bill; they might stretch apoint and call it manslaughter—and Icould use the bounty to help pay a lawyer,if it ever come to a head as a trial."

Whereat Bill almost wept.

Ford pushed his hands deep into hispockets and walked away, sneeringopenly at Bill, the marshal, the jail, andthe town which owned it, and at wivesand matrimony and the world which heldall these vexations.

He went straight to the shack, drank a cupof coffee, and packed everything he couldfind that belonged to him and was not toolarge for easy carrying on horseback; andwhen Sandy, hovering uneasily aroundhim, asked questions, he told him brieflyto go off in a corner and lie down; whichadvice Sandy understood as an invitationto mind his own affairs.

Like Bill, Sandy could have wept at theingratitude of this man. But he asked nomore questions and he made no moreobjections. He picked up the story of theunpronounceable count who owned thecastle in the Black Forest and had muchtribulation and no joy until the lastchapter, and when Ford went out, with hisbattered, sole-leather suitcase and his rifle

in its pigskin case, he kept his pale eyesupon his book and refused even a grunt inresponse to Ford's grudging: "So long,Sandy."

CHAPTER IV

Reaction

Even when a man consistently takes Lifein twenty-four-hour doses and likes thosedoses full-flavored with the joys of thisearth, there are intervals when the soul ofhim is sick, and Life becomes a nauseousprogression of bleak futility. He may, inhis revulsion against it, attempt to end itall; he may, in sheer disgust of it, take hisdoses stronger than ever before, as if hewould once for all choke to death that partof him which is fine enough to rebel

against it; he may even forswear, inmelancholy penitence, that which hasserved to give it flavor, and vow himvows of abstemiousness at which thegrosser part of him chuckles ironically; or,he may blindly follow the first errantimpulse for change of environment, in thehalf-formed hope that new scenes may,without further effort on his part, serve tomake of him a new man—a man for whomhe can feel some respect.

Ford did none of these things, however.The soul-sick incentive was there, and ifhe had been a little less of a reasoninganimal and a little less sophisticated, hewould probably have forsworn strongdrink just as he forswore all responsibilityfor his inadvertent marriage. His reason

and his experience saved him fromcluttering his conscience with brokenvows, although he did yield to the impulseof change to the extent of leaving Sunsetwhile yet the inhabitants were fortifyingthemselves for the ardors of the day withbreakfast and some wild propheciesconcerning Ford's next outbreak.

Apprehension over Bill's immediate futurewas popular amongst his friends, Ford'ssardonic reference to manslaughter andbounty being repeated often enough inBill's presence to keep that peace-lovinggentleman in a state of trepidation whichhe sought to hide behind vague warnings.

"He better think twicet before he comesbothering around me, by hokey!" Billwould mutter darkly. "I've stood a hull lot

from Ford; I like 'im, when he's himself.But I've stood about as much as a man canbe expected to stand. And he better lookout! That's all I got to say—he better lookout!" Bill himself, it may be observedincidentally, spent the greater portion ofthat day in "looking out." He was carefulnot to sit down with his back to a door, forinstance, and was keenly interested whena knob turned beneath unseen fingers, andplainly relieved when another than Fordentered his presence. Bill's mustache wasnearly pulled from its roots, that day—butthat is not important to the story, whichhas to do with Ford Campbell, sometimethe possessor of a neat legacy in coin,later a rider of the cattle ranges, lastpresiding genius over the poker table inScotty's back room in Sunset, always an

important factor—and too often adisturbing element—in any communityupon which he chose to bestow hisdynamic presence.

Scotty hoped that Ford would show up forbusiness when the lamps were lighted, thatnight. There had been some delicacy onthe part of Ford's acquaintances that day inthe matter of calling upon him at the shack.They believed—and hoped—that Fordwas "sleeping it off," and there was aunanimous reluctance to disturb hisslumbers. Sandy, indulging himself in thematter of undisturbed spinal tremors over"The Haunted Chamber," had not leftshelter, save when the more insistentshiverings of chilled flesh recalled himfrom his pleasurable nerve-crimplings and

drove him forth to the woodpile. So that itwas not until evening was well advancedthat Sunset learned that Ford was nolonger a potential menace within itsmeager boundaries. Bill took a longbreath, observed meaningly that "He'dbetter go—whilst his credit's good, byhokey!" and for the first time that day satdown with his back toward an outer door.

Ford was not worrying about Sunset halfas much as Sunset was worrying abouthim. He was at that moment playingpinochle half-heartedly with a hospitablesheep-herder, under the impression that,since his host had frankly and profanelyprofessed a revulsion against solitaire anda corresponding hunger for pinochle, hisduty as a guest lay in satisfying that

hunger. He played apathetically,overlooked several melts he might havemade, and so lost three games insuccession to the gleeful herder, who hadneeded the diversion almost as much as heneeded a hair-cut.

His sense of social responsibility beingeased thereby, Ford took his headache andhis dull disgust with life to the wall sideof the herder's frowsy bunk, andstraightway forgot both in heavy slumber,leaving to the morrow any definite planfor the near future—the far future being aslittle considered as death and what is saidto lie beyond.

That day had done for him all he asked ofit. It had put him thirty miles and morefrom Sunset, against which he felt a

resentment which it little deserved; of atruth it was as inoffensive a hamlet as anyin that region, and its sudden,overweening desire for a jail was but alegitimate impulse toward self-preservation. The fault was Ford's, inharassing the men of Sunset into action.But several times that day, and againwhile he was pulling the stale-odoredblankets snugly about his ears, Fordanathematized the place as "a damned,rotten hole," and was as nearly thankful ashis mood would permit, when heremembered that it lay far behind him andwas likely to be farther before hisjourneyings were done.

Sleep held him until daylight seeped inthrough the one dingy window. Ford

awoke to the acrid smell of scorchedbacon, thought at first that Sandy was oncemore demonstrating his inefficiency as acook, and when he remembered thatSandy's name was printed smudgily uponthat page of his life which he had latelyturned down as a blotted, unlearned lessonis pushed behind an unwilling schoolboy,he began to consider seriously his nextstep.

Outside, the sheep were blatting stridentlytheir demand for breakfast. The herderbolted coffee and coarse food until he wasfilled, and went away to his dreary day'swork, telling Ford to make himself athome, and flinging back a hope of furthertriumphs in pinochle, that night.

Ford washed the dishes, straightened the

blankets in the bunk, swept the grimy flooras well as he could with the stub of broomhe found, filled the wood-box and then,being face to face with his day and theproblem it held, rolled a cigarette, andsmoked it in deep meditation.

He wanted to get away from town, andpoker games, and whisky, and the tumult itbrewed. Something within him hungeredfor clean, wind-swept reaches and thesane laughter of men, and Ford wasaccustomed to doing, or at least trying todo, the thing he wanted to do. He was notgetting into the wilderness because of anyinward struggle toward right living, butbecause he was sick of town and thesordid life he had lived there.

Somewhere, back toward the rim of

mountains which showed a faint violetagainst the sky to the east, he owned afriend; and that friend owned a stock ranchwhich, Ford judged, must be of goodlyextent; two weeks before, hearingsomehow that Ford Campbell was runninga poker game in Sunset, the friend hadwritten and asked him to come and takecharge of his "outfit," on the plea that, hisforeman having died, he was burdenedwith many cares and in urgent need ofhelp.

Ford, giving the herder's frying-pan a lastwipe with the dish-cloth, laughed at thethought of taking the responsibility offeredhim in that letter. It occurred to him,however, that the Double Cross (whichwas the brand-name of Mason's ranch)

might be a pleasant place to visit. It waslong since he had seen Ches—and therehad been a time when one bed held thetwo of them through many a long, wearynight; when one frying-pan cooked thescanty food they shared between them.And there had been a season of grindingdays and anxious, black nights between,when the one problem, to Ford, consistedof getting Ches Mason out of the wild landwhere they wandered, and getting him outalive. The problem Ford solved and at thesolution men wondered. Afterward theyhad drifted apart, but the memory of thosemonths would hold them together with abond which not even time could break—abond which would pull taut whenever theymet.

Ford set down the frying-pan and went tothe door and looked out. A chinook hadblown up in the night, and although thewind was chill, the snow haddisappeared, save where drifts clung tothe hollows, shrinking and turning blackbeneath the sweeping gusts; soddenmasses which gave to the prairie a drearyaspect of bleak discomfort. But Ford waswell pleased at the sight of the brown,beaten grasses. Impulse was hardening todecision while he stared across the emptyland toward the violet rim of hills; adecision to ride over to the Double Cross,and tell Ches Mason to his face that hewas a chump, and have a smoke with theold Turk, anyway. Ches had married,since that vividly remembered time whenadventure changed to hardship and hazard

and walked hand in hand with themthrough the wild places. Ford wonderedfleetingly if matrimony had changed oldChes; probably not—at least, not in thoseessential man-traits which appeal to men.Ford suddenly hungered for the man'shearty voice, where kindly humor lurkedalways, and for a grip of his hand.

It was like him to forget all about theherder and the promise of pinochle thatnight. He went eagerly to the decrepitlittle shed which housed Rambler, hislong-legged, flea-bitten gray; saddled himpurposefully and rode away toward theviolet hills at the trail-trot which eats upthe miles with the least effort.

That night, although he slept in a hamletwhich called itself a town, his purpose

kept firm hold of him, and he rode away ata decent hour the next morning,—and herode sober. He kept his face toward thehills, and he did not trouble himself withany useless analysis of his unusualtemperateness. He was going to blow in tothe Double Cross some time before heslept that night, and have a talk with Ches.He had a pint of fairly good whisky in hispocket, in case he felt the need of a littleon the way, and beyond those twosatisfactory certainties he did not attemptto reason. They were significant, in a way,to a man with a tendency towardintrospection; but Ford was interested inactualities and never stopped to wonderwhy he bought a pint, rather than a quart,or why, with Ches Mason in his mind, hedeclined to "set in" to the poker game

which was running to tempting jackpots,the night before; or why he took one glassof wine before he mounted Rambler andlet it go at that. He never once dreamedthat the memory of cheerful, steady-goingChes influenced him toward starting on hisfriendly pilgrimage the Ford Campbellwhom Mason had known eight yearsbefore; a very different Ford Campbell, beit said, from the one who had caused awhole town to breathe freer for hisabsence.

Of his wife Ford had thought less oftenand less uncomfortably since he left thetown wherein had occurred the untowardincident of his marriage. He was notunaccustomed to doing foolish thingswhen he was drunk, and as a rule he made

it a point to ignore them afterwards. Hismysterious, matrimonial accident wasbeginning to seem less of a realcatastrophe than before, and theanticipation of meeting Ches Mason wasrapidly taking precedence of all else in hismind.

So, with almost his normal degree ofcareless equanimity, he faced again therim of hills—nearer they were now, witha deeper tinge that was almost purplewhere the shadows lined them here andthere. Somewhere out that way lay theDouble Cross ranch. Forty miles, one mantold him it was; another, forty-three. Atbest it was far enough for the shorteneddaylight of one fall day to cover thejourney. Ford threw away the stub of his

after-breakfast cigarette and swung intothe trail at a lope.

CHAPTER V

"I Can Spare this ParticularGirl"

Ford's range-trained vision told him,while yet afar off, that the lone horsefeeding upon a side hill was saddled andbridled, with reins dragging; the telltale,upward toss of its head when it started onto find a sweeter morsel was evidenceenough of the impeding bridle, evenbefore he was near enough to distinguishthe saddle.

Your true range man owns blood-relationship with the original GoodSamaritan; Ford swung out of the trail anduntied his rope as a matter of course. Themaster of the animal might have turnedhim loose to feed, but if that were thecase, he had strayed farther than was everintended; the chances, since no humanbeing was in sight, were all against designand in favor of accident. At any rate Forddid not hesitate. It is not good to let ahorse run loose upon the range with asaddle cinched upon its back, as every oneknows.

Ford was riding along the sheer edge of awater-worn gully, seeking a place wherehe might safely jump it—or better, a spotwhere the banks sloped so that he might

ride down into it and climb the bankbeyond—when he saw a head and pair ofshoulders moving slowly along, just overthe brow of the hill where fed the stray.He watched, and when the figure toppedthe ridge and started down the slopewhich faced him, his eyes widened a triflein surprise.

Skirts to the tops of her shoes betrayed hera woman. She limped painfully, so thatFord immediately pictured to himselfpuckered eyebrows and lips pressedtightly together. "And I'll bet she's crying,too," he summed up aloud. While he wasspeaking, she stumbled and fell headlong.

When he saw that she made no attempt torise, but lay still just as she had fallen,Ford looked no longer for an easy

crossing. He glanced up and down thewashout, saw no more promising pointthan where he was, wheeled and rodeback twenty yards or so, turned and drovedeep his spurs.

It was a nasty jump, and he knew it allalong. When Rambler rose gamely to it,with tensed muscles and forefeet flungforward to catch the bank beyond, heknew it better. And when, after asickening minute of frenzied scrambling atthe crumbling edge, they slid helplessly tothe bottom, he cursed his idiocy for everattempting it.

Rambler got up with a pronounced limp,but Ford had thrown himself from thesaddle and escaped with nothing worsethan a skinned elbow. They were penned,

however, in a box-like gully ten feet deep,and there was nothing to do but follow itto where they might climb out. Ford wasworried about the girl, and made a futileattempt to stand in the saddle and fromthere climb up to the level. But Rambler,lame as he was, plunged so that Fordfinally gave it up and started down thegulch, leading Rambler by the reins.

There were many sharp turns and temper-trying windings, and though it narrowed inmany places so that there was barely roomfor them to pass, it never grew shallower;indeed, it grew always deeper; and then,without any warning, it stopped abruptlyupon a coulée's rim, with jumbled rocksand between them a sheer descent to theslope below. Ford guessed then that he

was boxed up in one of the mainwaterways of the foot-hills he had beenskirting for the past hour or so, and that heshould have ridden up the gulch instead ofdown it.

He turned, though the place was so narrowthat Rambler's four feet almost touchedone another and his rump scraped thebank, as Ford pulled him round, andretraced his steps. It was too rough forriding, even if he had not wanted to savethe horse, and he had no idea how far hemust go before he could get out. Ford, atthat time, was not particularly cheerful.

He must have gone a mile and more beforehe reached the point where, by hardscrambling, he attained level ground uponthe same side as the girl. Ten minutes he

spent in urging Rambler up the bank, andwhen the horse stood breathing heavilybeside him, Ford knew that, for all thegood there was in him at present, he mightas well have left him at the bottom. Hewalked around him, rubbing leg andshoulder muscles until he located the hurt,and shook his head when all was done.Then he started on slowly, with Ramblerhobbling painfully after him. Ford knewthat every rod would aggravate thatstrained shoulder and that a stop wouldprobably make it impossible for the horseto go on at all.

He was not quite sure, after all thosewindings where he could not see, justwhere it was he had seen the girl, but herecognized at last the undulating outline of

the ridge over which she had appeared,and made what haste he could up theslope. The grazing horse was no longer insight, though he knew it might be feedingin a hollow near by.

He had almost given up hope of findingher, when he turned his head and saw heroff to one side, lying half concealed by aclump of low rose bushes. She was notunconscious, as he had thought, but wascrying silently, with her face upon herfolded arms and her hat askew over oneear. He stooped and touched her upon theshoulder.

She lifted her head and looked at him, anddrew away with a faint, withdrawinggesture, which was very slight in itself butnone the less eloquent and unmistakable.

Ford backed a step when he saw it andclosed his lips without speaking the wordshe had meant to say.

She lifted her head and looked at him,

and drew away.

"Well, what do you want?" the girl askedungraciously, after a minute spent infumbling unseen hairpins and instraightening her hat. "I don't know whyyou're standing there like that, staring atme. I don't need any help."

"Appearances are deceitful, then," Fordretorted. "I saw you limping over the hill,after your horse, and I saw you fall downand stay down. I had an idea that a littlehelp would be acceptable, but of course—"

"That was an hour ago," she interruptedaccusingly, with a measuring glance at the

sun, which was settling toward the sky-line.

"I had trouble getting across that washoutdown there. I don't know this part of thecountry, and I went down it instead of up.What are you crying about—if you don'tneed any help?"

She eyed him askance, and chewed upon acorner of her lip, and flipped the upturnedhem of her riding skirt down over onespurred foot with a truly feminine instinct,before she answered him. She seemed tobe thinking hard and fast, and she hesitatedeven while she spoke. Ford wondered atthe latent antagonism in her manner.

"I was crying because my foot hurts so andbecause I don't see how I'm going to get

back to the ranch. I suppose they'll hunt meup if I stay away long enough—but it'sgetting toward night, and—I'm scared todeath of coyotes, if you must know!"

Ford laughed—at her defiance, in the faceof her absolute helplessness, more than atwhat she said. "And you tell me you don'tneed any help?" he bantered.

"I might borrow your horse," shesuggested coldly, as if she grudgedyielding even that much to circumstance."Or you might catch mine for me, Isuppose."

"Sure. But you needn't hate me becauseyou're in trouble," he hinted irrelevantly."I'm not to blame, you know."

"I—I hate to ask help from—a stranger,"she said, watching him from under herlashes. "And I can't help showing what Ifeel. I hate to feel under an obligation—"

"If that's all, forget it," he assured hercalmly. "It's a law of the open—to help afellow out in a pinch. When I headed forhere, I thought it was a man had been setafoot."

She eyed him curiously. "Then you didn'tknow—"

"I thought you were a man," he repeated."I didn't come just because I saw it was agirl. You needn't feel under any obligationwhatever. I'm a stranger in the country anda stranger to you. I'm perfectly willing tostay that way, if you prefer. I'm not trying

to scrape acquaintance on the strength ofyour being in trouble; but you surely don'texpect a man to ride on and leave awoman out here on the bald prairie—doyou? Especially when she's confessedshe's afraid of the dark—and coyotes!"

She was staring at him while he spoke,and she continued to stare after he hadfinished; the introspective look which seeswithout seeing, it became at last, and Fordgave a shrug at her apparent obstinacy andturned away to where Rambler stood withhis head drooped and his eyes half closed.He picked up the reins and chirped to him,and the horse hesitated, swung his left footpainfully forward, hobbled a step, andlooked at Ford reproachfully.

"Your horse is crippled as badly as I am,

it would seem," the girl observed, fromwhere she sat watching them.

"I strained his shoulder, trying to makehim jump that washout. That was when Ifirst got sight of you over here. We wentto the bottom and it took me quite a whileto find a way out. That's why I was solong getting here." Ford explainedindifferently, with his back to her, whilehe rubbed commiseratingly the swellingshoulder.

"Oh." The girl waited. "It seems to me youneed help yourself. I don't see how youexpect to help any one else, with yourhorse in that condition," she added. Andwhen he still did not speak, she asked:"Do you know how far it is to the nearestranch?"

"No. I told you I'm a stranger in thiscountry. I was heading for the DoubleCross, but I don't know just—"

"We're eight miles, straight across, fromthere; ten, the way we would have to go toget there. There are other washouts in thiscountry—which it is unwise to attemptjumping, Mr.—"

"Campbell," Ford supplied shortly.

"I beg your pardon? You mumbled—"

"Campbell!" Ford was tempted to shout itbut contented himself with a tartdistinctness. A late, untoward incident hadmade him somewhat touchy over his name,and he had not mumbled.

"Oh. Did you skin your face and blacken

your eye, Mr. Campbell, when you tried tojump that washout?"

"No." Ford did not offer any explanation.He remembered the scars of battle whichwere still plainly visible upon hiscountenance, and he turned red while hebent over the fore ankles of Rambler,trying to discover other sprains. He feltthat he was going to dislike this girl verymuch before he succeeded in getting her toshelter. He could not remember evermeeting before a woman under forty withso unpleasant a manner and with such atalent for disagreeable utterances.

"Then you must have been fighting awildcat," she hazarded.

"Pardon me; is this a Methodist

experience meeting?" he retorted, lookingfull at her with lowering brows. "It seemsto me the only subject which concerns usmutually is the problem of getting to aranch before dark."

"You'll have to solve it yourself. I neverattempt puzzles." The girl, somewhat tohis surprise, showed no resentment at hisrebuff. Indeed, he began to suspect her ofbeing secretly amused. He began alsomentally to accuse her of not being toobadly hurt to walk, if she wanted to;indeed, his skepticism went so far as toaccuse her of deliberately baiting him—though why, he did not try to conjecture.Women were queer. Witness his own lateexperience with one.

Being thus in a finely soured mood, Ford

suggested that, as she no doubt knew theshortest way to the nearest ranch, they atleast make a start in that direction.

"How?" asked the girl, staring up at himfrom where she sat beside the rose bushes.

"By walking, I suppose—unless youexpect me to carry you." Ford's tone wasnot in any degree affable.

"I fancy it would be asking too great afavor to suggest that you catch my horsefor me?"

Ford dropped Rambler's reins and turnedto her, irritated to the point where he felt adistinct desire to shake her.

"I'd far rather catch your horse, even if Ihad to haze him all over the country, than

carry you," he stated bluntly.

"Yes. I suspected that much." She hadplucked a red seed-ball off the bushnearest her and was nibbling daintily thesweet pulp off the outside.

"Where is the horse?" Ford was holdinghimself rigidly hack from an outburst oftemper.

"Oh, I don't know, I'm sure." She pickedanother seed-ball and began upon it. "Heshould be somewhere around, unless hehas taken a notion to go home."

Ford said something under his breath anduntied his rope from the saddle. He knewabout where the horse had been feedingwhen he saw him, and he judged that it

would naturally graze in the direction ofhome—which would probably besomewhere off to the southeast, since thetrail ran more or less in that direction.Without a word to the girl, or a glancetoward her, he started up the hill, hopingto get his bearings and a sight of the horsefrom the top. He could not rememberwhen he had been so angry with a woman."If she was a man," he gritted as heclimbed, "I'd give her a thrashing or leaveher out there, just as she deserves. That'sthe worst of dealing with a woman—shecan always hand it to you, and you've gotto give her a grin and thank-you, becauseshe ain't a man."

He glanced back, then, and saw her sittingwith her head dropped forward upon her

hands. There was something infinitelypitiful and lonely in her attitude, and heknitted his brows over the contrastbetween it and her manner when he lefther. "I don't suppose a woman knows,herself, what she means, half the time," hehazarded impatiently. "She certainly didn'thave any excuse for throwing it into methe way she did; maybe she's sorry for itnow."

After that his anger cooled imperceptibly,and he hurried a little faster because theday was waning with the chill haste ofmid-autumn, and he recalled what she hadsaid at first about being afraid of coyotes.And, although the storm of three days agohad been swept into mere memory by thatsudden chinook wind, and the days were

once more invitingly warm and hazilytranquil, night came shiveringly upon theland and the unhoused thought longingly ofhot suppers and the glow of a fire.

The girl's horse was, he believed, justdisappearing into a deep depression half amile farther on; but when he reached theplace where he had seen it, there wasnothing in sight save a few head of cattleand a coyote trotting leisurely up thefarther slope. He went farther down theshallow coulée, then up to the high levelbeyond, his rope coiled loosely over onearm with the end dragging a foot behindhim. But there was nothing to be seen fromup there, except that the sun was just a reddisk upon the far-off hills, and that thenight was going to be uncomfortably cool

if that wind kept blowing from thenorthwest.

He began to feel slightly uneasy about thegirl, and to regret wasting any time overher horse, and to fear that he might not beable to get close enough to rope the beast,even if he did see him.

He turned back then and walked swiftlythrough the dusk toward the ridge, beyondwhich she and Rambler were waiting. Butit was a long way—much farther than hehad realized until he came to retrace hissteps—and the wind blew up a thin rift ofclouds which made the darkness comequickly. He found it difficult to tell exactlyat which point he had crossed the ridge,coming over; and although experience inthe open develops in a man a certain

animal instinct for directions handeddown by our primitive ancestry, Fordwent wide in his anxiety to take theshortest way back to his unwillingprotégée. The westering slope was lighter,however, and five minutes of wanderingalong the ridge showed him a dim bulkwhich he knew was Rambler. He hurriedto the place, and the horse whinniedshrilly as he approached.

"I looked as long as I could see, almost,but I couldn't locate your horse," Fordremarked to the dark shadow of the rosebushes. "I'll put you on mine. It will beslow going, of course—lame as he is—butI guess we can manage to get somewhere."

He waited for the chill, impersonal reply.When she did not speak, he leaned and

peered at the spot where he knew she mustbe. "If you want to try it, we'd better bestarting," he urged sharply. "It's going tobe pretty cold here on this side-hill."

When there was silence still—and he gaveher plenty of time for reply—Fordstooped and felt gropingly for her, thinkingshe must be asleep. He glanced back atRambler; unless the horse had moved, sheshould have been just there, under hishands; or, he thought, she may have movedto some other spot, and be waiting in thedark to see what he would do. His palmstouched the pressed grasses where she hadbeen, but he did not say a word. He wouldnot give her that satisfaction; and he toldhimself grimly that he had his opinion of agirl who would waste time in foolery, out

here in the cold—with a sprained ankle, toboot.

He pulled a handful of the long grasswhich grows best among bushes. It wasdead now, and dry. He twisted it into amakeshift torch, lighted and held it high,so that its blaze made a great disk ofbrightness all around him. While it burnedhe looked for her, and when it grew toblack cinders and was near to scorchinghis hand, he made another and lookedfarther. He laid aside his dignity andcalled, and while his voice went boomingfull-lunged through the whispering silenceof that empty land, he twisted the thirdtorch, and stamped the embers of thesecond into the earth that it might not firethe prairie.

There was no dodging the fact; the girlwas gone. When Ford was perfectly sureof it, he stamped the third torch to deathwith vicious heels, went back to the horse,and urged him to limp up the hill. He didnot say anything then or think anythingmuch; at least, he did not think coherently.He was so full of a wordless rage againstthe girl, that he did not at first feel theneed of expression. She had made a foolof him.

He remembered once shooting a big,beautiful, blacktail doe. She had droppedlimply in her tracks and lain there, and hehad sauntered up and stood looking at herstretched before him. He was out of meat,and the doe meant all that hot venisonsteaks and rich, brown gravy can mean to

a man meat-hungry. While he unsheathedhis hunting knife, he gloated over the feasthe would have, that night. And just whenhe had laid his rifle against a rock andknelt to bleed her, the deer leaped fromunder his hand and bounded away over thehill. He had not said a word on thatoccasion, either.

This night, although the case wasaltogether different and the disappearanceof the girl was in no sense a disaster—rather a relief, if anything—he felt thatsame wordless rage, the same sense ofutter chagrin. She had made a fool of him.After awhile he felt his jaws aching withthe vicelike pressure of his teeth together.

They topped the ridge, Rambler hobblingstiffly. Ford had in mind a sheltering rim

of sandstone at the nearest point of thecoulée he had crossed in searching for thegirl's horse, and made for it. He hadnoticed a spring there, and while the watermight not be good, the shelter would bewelcome, at any rate.

He had the saddle off Rambler, theshoulder bathed with cold water from thespring, and was warming his wet handsover a little fire when the first gleam ofhumor struck through his anger and lightedfor a moment the situation.

"Lordy me! I must be a hoodoo, wherewomen are concerned," he said, kickingthe smoking stub of a bush into the blaze."Soon as one crosses my trail, she goesand disappears off the face of the earth!"He fumbled for his tobacco and papers. It

was a "dry camp" he was making thatnight, and a smoke would have to servefor a supper. He held his book of papersabsently while he stared hard at the fire.

"It ain't such a bad hoodoo," he mused. "Ican spare this particular girl just as easyas not; and the other one, too, for thatmatter."

After a minute spent in blowing apart thethin leaves and selecting a paper:

"Queer where she got to—and it's adarned mean trick to play on a man thatwas just trying to help her out of a fix.Why, I wouldn't treat a stray dog that way!Darn these women!"

CHAPTER VI

The Problem of GettingSomewhere

Dawn came tardily after a long, cheerlessnight, during which the wind whined overthe prairie and the stars showed dimlythrough a shifting veil of low-sweepingclouds. Ford had not slept much, forhunger and cold make poor bedfellows,and all the brush he could glean on thatbarren hillside, with the added warmth ofhis saddle-blanket wrapped about him,

could no more make him comfortable thancould cigarettes still the gnawing of hishunger.

When he could see across the coulée, herose from where he had been sitting withhis back to the ledge and his feet to themeager fire, brooding over all theunpleasant elements in his life thus far,particularly the feminine element. Hefolded the saddle-blanket along itsoriginal creases and went over to whereRambler stood dispiritedly with his backhumped to the cold, creeping wind and histail whipping between his legs when asudden gust played with it. Ford shivered,and beat his gloved hands about his body,and looked up at the sky to see whether thesun would presently shine and send a little

warmth to this bleak land where hewandered. He blamed the girl for all ofthis discomfort, and he told himself thatthe next time a woman appeared within hisrange of vision he would ride way aroundher. They invariably brought trouble; ofvarious sorts and degrees, it is true, buttrouble always. It was perfectly safe, hedecided, to bank on that. And he wished,more than ever, that he had notimprovidently given that pint of whisky toa disconsolate-looking sheep-herder hehad met the day before on his way outfrom town; or that he had put two flasks inhis pocket instead of one. In his opinion agood, big jolt right now would make anew man of him.

Rambler, as he had half expected, was

obliged to do his walking with three legsonly; which is awkward for a horseaccustomed to four exceedingly limberones, and does not make for speed,however great one's hurry. Ford walkedaround him twice, scooped water in hishands, and once more bathed the shoulder—not that he had any great faith in coldwater as a liniment, but because there wasnothing else that he could do, and hisanxiety and his pity impelled service ofsome sort. He rubbed until his fingerswere numb and his arm aching, tried himagain, and gave up all hope of leading thehorse to a ranch. A mile he might manage,if he had to but ten! He rubbed Rambler'snose commiseratingly, straightened hisforelock, told him over and over that itwas a darned shame, anyway, and finally

turned to pick up his saddle. He could notleave that lying on the prairie forinquisitive kit-foxes to chew intoshoestrings, however much he might dreadthe forty-pound burden of it on hisshoulders. He was stooping to pick it upwhen he saw a bit of paper twisted andtied to the saddle-horn with a red ribbon.

"Lordy me!" he ejaculated ironically. "Thelady left a note on my pillow—and I neverreceived it in time! Now, ain't that adarned shame?" He plucked the knotloose, and held up the ribbon and the note,and laughed.

"'When this reaches you, I shall be faraway, though it breaks my heart to go andthis missive is mussed up scandalous withmy bitter tears. Forgive me if you can, and

forget me if you have to. It is better thus,for it couldn't otherwise was,'" heimprovised mockingly, while his chilledfingers fumbled to release the paper,which was evidently a leaf torn from aman's memorandum book. "Lordy me, aletter from a lady! Ain't that sweet!"

When he read it, however, the smilevanished with a click of the teeth whichbetrayed his returning anger. One cold,curt sentence bidding him wait until helpcame—that was all. His eye measuredaccusingly the wide margin left blankunder the words; she had not omittedapology or explanation for lack of space,at any rate. His face grew cynicallyamused again.

"Oh, certainly! I'd roost on this side-hill

for a month, if a lady told me to," hesneered, speaking aloud as he frequentlydid in the solitude of the range land. Heglanced from ribbon to note, ended hisindecision by stuffing the note carelesslyinto his coat pocket and letting the ribbondrop to the ground, and with a curl of thelips which betrayed his mental attitudetoward all women and particularly towardthat woman, picked up his saddle.

"I can't seem to recollect asking that ladyfor help, anyway," he summed up beforehe dismissed the subject from his mindaltogether. "I was trying to help her; itsure takes a woman to twist things aroundso they point backwards!"

He turned and glanced pityingly atRambler, watching him with ears perked

forward inquiringly. "And I crippled adamned good horse trying to help ablamed poor specimen of a woman!" hegritted. "And didn't get so much as apleasant word for it. I'll sure rememberthat!"

Rambler whinnied after him wistfully, andFord set his teeth hard together andwalked the faster, his shoulders slightlybent under the weight of the saddle. Hisown physical discomfort was nothing,beside the hurt of leaving his horse outthere practically helpless; for a momenthis fingers rested upon the butt of his six-shooter, while he considered going backand putting an end to life and misery forRambler. But for all the hardness men hadfound in Ford Campbell, he was woman-

weak where his horse was concerned.With cold reason urging him, he laid thesaddle on the ground and went back, hishand clutching grimly the gun at his hip.Rambler's nicker of welcome stopped himhalf-way and held him there, hot withguilt.

"Oh, damn it, I can't!" he mutteredsavagely, and retraced his steps to wherethe saddle lay. After that he almost trotteddown the coulée, and he would not lookback again until it struck him as odd thatthe nickerings of the horse did not growperceptibly fainter. With a queer grippingof the muscles in his throat he did turn,then, and saw Rambler's head over thelittle ridge he had just crossed. The horsewas making shift to follow him rather than

be left alone in that strange country. Fordwaited, his lashes glistening in the firstrays of the new-risen sun, until the horsecame hobbling stiffly up to him.

"You old devil!" he murmured then, hiscontrite tone contrasting oddly with thewords he used. "You contrary, ornery, olddevil, you!" he repeated softly, rubbing thespeckled nose with more affection than hehad ever shown a woman. "You'd tagalong, if—if you didn't have but one leg tocarry you! And I was going to—" Hecould not bring himself to confess hismeditated deed of mercy; it seemed black-hearted treachery, now, and he stoodashamed and humbled before the dumbbrute that nuzzled him with such implicitfaith.

It was slow journeying, after that. Fordcarried the saddle on his own back ratherthan burden the horse with it, and hungryas he was, he stopped often and long, andmassaged the sprained shoulder faithfullywhile Rambler rested it, with all hisweight on his other legs and his noserooting gently at Ford's bowed head.

A stray rider assured him that he was onthe right trail, but it was past noon whenhe thankfully reached the Double Cross,threw his saddle down beside the stabledoor, and gave Rambler a chance at thehay in the corral.

CHAPTER VII

The Foreman of the DoubleCross

"Hell-o, Ford, where the blazes did youdrop down from?" a welcoming voiceyelled, when he was closing the gate ofthe corral behind him and thinking that itwas like Ches Mason to have a fine,strong corral and gate, and then slur thedetails by using a piece of baling wire tofasten it. The last ounce of disgust withlife slid from his mind when he heard the

greeting, and he turned and gripped hardthe gloved hand thrust toward him. ChesMason it was—the same old Ches, withthe same humorous wrinkles around hiseyes and mouth, the same kindliness, thesame hearty faith in the world as he knewit and in his fellowmen as he found them—the unquestioning faith that takes it forgranted that the other fellow is as squareas himself. Ford held his hand while hepermitted himself a swift, reckoningglance which took in these familiarlandmarks of the other's personality.

"Don't seem to have hurt you much—matrimony," he observed whimsically, ashe dropped the hand. "You look just likeyou always did—with your hat on." In theWest, not to say in every other locality,

there is a time-honored joke aboutmatrimony, for certain strenuous reasons,producing premature baldness.

Ches grinned and removed his hat. Eightyears had heightened his foreheadperceptibly and thinned the hair on histemples. "You see what it's done to me,"he pointed out lugubriously. "You ain'tmarried yourself, I suppose? You looklike you'd met up with some kindamisfortune." Mason was regarding Ford'sscarred face with some solicitude.

"Just got tangled up a little with myfellow-citizens, in Sunset," Fordexplained drily. "I tried to see how muchof the real stuff I could get outside of, andthen how many I could lick." He shruggedhis shoulders a little. "I did quite a lot of

both," he added, as an afterthought.

Mason was rubbing his jaw reflectivelyand staring hard at Ford. "The wife'sstrong on the temperance dope," he saidhesitatingly. "I reckon you'll want to bunkdown with the boys till you grow somehide on your face—there's lady companyup at the house, and—"

"The bunk-house for mine, then," Ford cutin hastily. "No lady can get within gunshotof me; not if I see her coming in time!"Though he smiled when he said it, therewas meaning behind the mirth.

Mason pulled a splinter from a corral railand began to snap off little bits with hisfingers. "Kate will go straight up in the airwith me if she knows you're here and

won't come to the house, though," heconsidered uneasily. "She's kept a bigpackage of gratitude tucked away withyour name on it, ever since that Alaskadeal. And lemme tell you, Ford, when awoman as good as Kate goes and getsgrateful to a man—gosh! Had yourdinner?"

"Not lately, I haven't," Ford declared. "Ikinda remember eating, some time in thepast; it was a long time ago, though."

Mason laughed and tagged the answer asbeing the natural exaggeration of a hungryman. "Well, come along and eat, then—ifyou haven't forgotten how to make yourjaws go. I've got Mose Freeman cookingfor me; you know Mose, don't you? Hiredhim the day after the Fourth; the Mitten

outfit fired him for getting soused andtrying to clean out the camp, and I nabbedhim before they had time to forgive him.Way they had of disciplining him—whenhe'd go on a big tear they'd fire him for afew days and then take him back. But theycan't git him now—not if I can help it. Abetter cook never throwed dishwater overa guy-rope than that same old Mose, but—" He stopped and looked at Fordhesitantly. "Say! I hate like the deuce to tiea string on you as soon as you hit theranch, Ford, but—if you've got anythingalong, you won't spring it on Mose, willyou? A fellow's got to watch him prettyclose, or—"

"I haven't got a drop." Ford's tone wasreprehensibly regretful.

"You do look as if you'd put it all underyour belt," Mason retorted dryly. "Leftanything behind?"

"Some spoiled beauties, and a nice newjail that was built by my admiringtownspeople, with my name carved overthe door. I didn't stay for the dedicationservices. Sunset was getting all fussed upover me and I thought I'd give them achance to settle their nerves; loss of sleepsure plays hell with folks when theirnerves are getting frazzly." He smileddisarmingly at Mason.

"I'd kinda lost track of you, Ches, till I gotyour letter. I've been traveling prettyswift, and that's no lie. I meant to write,but—you know how a man gets to puttingthings off. And then I took a notion to ride

over this way, and sample your grub for aday or so, and abuse you a little to yourface, you old highbinder!"

"Sure. I've been kinda looking for you,too. But—I wish you hadn't quite so big anassortment of battle-signs, Ford. Kate'sgot ideals and prejudices—and she don'tknow all your little personal traits. She'sheard a lot about you, of course. We wasmarried right after we came outa theNorth, you know, and of course—Well,you know how a woman sops upadventure stories; and seeing you was thestar performer—"

"And that's a lie," Ford put in modestly,albeit a trifle bluntly.

"No, it ain't. She got the truth. And she's so

darned grateful," he added lugubriously,"that I don't know how to square yourrecord with that face! Unless we can rigup some yarn about a holdup—" Hepaused just outside the mess-house doorand eyed Ford questioningly. "We might—"

"No, you don't. If you've gone and lied toher, and made me out a little tin angel, youdeserve what's coming. Anyway, I won'tstay long, and I'll stop down here with theboys. Call me Jack Jones and let it go atthat. Honest, Ches, I don't want to getmixed up with no more females. I'm plumbscared of 'em. Lordy me, that coffee suredoes smell good to me!"

Mason looked at him doubtfully, saw thatFord was, for the time being, absolutely

devoid of anything remotely approachingpenitence for his sins, or compunctionover his appearance, or uneasiness over"Kate's" opinion of him. He was hungry.And since it is next to impossible to whipup the conscience of a man whose thoughtsare concentrated upon his physical needs,Mason was wise enough to wait, thoughthe one point which he considered of vitalimportance to them both—the question ofFord's acceptance or refusal of theforemanship of the Double Cross—hadnot yet been touched upon.

While Ford ate with a controlledvoraciousness which spoke eloquently ofhis twenty-four hours of fasting andexposure, Mason gossiped inattentivelyand studied the man.

Eight years leave their impress of mentalgrowth or deterioration upon a man.Outwardly Ford was not much changedsince Mason had come with him out ofAlaska and lost sight of him afterwards.There was the maturity which the man ofthirty possessed and which the virileyoung fellow of twenty-one had lacked.There was the same straight glance, thesame atmosphere of squareness andmental poise. Those were qualities whichMason set down as valuable factors in hisestimate of the man. Besides, there wereother signs which did not make sopleasant a reading.

Eight years—and a few of them, at least,had been spent wastefully in tearing downwhat the other years had built; Mason had

heard that Ford was "going to the dogs,"and that by the short trail men blazed forthemselves centuries ago and which thosewho came after have made a highway—the whisky trail. Mason had heard, nowand then, of ten thousand dollars coming toFord upon the death of his father and goingalmost as suddenly as it had come. That, atleast, had been the rumor. Also he hadheard, just lately, that Ford had taken togambling as a profession and toterrorizing Sunset periodically as apastime. And Mason remembered the FordCampbell who had carried him on hisback out of a wild place in Alaska, andhad nearly starved himself that the sickman's strength might not fail him utterly.He had remembered—had Ches Mason;and, being one of those tenacious souls

who cling to friendship and to a resilientfaith in the good that is in the worst of us,he had thrown out a tentative life-line, asit were, and hoped that Ford might clutchit before he became quite submerged inthe sodden morass of inebriety.

Ford may or may not have grasped eagerlyat the line. At any rate he was there in themess-house of the Double Cross, and hewas not quite so sodden as Mason hadfeared to find him—provided he foundhim at all. So much, at least, wasencouraging, and for the rest, Mason wascontent to wait.

Mose, recognizing Ford at once, hadasked him, with a comical attempt atsecrecy, if he had anything to drink. WhenFord shook his head, Mose stifled a sigh

and went back to his dishwashing, notmore than half convinced and inclinedtoward resentfulness. That a "booze-fighter" like Ford Campbell should comeonly a day's ride from town and not befairly well supplied with whisky was tooremarkable to be altogether plausible. Heeyed the two sourly while they talked, andhe did not bring forth one of the fresh pieshe had baked, as he had meant to do.

It was not until Ford was ready to light hisafter-dinner cigarette that Mason led theway into the next room, which held thebunks and general belongings of the men,and closed the door so that they might talkin confidence without fear of Mose's loosetongue. Ford immediately pulled off hisboots, laid himself down upon one of the

bunks, doubled a pillow under his head,and began to eye Mason quizzically. Thenhe said:

"Say, you kinda played your hand facedown, didn't you, Ches, when you wroteand asked me to come out here and takecharge? Eight years is a long time toexpect a man to stay right where he waswhen you saw him last. You've lost awhole lot of horse sense since I knewyou."

"Well, what about it? You came, I notice."Mason grinned and would not help Fordotherwise to an understanding.

"I didn't come to hog-tie that foreman job,you chump. I just merely want to tell youthat you'll get into all kinds of trouble,

some day, if you go laying yourself wideopen like that. Why, it's plumb crazy tooffer a job like that to a fellow you haven'tseen for as long as you have me. And ifyou heard anything about me, it's a cinch itwasn't what would recommend me to anySunday-school as a teacher of their Bibleclass! How did you know I wouldn't takeit? And let you in for—"

"Well, you're here, and I've seen you. Thejob's still waiting for you. You can startright in, to-morrow morning." Ches got outhis pipe and began to fill it as calmly andwith as much attention to the small detailsas if he were not mentally tensed for thestruggle he knew was coming; a strugglewhich struck much deeper than theposition he was offering Ford.

Ford almost dropped his cigarette in hisastonishment. "Well, you damn' fool!" heejaculated pityingly.

"Why? I thought you knew enough—youpunched cows for the Circle for four orfive years, didn't you? Nelson told me youwere his top hand while you stayed withhim, and that you ran the outfit one wholesummer, when—"

"That ain't the point." A hot look had creptinto Ford's face—a tinge which was not aflush—and a glow into his eyes. "I knowthe cow-business, far as that goes. It's me;you can't—why, Lordy me! You ought tobe sent to Sulphur Springs and get yourthink-tank hoed out. Any man that willoffer a foreman's job to a—a—"

"'A rooting, tooting, shooting, fighting son-of-a-gun, and a good one!'" assistedMason equably. "'The only original go-getter—' Sure. That's all right."

The flush came slowly and darkenedFord's cheeks and brow and throat. Hethrew his half-smoked cigarette savagelyat the hearth of the rusty box-stove, andscowled at the place where it fell. "Well,ain't that reason enough?" he demandedharshly, after a minute.

Mason had been studying that flush. Henodded assent to some question he had putto himself, and crowded tobacco into hispipe. "No reason at all, one way or theother. I need a foreman—one I can dependon. I've got to make a trip out to the Coast,this fall, and I've got to leave somebody

here I can trust."

Ford shot him a quick, questioning glance,and bit his lip. "That," he said morecalmly, "is just what I'm driving at. Youcan't trust me. You can't depend on me,Ches."

"Oh, yes I can," Mason contradictedblandly. "It's just because I can that I wantyou."

"You can't. You know damn' well youcan't! Why, you—don't you know I've gotthe name of being a drunkard, and a—abad actor all around? I'm not like I waseight years ago, remember. I've traveled ahard old trail since we bucked the snowtogether, Ches—and it's been mostly downgrade. I was all right for awhile, and then

I got ten thousand dollars, and it seemed alot of money. I bought a fellow out—hehad a ranch and a few head of horses—sohe could take his wife back East to hermother. She was sick. I didn't want thedarned ranch. And so help me, Ches, that'sthe only thing I've done in the last fouryears that I hadn't ought to be ashamed of.The rest of the money I just simply blew. I—well, you see me; you didn't want totake me up to the house to meet your wife,and I don't blame you. You'd be a chump ifyou did. And this is nothing out of theordinary. I've got my face bunged up halfthe time, seems like." He thumped thepillow into a different position, settled hishead against it, and looked at Mason withhis old, whimsical smile. "So when youtalk about that foreman job, and depending

on me, you're—plumb delirious. I wasgoing to write and tell you so, but I keptputting it off. And then I took a notion I'dhunt you up and give you some goodadvice. You're a good fellow, Ches, butthe court ought to appoint a guardian foryou."

"I'll stick around for three or four weeks,"Mason observed, in the casual tone of onewho is merely discussing the details of aneveryday affair, "till the calves are allgathered. We're a little late this year, onaccount of old Slow dying right in round-up time. We got most of the beef shipped—all I care about gathering, this fall. I'vegot most all young stock, and it won't hurtto let 'em run another season; there ain'tmany. I'll let you take the wagons out, and

I'll go with you till you get kinda harness-broke. And—"

"I told you I don't want the job." Ford'smouth was set grimly.

"You tried to tell me what I want and whatI don't want," Mason corrected amiably."Now I've got my own ideas on thatsubject. This here outfit belongs to me. Ilike to pick my men to suit myself; and if Iwant a certain man for foreman, I guessI've got a right to hire him—if he'll lethimself be hired. I've picked my man. Itdon't make any difference to me how manytimes he played hookey when he was akid, or how many men he's licked since hegrowed up. I've hired him to help run theDouble Cross, and run it right; and I ain't abit afraid but what he'll make good." He

smiled and knocked the ashes gently fromhis pipe into the palm of his hand, becausethe pipe was a meerschaum just getting afine, fawn coloring around the base of thebowl, and was dear to the heart of him."Down to the last, white chip," he addedslowly, "he'll make good. He ain't the kindof a man that will lay down on his job."He got up and yawned, elaborately casualin his manner.

"You lay around and take it easy thisafternoon," he said. "I've got to jog over tothe river field; the boys are over there,working a little bunch we threw inyesterday. To-morrow we can ride arounda little, and kinda get the lay of the land.You better go by-low, right now—youlook as if it wouldn't do you any harm!"

Whereupon he wisely took himself off andleft Ford alone.

The door he pulled shut after him closedupon a mental battle-ground. Ford did notgo "by-low." Instead, he rolled over andlay with his face upon his folded arms,alive to the finger-tips; alive and fighting.For there are times when the soul of a manawakes and demands a reckoning, andreviews pitilessly the past and faces thefuture with the veil of illusion torn quiteaway—and does it whether the man willor no.

CHAPTER VIII

"I Wish You'd QuitBelieving in Me!"

A distant screaming roused Ford from hisbitter mood of introspection. He raised hishead and listened, his heavy-lidded eyesstaring blankly at the wall opposite,before he sprang off the bunk, pulled onhis boots, and rushed from the room.Outside, he hesitated long enough todiscover which direction he must take toreach the woman who was screaming

inarticulately, her voice vibrant with sheerterror. The sound came from the little,brown cottage that seemed trying modestlyto hide behind a dispirited row of youngcottonwoods across a deep, narrow gully,and he ran headlong toward it. He crossedthe plank footbridge in a couple of longleaps, vaulted over the gate which barredhis way, and so reached the house just as awoman whom he knew must be Mason's"Kate," jerked open the door andscreamed "Chester!" almost in his face.Behind her rolled a puff of slaty bluesmoke.

Ford pushed past her in the doorwaywithout speaking; the smoke told its ownurgent tale and made words superfluous.She turned and followed him, choking

over the pungent smoke.

"Oh, where's Chester?" she wailed. "Thewhole garret's on fire—and I can't carryPhenie—and she's asleep and can't walkanyway!" She rushed half across the roomand stopped, pointing toward a closeddoor, with Ford at her heels.

"She's in there!" she cried tragically."Save her, quick—and I'll find Chester.You'd think, with all the men there are onthis ranch, there'd be some one around—oh, and my new piano!"

She ran out of the house, scoldinghysterically because the men were gone,and Ford laughed a little as he went to thedoor she had indicated. When his fingerstouched the knob, it turned fumblingly

under another hand than his own; the dooropened, and he confronted the girl whomhe had tried to befriend the day before.She had evidently just gotten out of bed,and into a flimsy blue kimono, which shewas holding together at the throat with onehand, while with the other she steadiedherself against the wall. She staredblankly into his eyes, and her face wasvery white indeed, with her hair fallingthickly upon either side in two braidswhich reached to her hips.

Ford gave her one quick, startled glance,said "Come on," quite brusquely, andgathered her into his arms with as littlesentiment as he would have bestowedupon the piano. His eyes smarted with thesmoke, which blinded him so that he

bumped into chairs on his way to the door.Outside he stopped, and looked down atthe girl, wondering what he should dowith her. Since Kate had statedemphatically that she could not walk, itseemed scarcely merciful to deposit heron the ground and leave her to her owndevices. She had closed her eyes, and shelooked unpleasantly like a corpse; andthere was an insistent crackling up in theroof, which warned Ford that there waslittle time for the weighing of fine points.He was about to lay her on the bareground, for want of a better place, whenhe glimpsed Mose running heavily acrossthe bridge, and went hurriedly to meethim.

"Here! You take her down and put her in

one of the bunks, Mose," he commanded,when Mose confronted him, panting agood deal because of his two hundred andfifty pounds of excess fat and a pair ofdown-at-the-heel slippers whichhampered his movements appreciably.Mose looked at the girl and then at his twohands.

"I can't take her," he lamented. "I gotm'hands full of aigs!"

Ford's reply was a sweep of the girl'sinert figure against Mose's outstretchedhands, which freed them effectually oftheir burden of eggs. "You darned chump,what's eggs in a case like this?" he criedsharply, and forced the girl into his arms."You take her and put her on a bunk. I'vegot to put out that fire!"

So Mose, a reluctant knight and anawkward one, carried the girl to the bunk-house, and left Ford free to save the houseif he could. Fortunately the fire had startedin a barrel of old clothing which had stoodtoo close to the stovepipe, and while thesmoke was stifling, the flames were as yetpurely local. And, more fortunately still,that day happened to be Mrs. Mason'swash-day and two tubs of water stood inthe kitchen, close to the narrow stairwaywhich led into the loft. Three or four pailsof water and some quick work in runningup and down the stairs was all that wasneeded. Ford, standing in the low,unfinished loft, looked at the rafter whichwas burnt half through, and wiped hisperspiring face with his coat sleeve.

"Lordy me!" he observed aloud, "I suredidn't come any too soon!"

"Oh, it's all out! I don't know how I evershall thank you in this world! With Pheniein bed with a sprained ankle so shecouldn't walk, and the men all gone, I wasjust wild! I—why—" Kate, standing uponthe stairs so that she could look into theloft, stopped suddenly and stared at Fordwith some astonishment. Plainly, she hadbut then discovered that he was a stranger—and it was quite as plain that she wastaking stock of his blackened eyes andother bruises, and that with the shelteredwoman's usual tendency to exaggerate thedisfigurements.

"That's all right; I don't need any thanks."Ford, seeing no other way of escape,

approached her steadily, the empty bucketswinging in his hand. "The fire's all out,so there's nothing more I can do here, Iguess."

"Oh, but you'll have to bring Josephineback!" Kate's eyes met his straightforwardglance reluctantly, and not without reason;for Ford had dark, greenish purple areasin the region of his eyes, a skinned cheek,and a swollen lip; his chin was scratchedand there was a bruise on his foreheadwhere, on the night of his marriage, he hadhit the floor violently under the impact oftwo or three struggling male humans.Although they were five days old—six,some of them—these divers battle-signswere perfectly visible, not to sayconspicuous; so that Kate Mason was

perhaps justified in her perfectly apparentdiffidence in looking at him. So do weturn our eyes self-consciously away froma cripple, lest we give offense by gazingupon his misfortune.

"I can't carry her, and she can't walk—herankle is sprained dreadfully. So if you'llbring her back to the house, I'll be ever somuch—"

"Certainly; I'll bring her back right away."Ford came down the stairs so swiftly thatshe retreated in haste before him, and oncedown he did not linger; indeed, he almostran from the house and from herembarrassed gratitude. On the way to thebunk-house it occurred to him that it mightbe no easy matter, now, for Mason toconceal Ford's identity and his sins. From

the way in which she had stared wincinglyat his battered countenance, he realizedthat she did, indeed, have ideals. Fordgrinned to himself, wondering if Chesdidn't have to do his smoking altogether inthe bunk-house; he judged her to be justthe woman to wage a war on tobacco, andswearing, and muddy boots, and drinkingout of one's saucer, and all otherweaknesses peculiar to the male of ourspecies. He was inclined to pity Ches, inspite of his mental acknowledgment thatshe was a very nice woman indeed; and hewas half inclined to tell Mason when hesaw him that he'd have to look further fora foreman.

He found the girl lying upon a bunk justinside the door, still with closed eyes and

that corpse-like look in her face. He wasguilty of hoping that she would remain inthat oblivious state for at least fiveminutes longer, but the hope was short-lived; for when he lifted her carefully inhis arms, her eyes flew open and stared upat him intently.

Ford shut his lips grimly and tried not tomind that unwinking gaze while he carriedher out and up the path, across the littlebridge and on to the house, and depositedher gently upon her own bed. He had notspoken a word, nor had she. So he left herthankfully to Kate's tearful ministrationsand hurried from the room.

"Lordy me!" he sighed, as he closed thedoor upon them and went back to thebunk-house, which he entered with a sigh

of relief. One tribute he paid her, and oneonly: the tribute of feeling perturbed overher presence, and of going hot all over atthe memory of her steady stare into hisface. She was a queer girl, he toldhimself; but then, so far as he haddiscovered, all women were queer; theonly difference being that some womenwere more so than others.

He sat down on the bunk where she hadlain, and speedily forgot the girl and theincident in facing the problem of thatforemanship. He could not get away fromthe conviction that he was not to betrusted. He did not trust himself, and therewas no reason why any man who knewhim at all should trust him. Ches Masonwas a good fellow; he meant well, Ford

decided, but he simply did not realizewhat he was up against. He meant,therefore, to enlighten him further, and gohis way. He was almost sorry that he hadcome.

Mason, when Ford confronted him later atthe corral and bluntly stated his view ofthe matter, heard him through without aword, and did not laugh the issue out ofthe way, as he had been inclined to dobefore.

"I'll be all right for a month, maybe," Fordfinished, "and that's as long as I can bankon myself. I tell you straight, Ches, itwon't work. You may think you're hiringthe same fellow that came out of the Northwith you—but you aren't. Why, damn it,there ain't a man I know that wouldn't give

you the laugh if they knew the offer you'vemade me! They would, that's a fact. They'dlaugh at you. You're all right, Ches, but Iwon't stand for a deal like that. I can'tmake good."

Mason waited until he was through. Thenhe came closer and put both hands onFord's shoulders, so that they stood face toface, and he looked straight into Ford'sdiscolored eyes with his own shining alittle behind their encircling wrinkles.

"You can make good!" he said calmly. "Iknow it. All you need is a chance to pullup. Seeing you won't give yourself one,I'm giving it to you. You'll do for me whatyou won't do for yourself, Ford—and ifthere's a yellow streak in you, I never gota glimpse of it; and the yellow will sure

come to the surface of a man when he'sbucking a proposition like you and mebucked for two months. You didn't laydown on that job, and you were just a kid,you might say. Gosh, Ford, I'd bank on youany old time—put you on your mettle, andI would! You can make good here—anddamn it, you will!"

"I wish I was as sure of that as you seemto be," Ford muttered uneasily, and turnedaway. Mason's easy chuckle followedhim, and Ford swung about and faced himagain.

"I haven't made any cast-iron promise—"

"Did I ask you to make any?" Mason'svoice sharpened.

"But—Lordy me, Ches! How do you knowI—"

"I know. That's enough."

"But—maybe I don't want the darned job.I never said—"

Mason was studying him, as a man studiesthe moods of an untamed horse. "I didn'tthink you'd dodge," he drawled, and theblood surged answeringly to Ford'scheeks. "You do want it."

"If I should happen to get jagged up ingood shape, about the first thing I'd dowould be to lick the stuffing out of you forbeing such a simple-minded cuss," Fordprophesied grimly, as one who knowswell whereof he speaks.

"Ye-es—but you won't get jagged."

"Oh, Lord! I wish you'd quit believing inme! You used to have some sense," Fordgrumbled. But he reached out andclenched his fingers upon Mason's arm sotight that Mason set his teeth, and helooked at him long, as if there was muchthat he would like to put into words andcould not. "Say! You're white clear downto your toes, Ches," he said finally, andwalked away hurriedly with his hat jerkedlow over his eyes.

Mason looked after him as long as he wasin sight, and afterwards took off his hat,and wiped beads of perspiration from hisforehead. "Gosh!" he whispered fervently."That was nip and tuck—but I got him,thank the Lord!" Whereupon he blew his

nose violently, and went up to his supperwith his hands in his pockets and hishumorous lips pursed into a whistle.

Before long he was back, chuckling tohimself as he bore down upon Ford in thecorral, where he was industriouslyrubbing Rambler's sprained shoulder withliniment.

"The wife says you've got to come up tothe house," he announced gleefully."You've gone and done the heroic again,and she wants to do something to show hergratitude."

"You go back and tell your wife that I'm abold, bad man and I won't come." Ford, toprove his sincerity, sat down upon thestout manger there, and crossed his legs

with an air of finality.

"I did tell her," Mason confessedsheepishly. "She wanted to know who youwas, and I told her before I thought. Andshe wanted to know what was the matterwith your face, 'poor fellow,' and I toldher that, too—as near as I knew it. I toldher," he stated sweepingly, "that you'dbeen on a big jamboree and had lickedfourteen men hand-running. There ain't,"he confided with a twinkle, "any use at allin trying to keep a secret from your wife;not," he qualified, "from a wife like Kate!So she knows the whole darned thing, andshe's sore as the deuce because I didn'tbring you up to the house right away whenyou came. She thinks you're sufferin' fromthem wounds and she's going to doctor

'em. That's the way with a woman—younever can tell what angle she's going tolook at a thing from. You're the man thatpacked me down out of the Wrangelmountains on your back, and that's enoughfor her—dang it, Kate thinks a lot of me!Besides, you done the heroic thisafternoon. You've got to come."

"There ain't anything heroic in sloshing afew buckets of water on a barrel ofburning rags," Ford belittled, seeking inhis pockets for his cigarette papers.

"How about rescuing a lady?" Masontwitted. "You come along. I want you upthere myself. Gosh! I want somebody I cantalk to about something besides dressesand the proper way to cure sprainedankles, and whether the grocer sent out the

right brand of canned peaches. Women areall right—but a man wants some onearound to talk to. You ain't married!"

"Oh. Ain't I?" Ford snorted. "And what if Iain't?"

"Say, there's a mighty nice girl stayingwith us; the one you rescued. She's laid upnow—got bucked off, or fell off, orsomething yesterday, and hurt her foot—but she's a peach, all right. You'll—"

"I know the lady," Ford cut in dryly. "I mether yesterday, and we commenced hatingeach other as soon as we got in talkingdistance. She sent me to catch her horse,and then she pulled out before I got back.She's a peach, all right!"

"Oh. You're the fellow!" Mason regardedhim attentively. "Now, I don't believe shesaid a word to Kate about that, and shemust have known who it was packed herout of the house. I wonder why she didn'tsay anything about it to Kate! But shewasn't to blame for leaving you out there,honest she wasn't. I went out to hunt her up—Kate got kinda worried about her—andshe told me about you, and we did wait alittle while. But it was getting cold, andshe was hurt pretty bad and getting kindawobbly, so I put her on my horse andbrought her home. But she left a note foryou, and I sent a man back after you with ahorse. He come back and said he couldn'tlocate you. So we thought you'd gone tosome other ranch." He stopped and lookedquizzically at Ford. "So you're the man!

And you're both here for the winter—atleast, Kate says she's going to keep her allwinter. Gosh! This is getting romantic!"

"Don't you believe it!" Ford urgedemphatically. "I don't want to bump intoher again; a little of her company will lastme a long while!"

"Oh, you won't meet Jo to-night;Josephine, her name is. She's in bed, andwill be for a week or so, most likely.You've just got to come, Ford. Kate'll bedown here after you herself, if I go backwithout you—and she'll give me thedickens into the bargain. I want you to getacquainted with my kid—Buddy. He'sdown in the river field with the boys, buthe'll be back directly. Greatest kid youever saw, Ford! Only seven, and he can

ride like a son-of-a-gun, and wears chapsand spurs, and can sling a loop prettygood, for a little kid! Come on!"

"Wel-ll, all right—but Lordy me! I do hateto, Ches, and that's a fact. Women I'mplumb scared of. I never met one in mylife that didn't hand me a package oftrouble so big I couldn't see around it.Why—" He shut his teeth upon the impulseto confide to Mason his matrimonialmischance.

"These two won't. My wife's the realgoods, once you get to know her; a littlefussy, maybe, over some things—most allwomen are. But she's all right, you bet.And Josephine's the proper stuff too. Alittle abrupt, maybe—"

"Abrupt!" Ford echoed, and laughed overthe word. "Yes, she is what you might calla little—abrupt!"

CHAPTER IX

Impressions

Josephine waited languidly while Katechose a second-best cushion from thecouch and, lifting the bandaged foot asgently as might be, placed it, with manylittle pats and pulls, under the afflictedmember. Josephine screwed her lips intoa soundless expression of pain, smiledafterwards when Kate glanced at hercommiseratingly, and pulled a long, dark-brown braid forward over her chest.

"Do you want tea, Phenie?—or would yourather have chocolate to-day? I can makechocolate just as easy as not; I think Ishall, anyway. Buddy is so fond of it and—"

"Is that man here yet?" Josephine's tonecarried the full weight of her dislike ofhim.

"I don't know why you call him 'that man,'the way you do," Kate complained, turningher mind from the momentous decisionbetween tea and chocolate. "Ford's simplyfine! Chester thinks there's no one likehim; and Buddy just tags him aroundeverywhere. You can always," assertedKate, with the positiveness of the personwho accepts unquestioningly the beliefs ofothers, living by faith rather than reason,

"depend upon the likes and dislikes ofchildren and dogs, you know."

"Has the swelling gone out of his eyes?"Josephine inquired pointedly, with theirrelevance which seemed habitual to herand Kate when they conversed.

"Phenie, I don't think it's kind of you toharp on that. Yes, it has, if you want toknow. He's positively handsome—or willbe when the—when his nose healsperfectly. And I don't think that's anythingone should hold against Ford; it seemsnarrow, dear."

"The skinned place?" Josephine's tonewas perfectly innocent, and her fingerswere busy with the wide, black bowwhich becomingly tied the end of the

braid.

"Phenie! If you hadn't a sprained ankle,and weren't such a dear in every otherrespect, I'd shake you! It isn't fair.Because Ford was pounced upon by a lotof men—sixteen, Chester told me—"

"I suppose he counted the dead after thebattle, and told Ches truthfully—"

"Phenie, that sounds catty! When you getdown on a man, you're perfectlyunmerciful, and Ford doesn't deserve it.You shouldn't judge men by the narrow,Eastern standards. I know it's awful for aman to drink and fight. But Ford wasn'taltogether to blame. They got him todrinking and," she went on with her voicelowered to the pitch at which women are

wont to relate horrid, immoral things, "—Iwouldn't be surprised if they putsomething in it! Such things are done; I'veheard of men being drugged and robbedand all sorts of things. And I'm just asmuch of an advocate for temperance asyou are, Phenie—and I think Ford was justright to fight those men. There are," shedeclared wisely, "circumstances whereit's perfectly just and right for a man tofight. I can imagine circumstances underwhich Chester would be justified infighting—"

"In case sixteen men should hold his noseand pour drugged whisky down histhroat?" Phenie inquired mildly, curlingthe end of her braid over a slim forefinger.

Mrs. Kate made an inarticulate sound

which might almost be termed a snort, andwalked from the room with her head wellup and a manner which silently made plainto the onlooker that she might say manythings which would effectually crush heropponent, but was magnanimouslyrefraining from doing so.

Josephine did not even pay her the tributeof looking at her; she had at that momentheard a step upon the porch, and she wasleaning to one side so that she might seewho was coming into the dining-room. Asit happened, it was Mason himself. MissJosephine immediately lost interest in thearrival and took to tracing with her fingerthe outline of a Japanese lady with astartling coiffure and an immense bowupon her spine, who was simpering at a

lotus bed on Josephine's kimono. She didnot look up until some one stepped uponthe porch again.

This time it was Ford, and he stopped andpainstakingly removed the last bit of soilfrom his boot-soles upon the iron scraperwhich was attached to one end of the topstep; when that duty had been performed,he paid further tribute to the immaculatehouse he was about to enter, by wiping hisfeet upon a mat placed with mathematicalprecision upon the porch, at the head ofthe steps. Josephine watched theceremonial, and studied Ford's profile,and did not lay her head back upon thecushion behind her until he disappearedinto the dining-room. Then she stared at acolored-crayon portrait of Buddy which

hung on the wall opposite, and her eyeswere the eyes of one who sees into thepast.

Buddy, when he opened the door andprojected himself into the room, startledher into a little exclamation.

"Dad says he'll carry you out to the tableand you can have a whole side toyourself," he announced without preface."They'll just pick up your chair, and packchair and all in, and set you down as ee-asy—do you want to eat out there withus?"

Josephine hesitated for two seconds. "Allright," she consented then, in a supremelyindifferent tone which was of course quitewasted on Buddy, who immediately

disappeared with a whoop.

"Come on, dad—she says yes, all right,she'll come," he announced gleefully.Buddy was Josephine's devoted admirer,at this point in their rather briefacquaintance; which, according to hismother's well-known theory, wasconvincing proof of her intrinsic worth—Mrs. Kate having frequently strengthenedher championship of Ford to his detractor,Miss Josephine, by pointing out thatBuddy was fond of him.

Josephine spent the brief interval intucking back locks of hair and inrearranging the folds of her long, Japanesekimono, and managed to fall into alanguidly indifferent attitude by the timeChester opened the door. Behind him

came Ford; Miss Josephine moved herlips and tilted her head in a perfunctorygreeting, and afterward gave him no moreattention than if he had been a Pullmanporter assisting with her suitcases. For thematter of that, she gave quite as muchattention as she received from him—andMason's lips twitched betrayingly at thespectacle.

Through dinner they seemed mutuallyagreed upon ignoring each other as muchas was politely possible, which causedMason to watch them with amusement, andafterwards relieve his feelings by talkingabout them to Kate in the kitchen.

"Gosh! Jo and Ford are sure putting up agood bluff," he chuckled, while heselected the freshest dish towel from the

rack behind the pantry door. "They'd besticking out their tongues at each other ifthey was twenty years younger; pity theyain't, too; it would be a relief to 'em both!"

"Phenie provokes me almost pastendurance!" Mrs. Kate complained,burying two plump forearms in a dishpanof sudsy hot water, and bringing up ahandful of silver. "It's because Ford hadbeen fighting when he came here, and sheknows he has been slightly addicted toliquor. She looks down on him, and I don'tthink it's fair. If a man wants to reform, Ibelieve in helping him instead of pushinghim father down." (Mrs. Kate had certainlittle peculiarities of speech; one was anitalicized delivery, and another was theomission of an r now and then. She always

said "father" when she really meant"farther.") "There's a lot that one can do tohelp. I believe in showing trust andconfidence in a man, when he's trying tolive down past mistakes. I think it was justfine of you to make him foreman here! IfPhenie would only be nice to him, insteadof turning up her nose the way she does!You see yourself how she treats Ford, andI just think it's a shame! I think he's justsplendid!"

"She don't treat him any worse than hedoes her," observed Mason, just to thecore. "Seems to me, if I was single, and agirl as pretty as Jo—"

"Well, I'm glad Ford has got spunk enoughnot to care," Mrs. Kate interposed hastily."Phenie's pretty, of course—but it takes

more than that to attract a man like Ford.You can't expect him to like her when shewon't look at him, hardly; it makes me feelterribly, because he's sure to think it'sbecause he—I've tried to make her seethat it isn't right to condemn a man becausehe has made one mistake. He ought to beencouraged, instead of being made to feelthat he is a—an outcast, practically. And—"

"Jo don't like Ford, because she's stuck onDick," stated a shrill, positive youngvoice behind them, and Mrs. Kate turnedsharply upon her offspring. "They waswaving hands to each other just now,through the window. I seen 'em," Buddyfinished complacently. "Dick was downfixing the bridge, and—"

"Buddy, you run right out and play! Youmust not listen to older people and try totalk about some-thing you don'tunderstand."

"Aw, I understand them two being stuckon each other," Buddy maintained loftily."And I seen Dick—"

"Chase yourself outdoors, like yourmother said; and don't butt in on—"

"Chester!" reproved Mrs. Kate, wavingBuddy out of the kitchen. "How can youexpect the child to learn good English,when you talk to him like that? Run along,Buddy, and play like a good boy." Shegave him a little cake to accelerate hisdeparture and to turn his mind from furtherargument, and after he was gone she

swung the discussion to Buddy and hisgrowing tendency toward grappling withproblems beyond his seven years. Also,she pointed out the necessity for choosingone's language carefully in his presence.

Mason, therefore, finished wiping thedishes almost in silence, and left the houseas soon as he was through, with the feelingthat women were not by nature intended tobe really companionable. He had, forinstance, been struck with the humorousside of Ford and Josephine's perfectlyridiculous antipathy, and had lingered inthe kitchen because of a half-consciousimpulse to enjoy the joke with some one.And Mrs. Kate had not taken the view-point which appealed to him, but had beenself-consciously virtuous in her

determination to lend Ford a helping hand,and resentful because Josephine failed tofeel also the urge of uplifting mankind.

Mason, poor man, was vaguely nettled; hedid not see that Ford needed anysettlement-worker encouragement. If hewas let alone, and his moral regenerationforgotten, and he himself treated just likeany other man, Mason felt that Ford wouldthereby have all the encouragement heneeded. Ford was once more plainlycontent with life, and was taking it intwenty-four-hour doses again; healthfuldoses, these, and different in every respectfrom those days spent in the sordid roundof ill-living in town; nor did he flay hissoul with doubts lest he should disappointthis man who trusted him so rashly and so

implicitly. Ford was busy at work whichappealed to the best of him. He wasthrown into companionship with men whoperforce lived cleanly and naturally, andwith Ches Mason, who was his friend. Atmeals he sometimes gave thought to Mrs.Kate, and frequently to Josephine. Thefirst he admired impersonally for herhousewifely skill, and smiled at secretlyfor her purely feminine outlook upon lifeand her positive views upon subjects ofwhich she knew not half the alphabet. Hehad discovered that Mason did indeedrefrain from smoking in the house becauseshe discountenanced tobacco; and sinceshe had a talent for making a manuncomfortably aware of her disapprovalby certain wordless manifestations ofscorn for his weaknesses, Ford also took

to throwing away his cigarette before hecrossed the bridge on his way to herdomain. He did not, however, go so far asChes, who kept his tobacco, pipe, andcigarette papers in the stable, and wasalways borrowing "the makings" from hismen.

Ford also followed Mason's example insterilizing his vocabulary whenever hecrossed that boundary between themasculine and feminine element on theranch, the bridge. Mrs. Kate did notapprove of slang. Ford found himselfcarefully eliminating from his speechcertain grammatical inaccuracies in herpresence, and would not so much as splitan infinitive if he remembered in time. Itwas trying, to be sure. Ford thanked God

that he still retained a smattering of therules he had reluctantly memorized inschool, and that he was not married (atleast, not uncomfortably so), and that hewas not compelled to do more than eat hismeals in the house. Mrs. Kate was a nicewoman; Ford would tell any man so inperfect sincerity. He even considered hernice looking, with her smooth, brown hairwhich was never disordered, her fine,clear skin, her white teeth, her clear blueeyes, and her immaculate shirt-waists. Butshe was not a comfortable woman to bewith; an ordinary human wearied ofadjusting his speech, his manners, and hismorals to her standard of propriety. Ford,quietly studying matrimony from the well-ordered example before him, began tocongratulate himself upon not being able

to locate his own wife—since accidenthad afflicted him with one. When hestopped, during these first busy days at theDouble Cross, to think deeply or seriouslyupon the mysterious entanglement he hadfallen into, he was inclined to the opinionthat he had had a narrow escape. Thewoman might have remained in Sunset—and Ford flinched at the thought.

As to Josephine, Ford's thoughts dweltwith her oftener than they did with Mrs.Kate. The thought of her roused a certainresentment which bordered closely upondislike. Still, she piqued his interest; for aweek she was invisible to him, yet herpresence in the house created a tangibleatmosphere which he felt but could notexplain. His first sight of her—beyond a

fleeting glimpse once or twice through thewindow—had been that day when he hadhelped Mason carry her and her big chairinto the dining-room. The brief contacthad left with him a vision of the delicateparting in her soft, brown hair, and oflong, thick lashes which curled daintily upfrom the shadow they made on her cheeks.He did not remember ever having seen awoman with such eyelashes. Theyimpelled him to glance at her oftener thanhe would otherwise have done, and towonder, now and then, if they did notmake her eyes seem darker than theyreally were. He thought it strange that hehad not noticed her lashes that day whenhe carried her from the house and backagain—until he remembered that at firsthis haste had been extreme, and that when

he took her from the bunk-house she hadstared at him so that he would not look ather.

He did not know that Ches Mason wasobservant of his rather frequent glances ather during the meal, and he would haveresented Mason's diagnosis of thatparticular symptom of interest. Fordwould, if put to the question, havemaintained quite sincerely that he wasperfectly indifferent to Josephine, but thatshe did have remarkable eyelashes, and aman couldn't help looking at them.

After all, Ford's interest was centeredchiefly upon his work. They were going tostart the wagons out again to gather thecalves for weaning, and he was absorbedin the endless details which fall upon the

shoulders of the foreman. Even thefascination of a woman's beauty did notfollow him much beyond the bridge.

Mason, hurrying from the feminineatmosphere at the house, found himseriously discussing with Buddy the dietand general care of Rambler, who hadbeen moved into a roomy box stall forshelter. Buddy was to have the privilegeof filling the manger with hay everymorning after breakfast, and every eveningjust before supper. Upon Buddy alsodevolved the duty of keeping his drinkingtub filled with clean water; and Buddywas making himself as tall as possibleduring the conference, and was crossinghis heart solemnly while he promised,wide-eyed, to keep away from Rambler's

heels.

"I never knew him to kick, or offer to; butyou stay out of the stall, anyway. You canfill his tub through that hole in the wall.And you let Walt rub him down goodevery day—you see that he does it, Bud!And when he gets well, I'll let you ridehim, maybe. Anyway, I leave him in yourcare, old-timer. And it's a privilege Iwouldn't give every man. I think a heap ofthis horse." He turned at the sound offootsteps, and lowered an eyelid slowlyfor Mason's benefit. "Bud's going to havecharge of Rambler while we're gone," heexplained seriously. "I want to be surehe's in good hands."

The two men watched Buddy's departurefor the house, and grinned over the

manifest struggle between his haste to tellhis mother and Jo, and his sense ofimportance over the trust.

"A kid of your own makes up for a wholelot," Mason observed abstractedly,reaching up to the narrow shelf where hekept his tobacco. "I wish I had two orthree more; they give a man something towork for, and look ahead and plan for."

Ford, studying his face with narrowedeyelids, was more than ever thankful thathe was not hampered by matrimony.

CHAPTER X

In Which the Demon Opensan Eye and Yawns

A storm held the Double Cross wagons ina sheltered place in the hills, ten milesfrom the little town where Ford had spenta night on his way to the ranch a monthbefore. Mason, taking the inaction as anexcuse, rode home to his family and leftFord to his own devices with nocompunctions whatever. He should,perhaps, have known better; but he was

acting upon his belief that nothing sobraces a man as the absolute confidence ofhis friends, and to have stayed in camp onFord's account would, according toMason's code, have been an affront toFord's manifest determination to "makegood."

It is true that neither had mentioned thematter since the day of Ford's arrival atthe ranch; men do not, as a rule, harp uponthe deeper issues within their lives. Forthat month, it had been as though thesubject of intemperance concerned themas little as the political unrest of a hot-tempered people beyond the equator. Theyhad argued the matter to a more or lesssatisfactory conclusion, and had let it restthere.

Ford had ridden with him a part of theway, and when they came to a certain forkin the trail, he had sent a whimsicallysolemn message to Buddy, had pulled thecollar of his coat closer together under hischin, and had faced the wind with a cleanconscience, and with bowed head and hatpulled low over his brows. There were atleast three perfectly valid reasons whyFord should ride into town that day. Hewanted heavier socks and a new pair ofgloves; he was almost out of tobacco, andwanted to see if he could "pick up"another man so that the hours of night-guarding might not fall so heavily upon thecrew. Ford had been standing the lastguard himself, for the last week, to relievethe burden a little, and Mason had beenurgent on the subject of another man—or

two, he suggested, would be better. Forddid his simple shopping, therefore, andthen rode up to the first saloon on the onelittle street, and dismounted with a mind atease. If idle men were to be found in thattown, he would have to look for them in asaloon; a fact which every one took forgranted, like the shortening of the days aswinter approached.

Perhaps he over-estimated his powers ofendurance, or under-estimated the strengthof his enemy. Certain it is that he had nointention of drinking whisky when heclosed the door upon the chill wind; andyet, he involuntarily walked straight up tothe bar. There he stuck. The bartenderwaited expectantly. When Ford, with asudden lift of his head, turned away to the

stove, the man looked after him curiously.

At the stove Ford debated with himselfwhile he drew off his gloves and held hisfingers to the welcome heat whichemanated from a red glow where the fireburned hottest within. He had not madeany promise to himself or any one else, heremembered. He had simply resolved thathe would make good, if it were humanlypossible to do so. That, he told himself,did not necessarily mean that he shouldturn a teetotaler out and out. Taking adrink, when a man was cold and felt theneed of it, was not—

At that point in the argument two of hisown men entered, stamping noisily uponthe threshold. They were laughing, frompure animal satisfaction over the comforts

within, rather than at any tangible causefor mirth, and they called to Ford witheasy comradeship. Dick Thomas—theDick whom Buddy had mentioned inconnection with Josephine—waved hishand hospitably toward the bar.

"Come on, Campbell," he invited. He mayhave seen the hesitancy in Ford's face, forhe laughed. "I believe in starting on theinside and driving the frost out," he said.

The two poured generously from the bottlewhich the bartender pushed within easyreach, and Ford watched them. There wasa peculiar lift to Dick's upper lip—the liftwhich comes when scorn is the lever.Ford's eyes hardened a little; he walkedover and stood beside Dick, and he took adrink as unemotionally as if it had been

water. He ordered another round, threw acoin upon the bar, and walked out. He hadrather liked Dick, in an impersonal sort ofway, but that half-sneer clungdisagreeably to his memory. A man likesto be held the master—be the slavecircumstance, danger, an opposing human,or his own appetite; and although Fordwas not the type of man who troubleshimself much about the opinions of hisfellows, it irked him much that Dick orany other man should sneer at him for aweakling.

He went to another saloon, found andhired a cow-puncher strayed up fromValley County, and when Dick came in, ahalf-hour later, Ford went to the bar anddeliberately "called up the house." He had

been minded to choose a mineral waterthen, but he caught Dick's mocking eyeupon him, and instead took whiskystraight, and stared challengingly at theother over the glass tilted against his lips.

After that, the liquor itself wagedrelentless war against his goodresolutions, so that it did not need the urgeof Dick's fancied derision to send himdown the trail which the past had madefamiliar. He sat in to a poker game thatwas creating a small zone of subduedexcitement at the far end of the room, andwhile he was arranging his stacks of red,white, and blue chips neatly before him,he was unpleasantly conscious of Dick'ssupercilious smile. Never mind—he wasnot the first foreman who ever played

poker; they all did, when the mood seizedthem. Ford straightened his shouldersinstinctively, in defiance of certain innermisgivings, and pushed forward his anteof two white chips.

Jim Felton came up and stood at hisshoulder, watching the game in silence;and although he did not once open his lipsexcept to let an occasional thin ribbon ofcigarette smoke drift out and away tomingle with the blue cloud which hungunder the ceiling, Ford sensed a certaingood-will in his nearness, just asintangibly and yet as surely as he sensedDick's sardonic amusement at his apparentlapse.

With every bet he made and won he feltthat silent approbation behind him;

insensibly it steadied Ford and sharpenedhis instinct for reading the faces of theother players, so that the miniature towersof red chips and blue grew higher untilthey threatened to topple—whereuponother little towers began to grow uparound them. And the men in the saloonbegan to feel the fascination of hissuccess, so that they grouped themselvesabout his chair and peered down over hisshoulder at the game.

Ford gave them no thought, except a vaguesatisfaction, now and then, that Jim Feltonstuck to his post. Later, when he caught thedealer, a slit-eyed, sallow-skinned fellowwith fingers all too nimble, slipping acard from the bottom of the deck, and gavehim a resounding slap which sent him and

his cards sprawling all over that locality,he should have been more than ever gladthat Jim was present.

Jim kept back the gambler's partner andthe crowd and gave Ford elbow-room andsome moral support, which did its part, inthat it prevented any interference with thechastisement Ford was administering.

It was not a fight, properly speaking. Thegambler, once Ford had finished cuffinghim and stating his opinion of cheating thewhile, backed away and muttered vaguethreats and maledictions. Ford gatheredtogether what chips he felt certain werehis, and cashed them in with a certain griminsistence of manner which brooked noargument. After that he left the saloon,with Jim close behind him.

"If you're going back to camp now, Ireckon I'll ride along," said Jim, at hiselbow. "There's just nice time to get therefor supper—and I sure don't want to missflopping my lip over Mose's beefsteak;that yearling we beefed this morning isgoing to make some fine eating, if you askme." His tone was absolutely devoid ofanything approaching persuasion; it simplytook a certain improbable thing as acommonplace fact, and it tilted thebalance of Ford's intentions.

He did not go on to the next saloon, as hehad started to do, but instead he followedJim to the livery stable and got his horse,without realizing that Jim had anything todo with the change of impulse. So Fordwent to camp, instead of spending the

night riotously in town as he wouldotherwise have done, and contentedhimself with cursing the game, the gamblerwho would have given a "crooked deal,"the town, and all it contained. A mile out,he would have returned for a bottle ofwhisky; but Jim said he had enough fortwo, and put his horse into a lope. Ford,swayed by a blind instinct to stay with theman who seemed friendly, followed thepace he set and so was unconsciously ledout of the way of further temptation. Andso artfully was he led, that he never oncesuspected that he did not go of his ownaccord.

Neither did he suspect that Jim's stumblingand immediate spasm of regretfulprofanity at the bed-wagon where they

unsaddled, was the result of two miles ofdeep cogitation, and calculated to accountplausibly for not being able to produce afull flask upon demand. Jim swore volublyand said he had "busted the bottle" byfalling against the wagon wheel; and Ford,for a wonder, believed and did not ask forproof. He muddled around camp for a fewindecisive minutes, then rolled himself uplike a giant cocoon in his blankets, andslept heavily through the night.

He awoke at daylight, found himself fullyclothed and with a craving for whiskywhich he knew of old, and tried toremember just what had occurred the nightbefore; when he could not recall anythingvery distinctly, he felt the first twinge offear that he had known for years.

"Lordy me! I wonder what kinda fool Imade of myself, anyway!" he thoughtdistressfully. Later, when he discoveredmore money in his pockets than his salarywould account for, and rememberedplaying poker, and having an argument ofsome sort with some one, his distressgrew upon him. In reality he had not doneanything disgraceful, according to the easyjudgment of his fellows; but Ford did notknow that, and he flayed himselfunmercifully for a spineless, drunken idiotwhom no man could respect or trust. Itseemed to him that the men eyed himaskance; though they were merely enviousover his winnings and inclined to admirethe manner in which he had shown hisdisapproval of the dealer's attempt atcheating.

He dreaded Mason's return, and yet hewas anxious to see him and tell him, oncefor all, that he was not to be trusted. Heheld aloof from Jim and he was scantilycivil to Dick Thomas, whose friendshiprang false. He pushed the work aheadwhile the air was still alive with swirls ofmote-like snowflakes, and himself borethe brunt of it just to dull that gnawingself-disgust which made his waking hoursa mental torment.

Before, when disgust had seized upon himin Sunset, it had been an abstract rebellionagainst the futility of life as he was livingit. This was different: This was a definite,concrete sense of failure to keep faith withhimself and with Mason; the sickeningconsciousness of a swinish return to the

wallow; a distrust of himself that wasbeyond any emotion he had ever felt in hislife.

So, for a week of hard work and harderthinking. Mason sent word by a migratorycowboy, who had stopped all night at theranch and whom he had hired and sent onto camp, that he would not return to theround-up, and that Ford was to go aheadas they had planned. That balked Ford'sdetermination to turn the work over toMason and leave the country, and, afterthe first day of inner rebellion, he settleddown insensibly to the task before him andlet his own peculiar moral problem waitupon his leisure. He did not dream that thecowboy had witnessed his chastisement ofthe gambler and had gleefully, and in

perfect innocence, recounted the incidentat the Double Cross ranch, and that Masonhad deliberately thrown Ford upon hisown resources in obedience to his theorythat nothing so braces a man asresponsibility.

Ford went about his business with grimindustry and a sureness of judgment bornof his thorough knowledge of range work.There was the winnowing process whichleft the bigger, stronger calves in chargeof two men, at a line camp known locallyas Ten Mile, and took the younger ones onto the home ranch, where hay and shelterwere more plentiful and the loss would becorrespondingly less.

Not until the last cow of the herd was safeinside the big corral beyond the stables,

did Ford relax his vigilance and ride overto where Ches Mason and Buddy werestanding in the shelter of the stable,waiting to greet him.

"Good boy!" cried Mason, when Forddismounted and flung the stirrup up overthe saddle, that he might loosen the latigoand free his steaming horse of its burden."I didn't look for you before to-morrownight, at the earliest. But I'm mighty gladyou're here, let me tell you. That leavesme free to hit the trail to-morrow. I've gotto make a trip home; the old man's downwith inflammatory rheumatism, and theywant me to go—haven't been home for sixyears, so I guess they've got a license toput in a bid for a month or two of my time,huh? I didn't want to pull out, though, till

you showed up. I'm kinda leery aboutleaving the women alone, with just acouple of sow-egians on the ranch. Bud,you go get a pan of oats for old Schley.Supper's about ready, Ford. Have the boysshovel some hay into the corral, and we'llleave the bunch there till morning. Say, thewagons didn't beat you much; they neverpulled in till after three. Mose says thegoing's bad, on them dobe patches."

Not much of an opening, that, for sayingwhat Ford felt he was in duty bound tosay. He was constrained to wait until abetter opportunity presented itself—and,as is the way with opportunity, it did notseem as if it would ever come of its ownaccord. There was Buddy, full of excitinganecdotes about Rambler, and how he had

rubbed the liniment on, all alone, andRambler never kicked or did a thing; andhow he and Josephine rode clear over toJenson's and got caught in the storm andalmost got lost—only Buddy's horse knewthe way home. And, later, there was Mrs.Kate's excellent supper and graciouswelcome, and an evening devoted to four-handed cribbage—with Josephine andMason as implacable adversaries—and asteady undercurrent of latent hostilitybetween him and the girl, which preventedhis thinking much about himself and hisduty to Mason. There was everything, infact, to thwart a man's resolution todischarge honorably a disagreeable duty,and to distract his attention.

Ford went to bed with the baffled sense of

being placed in a false position against hiswill; and, man-like, he speedily gave overthinking of that, and permitted his thoughtsto dwell upon a certain face which owneda perfectly amazing pair of lashes, andupon a manner tantalizingly aloof, withglimpses now and then of fascinatingpossibilities in the way of comradeship,when the girl inadvertently lowered herguard in the excitement of close playing.

CHAPTER XI

"It's Going to Be an UphillClimb!"

Ford was no moral weakling except,perhaps, when whisky and he came tohand-grips. He had made up his mind thatMason must be told of his backsliding,and protected from the risk of leaving adrunkard in charge of his ranch. And whenhe saw that the opportunity for opening thesubject easily did not show any sign ofpresenting itself, he grimly interrupted

Mason in the middle of a funny story aboutJosephine and Buddy and Kate, involvingthemselves in a three-cornered argumentto the complete discomfiture of thewomen.

"I tell you, Ford, that kid's a corker! Kate'sgot all kinds of book theories aboutraising children, but they don't none of 'emwork, with Bud. He gets the best of herright along when she starts to reason withhim. Gosh! You can't reason with a kidlike Bud; you've got to take him on anequal footing, and when he goes too far,just set down on him and no argumentabout it. Kate's going to have her handsfull while I'm gone, if—"

"She sure will, Ches, unless you getsomebody here you can depend on," was

the way in which Ford made hisopportunity. "You've got the idea,somehow, that cutting out whisky is likegetting rid of a mean horse. It's somethingyou don't—"

"Oh, don't go worrying over that, nomore," Mason expostulated hastily."Forget it. That's the quickest cure; tryChristian Science dope on it. The moreyou worry about it, the more—"

"But wait till I tell you! That day I went totown, and you came on home, I got drunkas a fool, Ches. I don't know what all Idid, but I know—"

"Well, I know—more about it than you do,I reckon," Mason cut in dryly. "I was toldfive different times, by one stranger and

four of these here trouble-peddlin' friendsthat clutter the country. That's all right,Ford. A little slip like that—" He held outhis hand for Ford's sack of tobacco.

"I ain't the least bit uneasy over that, oldman. I'm just as sure as I stand here thatyou're going to pull up, all right."

"I know you are, Ches." Ford's voice washumble. "That's the hell of it. You're moresure than sensible—but—But look at itlike I was a stranger, Ches. Just forget youever knew me when I was kinda half-waydecent. You ain't a fool, even if you do actlike one. You know what I'm up against.I'm going to put up the damnedest fight I'vegot in me, but I don't want you to take anygamble on it. Maybe I'll win, and thenagain maybe I won't. Maybe I'll go down

and out. I don't know—I don't feel half assure of myself as I did before I made thatbobble in town. Before that, I did kindahave an idea that all there was to it was toquit. I thought, once I made up my mind,that would settle it. But that's just thecommencement; you've got to fightsomething inside of you that's as husky afighter as you are. You've got to—"

"There!" Mason reached out and tappedhim impressively on the arm with a matchhe was about to light. "Now you've got thebull right by the horns! You ain't so darnedsure of yourself now—and so I'm deadwilling to gamble on you. I ain't a bitafraid to go off and let you have fullswing."

"Well, I hope you won't feel like kicking

me all over the ranch when you get back,"Ford said, after a long pause, duringwhich Mason's whole attention seemedcentered upon his cigarette. "It's going tobe an uphill climb, old-timer—and ablamed long hill at that. And it's going tobe pretty darned slippery, in places."

"I sabe that, all right," grinned Mason."But I sabe you pretty well, too. You'll digin your toes and hang on by your eye-winkers if you have to. But you'll get up,all right; I'll bank on that.

"Speaking of booze-fighters," he went on,without giving Ford a chance to contradicthim, "I wish you'd keep an eye on oldMose. Now, there's a man that'll drinkwhisky as long as it's made, if he can getit. I wouldn't trust that old devil as far as I

can throw him, and that's a fact. I have towatch pretty close, to keep it off the ranch,and him on. It's the only way to get alongwith him—he's apt to run amuck, if he getsfull enough; and good cooks are as scarceas good foremen." A heartening smilewent with the last sentence.

"If he does make connections with thebooze, don't can him, Ford, if you can helpit. Just shut him up somewhere till he getsover it. There's nothing holds good menwith an outfit like the right kind of grub—and Mose sure can cook. The rest of themen you can handle to suit yourself. Slimand Johnnie are all right over at Ten Mile—you made a good stab when you pickedthem two out—and you will want a coupleof fellows here besides Walt, to feed them

calves. When the cows are throwed backon the range and the fences gone overcareful—I ought to have tended to thatbefore, but I got to putting it off—you canpay off what men you don't need or want."

There was no combating the friendship ofa man like that. Ford mentally squared hisshoulders and set his feet upon the uphilltrail.

He realized to the full the tribute Masonpaid to his innate trustworthiness byleaving him there, master of the ranch andguardian of his household god—andgoddess, to say nothing of Josephine,whom Mason openly admired and lookedupon as one of the family.

Of a truth, it would seem that she had

really become so. Ford had gathered, bitby bit, the information that she was quitealone in the world, so far as immediaterelatives were concerned, and that shewas Kate's cousin, and that Kate insistedthat this was to be her home, from now on.Josephine's ankle was well enough nowso that she was often to be met inunexpected places about the ranch, hediscovered. And though she was notfriendly, she was less openly antagonisticthan she had been—and when all was saidand done, eminently able to take care ofherself.

So also was Kate, for that matter. Nosooner was her beloved Chester out ofsight over the hill a mile away, than Mrs.Kate dried her wifely tears and laid hold

of her scepter with a firmness that amusedFord exceedingly. She ordered Dick up towork in the depressed-looking area beforethe house, which she called her flowergarden, a task which Dick seemedperfectly willing to perform, by the way—although his assistance would have beenmore than welcome at other work thantying scraggly rose bushes and protectingthem from the winter already at hand.

As to Buddy, he surely would haveresented, more keenly than the women, theimplication that he needed any one to takecare of him. Buddy's allegiance to Fordwas wavering, at that time. Dick had goneto some trouble to alter an old pair ofchaps so that Buddy could wear them, andhis star was in the ascendant; a pair of

chaps with fringes were, in Buddy'sestimation, a surer pledge of friendshipand favor than the privilege of feeding alame horse.

Buddy was rather terrible, sometimes. Hehad a way of standing back unnoticed, andof listening when he was believed to beengrossed in his play. Afterward he wasapt to say the things which should not besaid; in other words, he was the averagechild of seven, living without playmates,and so forced by his environment tointerest himself in the endless dramaplayed by the grown-ups around him.Buddy, therefore, was not unusuallystartling, one day at dinner, when helooked up from spatting his potato into aflat cake on his plate.

"What hill you going to climb, Ford?" washis manner of exploding his bomb. "Baldpinnacle? I can climb that hill myself."

"I don't know as I'm going to climb anyhills at all," Ford said indulgently,accepting another helping of potato saladfrom Mrs. Kate.

"You told dad before he went to gran'ma'shouse you was going to climb a big, longhill, and he was more sure than sensible."He giggled and showed where two frontteeth were missing from among theirfellows. "Dad told him he'd make it, buthe'd have to dig in his toes and hang on byhis eye-winkers," he added to the twowomen. "Gee! I'd like to see Ford hangonto a hill by his eye-winkers. Jo could doit—she's got winkers six feet long."

Miss Josephine had been looking at Ford'sface going red, as enlightenment came tohim, but when she caught a quick glanceleveled at her lashes, she drooped themimmediately so that they almost touchedher cheeks. Bud gave a squeal and pointedto her with his fork.

"Jo's blushing! I guess she's ashamedbecause she's got such long winkers, andFord keeps looking at 'em all the time.Why don't you shave 'em off with dad'srazor? Then Ford would like you, maybe.He don't now. He told dad—"

"Robert Chester Mason, do you want meto get the hairbrush?" This, it need not beexplained, from Mrs. Kate, in a voice thatportended grave disaster.

"I guess we can get along without it,mamma," Buddy answered her, with aningratiating smile. Even in the first sevenyears of one's life, one learns theelementary principles of diplomacy. Hedid not retire from the conversation, but heprudently changed the subject to what heconsidered a more pleasant channel.

"Dick likes you anyway, Jo," he informedher soothingly. "He likes you, winkers andall. I can tell, all right. When you go outfor a ride he gives me nickels if I tell himwhere—"

"Robert Ches—"

"Oh, all right." Buddy's tone was wearilytolerant. "A man never knows what to talkabout to women, anyway. I'd hate to be

married to 'em—wouldn't you, Ford?"

"A little boy like you—" began hismother, somewhat pinker of cheeks thanusual.

"I guess I'm pretty near a man, now." Heturned his eyes to Ford, consciouslyignoring the feminine members of hisfamily. "If I had a wife," he stated calmly,"I'd snub her up to a post and then I'd talkto her about anything I damn pleased!"

Mrs. Kate rose up then in all the terrifyingdignity of outraged motherhood, graspedBuddy by the wrist, and led him away, inthe direction of the hairbrush, if onewould judge by Buddy's reluctance to go.

"So you are going to climb the—Big Hill,

are you?" Miss Josephine observed, whenthe two were quite alone. "It is to behoped, Mr. Campbell, that you won't findit as steep as it looks—from the bottom."

Ford was not an adept at reading what liesunderneath the speech of a woman. Tohimself he accented the last three words,so that they overshadowed all the rest andmade her appear to remind him where hestood—at the bottom.

"I suppose a hollow does look pretty high,to a man down a well," he retorted,glancing into his teacup because he feltand was resisting an impulse to look ather.

"One can always keep climbing," shemurmured, "and never give up—" Miss

Josephine, also, was tilting her teacup andlooking studiously into it as if she wouldread her fortune in the specks of tea leavesthere.

"Like the frog in the well—that climbedone jump and fell back two!" heinterrupted, but she paid no attention, andwent on.

"And the reward for reaching the top—"

"Is there supposed to be a reward?" Fordcould not tell why he asked her that, norwhy he glanced stealthily at her fromunder his eyebrows as he awaited herreply.

"There—might—there usually is a rewardfor any great achievement—and—" Miss

Josephine was plainly floundering whereshe had hoped to float airily upon thesurface.

"What's the reward for—climbing hills,for instance?" He looked at her full, now,and his lips were ready to smile.

Miss Josephine looked uneasily at thedoor. "I—really, I never—investigated thematter at all." She gave a twitch ofshoulders and met his eyes steadily. "Theinner satisfaction of having climbed thehill, I suppose," she said, in the tone ofone who has at last reached firm ground."Will you have more tea, Mr. Campbell?"

Her final words were chilly andimpersonal, but Ford left the table, smilingto himself. At the door he met Dick, whom

Buddy had mentioned with disaster tohimself. Dick saw the smile, and withinthe room he saw Miss Josephine sittingalone, her chin resting in her two palmsand her eyes fixed upon vacancy.

"Hello," Ford greeted somewhatinattentively. "Do you want me foranything, Dick?"

"Can't say I do," drawled Dick, brushingpast Ford in the doorway.

Ford hesitated long enough to give him asecond glance—an attentive enoughglance this time—and went his way;without the smile, however.

"Lordy me!" he said to himself, when hisfoot touched the bridge, but he did not add

anything to the exclamation. He waswondering when it was that he had begunto dislike Dick Thomas; a long while, itseemed to him, though he had never tilljust now quite realized it, beyondresenting his covert sneer that day in town.He had once or twice since suspectedDick of a certain disappointment that hehimself was not foreman of the DoubleCross, and once he had asked Mason whyhe hadn't given the place to Dick.

"Didn't want to," Mason had repliedsuccinctly, and let it go at that.

If Dick cherished any animosity, however,he had not made it manifest in actualhostility. On the contrary, he had shown adistinct inclination to be friendly; afriendliness which led the two to pair off

frequently when they were riding, and totalk over past range experiences more orless intimately. Looking back over the sixweeks just behind him, Ford could notremember a single incident—a sentence,even—that had been unpleasant, unless heclung to his belief in Dick's contempt, andthat he had since set down to his ownsuper-sensitiveness. And yet—

"He's got bad eyes," he concluded. "That'swhat it is; I never did like eyes the colorof polished steel; nickel-plated eyes, I call'em; all shine and no color. Still, a manain't to blame for his eyes."

Then Dick overtook him with Buddytrailing, red-eyed, at his heels, and Fordforgot, in the work to be done that day, allabout his speculations. He involved

himself in a fruitless argument withBuddy, upon the subject of what a seven-year-old can stand in the way of riding,and yielded finally before the quiver ofBuddy's lips. They were only going overon Long Ridge, anyway, and the day wasfine, and Buddy had frequently ridden asfar, according to Dick. Indeed, it wasDick's easy-natured, "Ah, let the kid go,why don't you?" which gave Ford anexcuse for reconsidering.

And Buddy repaid him after his usualfashion. At the supper table he looked up,round-eyed, from his plate.

"Gee, but I'm hungry!" he sighed. "I eatand eat, just like a horse eating hay, and Ijust can't fill up the hole in me."

"There, never mind, honey," Mrs. Kateinterposed hastily, fearing worse. "Do youwant more bread and butter?"

"Yes—you always use bread for stuffing,don't you? I want to be stuffed. All theway home my b—my stomerch was a-flopping against my backbone, just likeDick's. Only Dick said—"

"Never mind what Dick said." Mrs. Katethrust the bread toward him, half buttered.

"Dick's mad, I guess. He's mad at Ford,too."

Buddy regarded his mother gravely overthe slice of bread.

"First I've heard of it," Ford remarkedlightly. "I think you must be mistaken, old-

timer."

But Buddy never considered himselfmistaken about anything, and he did notlike being told that he was, even when thepill was sweetened with the term "old-timer." He rolled his eyes at Fordresentfully.

"Dick is mad! He got mad when yougalloped over where Jo's red ribbon washanging onto a bush. I saw him a-scowlingwhen you rolled it up and put it in yourshirt pocket. Dick wanted that ribbon forhis bridle; and you better give it to him. Joain't your girl. She's Dick's girl. And youhave to tie the ribbon of your bestest girlon your bridle. That's why," he added,with belated gallantry, "I tie my ownmamma's ribbons on mine. And," he

returned with terrible directness to thereal issue, "Jo's Dick's girl, 'cause he saidso. I heard him tell Jim Felton she's hissteady, all right—and you are his girl,ain't you, Jo?"

His mother had tried at first to stop him,had given up in despair, and was nowsitting in a rather tragic calm, waiting forwhat might come of his speech.

Josephine might have saved herself someanxious moments, if she had been sominded; perhaps she would have beenminded, if she had not caught Ford's eyesfixed rather intently upon her, and sensedthe expectancy in them. She bit her lip,and then she laughed.

"A man shouldn't make an assertion of that

sort," she said quizzically, in the directionof Buddy—though her meaning wentstraight across the table to another—"unless he has some reason for feelingvery sure."

Buddy tried to appear quite clear as to hermeaning. "Well, if you are Dick's girl,then you better make Ford give that ribbon—"

"I have plenty of ribbons, Buddy,"Josephine interrupted, smiling at him still."Don't you want one?"

"I tie my own mamma's ribbons on mybridle," Buddy rebuffed. "My mamma ismy girl—you ain't. You can give yourribbons to Dick."

"Mamma won't be your girl if you don'tstop talking so much at the table—andelsewhere," Mrs. Kate informed himsternly, with a glance of trepidation at theothers. "A little boy mustn't talk aboutgrown-ups, and what they do or say."

"What can I talk about, then? The boys talkabout their girls all the time—"

"I wish to goodness I had let you go withyour dad. I shall not let you eat with us,anyway, if you don't keep quiet. You'regetting perfectly impossible." Which evenBuddy understood as a protest which wasnot to be taken seriously.

Ford stayed long enough to finish drinkinghis tea, and then he left the house withwhat he privately considered a perfectly

casual manner. As a matter of fact, he wasextremely self-conscious about it, so thatMrs. Kate felt justified in mentioning it,and in asking Josephine a question or two—when she had prudently made an errandelsewhere for Buddy.

Josephine, having promptly disclaimed allknowledge or interest pertaining to theaffair, Mrs. Kate spoke her mind plainly.

"If Ford's going to fall in love with you,Phenie," she said, "I think you're foolish toencourage Dick. I believe Ford is fallingin love with you. I never thought he evenliked you till to-night, but what Buddysaid about that ribbon—"

"I don't suppose Bud knows what he'stalking about—any more than you do,"

snapped Josephine. "If you're determinedthat I shall have a love affair on this ranch,I'm going home." She planted her chin inher two palms, just as she had done atdinner, and stared into vacancy.

"Where?" asked Mrs. Kate pointedly, andthen atoned for it whole-heartedly. "There,I didn't mean that—only—this is yourhome. It's got to be; I won't let it beanywhere else. And you needn't have anylove affair, Phene—you know that. Onlyyou shan't hurt Ford. I think he's perfectlysplendid! What he did for Chester—I—Ican't think of that without getting a lump inmy throat, Phene. Think of it! Goingwithout food himself, because there wasn'tenough for two, and—and—well, he justsimply threw away his own chance of

getting through, to give Chester a betterone. It was the bravest thing I ever heardof! And the way he has conquered—?"

"How do you know he has conquered?Rumor says he hasn't. And lots of mensave other men's lives; it's being doneevery day, and no one hears much about it.You think it was something extraordinary,just because it happened to be Chester thatwas saved. Anybody will do all he can fora sick partner, when they're away out inthe wilds. I haven't a doubt Dick wouldhave done the very same thing, when itcomes to that." Josephine got up from thetable then, and went haughtily into herown room.

Mrs. Kate retired quite as haughtily intothe kitchen, and there was a distinct

coolness between them for the rest of theday, and a part of the next. The chill of itaffected Ford sufficiently to keep himaway from the house as much as possible,and unusually silent and unlike himselfwhen he was with the men.

But, unlike many another, he did not knowthat his recurrent dissatisfaction with lifewas directly traceable to the apparentintimacy between Josephine and Dick.Ford, if he had tried to put his gloomyunrest into words, would have transposedhis trouble and would have mistakeneffect for cause. In other words, he wouldhave ignored Josephine and Dick entirely,and would have said that he wantedwhisky—and wanted it as the damned aresaid to want water.

CHAPTER XII

At Hand-Grips with theDemon

Mose was mad. He was flinging tinwareabout the kitchen with a fine disregard ofthe din or the dents, and whenever the bluecat ventured out from under the stove, hekicked at it viciously. He was mad atFord; and when a man gets mad at hisforeman—without knowing that theforeman has been instructed to bear withhis faults and keep him on the pay-roll at

any price—he must, if he be the cook,have recourse to kicking cats and bangingdishes about, since he dare not kick theforeman. For in late November "jobs" arenot at all plentiful in the range land, andeven an angry cook must keep his job orface the world-old economic problem offood, clothing, and shelter.

But if he dared not speak his mind plainlyto Ford, he was not averse to pouring hiswoes into the first sympathetic ear thatcame his way. It happened that upon thisoccasion the ear arrived speedily upon thehead of Dick Thomas.

"Matter, Mose?" he queried, sidesteppingthe cat, which gave a long leap straight forthe door, when it opened. "Cat beenlicking the butter again?"

Mose grunted and slammed three pie tinsinto a cupboard with such force that twoof them bounced out and rolled across thefloor. One came within reach of his foot,and he kicked it into the wood-box, andswore at it while it was on the way. "AndI wisht it was Ford Campbell himself, thesnoopin', stingy, kitchen-grannying, booze-fightin', son-of-a-sour-dough bannock!" hefinished prayerfully.

"He surely hasn't tried to mix in here, andmeddle with you?" Dick asked, helpinghimself to a piece of pie. You know thetone; it had just that inflection of surprisedsympathy which makes you tell yourtroubles without that reservation which amore neutral listener would unconsciouslyimpel.

I am not going to give Mose's version,because he warped the story to make it fithis own indignation, and did not do Fordjustice. This, then, is the exact truth:

Ford chanced to be walking up along theedge of the gully which ran past the bunk-house, and into which empty cans andother garbage were thrown. Sometimes acan fell short, so that all the gully edgewas liberally decorated with a gayassortment of canners' labels. Just as hehad come up, Mose had opened thekitchen door and thrown out a cream can,which had fallen in front of Ford andtrickled a white stream upon the frozenground. Ford had stooped and picked upthe can, had shaken it, and heard the sloshwhich told of waste. He had investigated

further, and decided that throwing out acream can before it was quite empty wasnot an accident with Mose, but might betermed a habit. He had taken Exhibit A tothe kitchen, but had laughed while hespoke of it. And these were his exactwords:

"Lordy me, Mose! Somebody's liable tocome here and get rich off us, if we don'tlook out. He'll gather up the cream cansyou throw into the discard and start adairy on the leavings." Then he had set thecan down on the water bench beside thedoor and gone away.

"I've been cookin' for cow-camps eversince I got my knee stiffened up so's't Icouldn't ride—and that's sixteen year agolast Fourth—and it's the first time I ever

had any darned foreman go snoopin'around my back door to see if I scrape outthe cans clean!" Mose seated himself upona corner of the table with the stiff leg for abrace and the good one swinging free, andfolded his bare arms upon his heavingchest.

"And that ain't all, Dick," he went onaggrievedly. "He went and cut down theorder I give him for grub. That's somethingChes never done—not with me, anyway.Asked me—asked me, what I wanted withso much choc'late. And I wanted boiledcider for m' mince-meat, and never got it.And brandy, too—only I didn't put thatdown on the list; I knowed better than towrite it out. But I give Jim money—out uhmy own pocket!—to git some with, and he

never done it. Said Ford told him p'tic'lernot to bring out nothin' any nearerdrinkable than lemon extract! I've got adarned good mind," he added somberly,"to fire the hull works into the gully. Hedon't belong on no cow ranch. Where he'doughta be is runnin' the W.C.T.U. Sodarned afraid of a pint uh brandy—"

"If I was dead sure your brains wouldn'tget to leaking out your mouth," Dick beganguardedly, "I might put you wise tosomething." He took a drink of water,opened the door that he might throw outwhat remained in the dipper, and madesure that no one was near the bunk-housebefore he closed the door again. Mosewatched him interestedly.

"You know me, Dick—I never do tell all I

know," he hinted heavily.

"Well," Dick stood with his hand upon thedoor-knob and a sly grin upon his face, "Iain't saying a word about anything. Only—if you might happen to want some—eggs—for your mince pies, you might lookgood under the southeast corner of thethird haystack, counting from the bigcorral. I believe there's a—nest—there."

"The deuce!" Mose brightenedunderstandingly and drummed with hisfingers upon his bare, dough-cakedforearm. "Do yuh know who—er—whathen laid 'em there?"

"I do," said Dick with a rising inflection."The head he-hen uh the flock. But if I wasgoing to hunt eggs, I'd take down a chiny

egg and leave it in the nest, Mose."

"But I ain't got—" Mose caught Dick'spale glance resting with what might beconsidered some significance upon thevinegar jug, and he stopped short. "Thatwouldn't work," he commented vaguely.

"Well, I've got to be going. Boss might canme if he caught me loafing around here,eating pie when I ought to be working.Ford's a fine fellow, don't you think?" Hegrinned and went out, and immediatelyreturned, complaining that he never couldstand socks with a hole in the toe, and heguessed he'd have to hunt through his war-bag for a good pair.

Mose, as need scarcely be explained,went immediately to the stable to hunt

eggs; and Dick, in the next room, smiled tohimself when he heard the door slambehind him. Dick did not change his socksjust then; he went first into the kitchen andbusied himself there, and he continued tosmile to himself. Later he went out andmet Ford, who was riding moodily upfrom the river field.

"Say, I'm going to be an interfering kind ofa cuss, and put you next to something," hebegan, with just the right degree ofhesitation in his manner. "It ain't any of mybusiness, but—" He stopped and lighted acigarette. "If you'll come up to the bunk-house, I'll show you something funny!"

Ford dismounted in silence, led his horseinto the stable, and without waiting tounsaddle, followed Dick.

"We've got to hurry, before Mose getsback from hunting eggs," Dick remarked,by way of explaining the long strides hetook. "And of course I'm taking it forgranted, Ford, that you won't say anything.I kinda thought you ought to know, maybe—but I'd never say a word if I didn't feelpretty sure you'd keep it behind yourteeth."

"Well—I'm waiting to see what it is,"Ford replied non-committally.

Dick opened the kitchen door, and ledFord through that into the bunk-room."You wait here—I'm afraid Mose mightcome back," he said, and went into thekitchen. When he returned he had a gallonjug in his hand. He was still smiling.

"I went to mix me up some soda-water forheartburn," he said, "and when I picked upthis jug, Mose took it out of my hand andsaid it was boiled cider, that he'd got formince-meat. So when he went out, I took ataste. Here: You sample it yourself, Ford.If that's boiled cider, I wouldn't mindhaving a barrel!"

Ford took the jug, pulled the cork, andsniffed at the opening. He did not sayanything, but he looked up at Dicksignificantly.

"Taste it once!" urged Dick innocently."I'd just like to have you see the brand ofslow poison a fool like Mose will pourdown him."

Ford hesitated, sniffed, started to set down

the jug, then lifted it and took a swallow.

"That isn't as bad as some I've seen," hepronounced evenly, shoving in the cork."Nor as good," he added conservatively."I wonder where he got it."

"Search me—oh, by jiminy, here hecomes! I'm going to take a scoot, Ford.Don't give me away, will you? And if Iwas you, I wouldn't say anything to Mose—I know that old devil pretty well. He'llkeep mighty quiet about it himself—unlessyou jump him about it. Then he'll roararound to everybody he sees, and claim itwas a plant."

He slid stealthily through the outer door,and Ford saw him run down into the gullyand disappear, while Mose was yet half-

way from the stable.

Ford sat on the edge of a bunk and lookedat the jug beside him. If Dick haddeliberately planned to tempt him, he hadchosen the time well; and if he had notdone it deliberately, there must have beena malignant spirit abroad that day.

For twenty-four hours Ford had been morethan usually restless and moody. EvenBuddy had noticed that, and complainedthat Ford was cross and wouldn't talk tohim; whereupon Mrs. Kate had scoldedJosephine and accused her of beingresponsible for his gloom and silence.Since Josephine's conscience sustainedthe charge, she resented the accusation andproceeded deliberately to add to itsjustice; which did not make Ford any the

happier, you may be sure. For when a manreaches that mental state which causes himto carry a girl's ribbon folded carefullyinto the most secret compartment of hispocketbook, and to avoid the girl herselfand yet feel like committing assault andbattery with intent to kill, because someother man occasionally rides with her foran hour or two, he is extremely sensitiveto averted glances and chilly tones andmonosyllabic conversation.

Since the day before, when she had riddenas far as the stage road with Dick, whenhe went to the line-camp, Ford had beenfighting the desire to saddle a horse andride to town; and the thing that lured himtownward confronted him now in that graystone jug with the brown neck and handle.

He lifted the jug, shook it tentatively,pulled out the cork with a jerk that wassavage, and looked around the room forsome place where he might empty thecontents and have done with temptation;but there was no receptacle but the stove,so he started to the door with it, meaningto pour it on the ground. Mose just thenshambled past the window, and Ford satdown to wait until the cook was safe inthe kitchen. And all the while the cork wasout of that jug, so that the fumes of thewhisky rose maddeningly to his nostrils,and the little that he had swallowedwhipped the thirst-devil to a fury ofdesire.

In the kitchen, Mose rattled pans andhummed a raucous tune under his breath,

and presently he started again for thestable. Dick, desultorily bracing a leaningpost of one of the corrals, saw him comingand grinned. He glanced toward the bunk-house, where Ford still lingered, and thegrin grew broader. After that he went allaround the corral with his hammer andbucket of nails, tightening poles andbraces and, incidentally, keeping an eyeupon the bunk-house; and while heworked, he whistled and smiled by turns.Dick was in an unusually cheerful moodthat day.

Mose came shuffling up behind him andstood with his stiff leg thrust forward andhis hands rolled up in his apron. Dickcould see that he had something claspedtightly under the wrappings.

"Say, that he-hen—she laid twice in thesame place!" Mose announcedconfidentially. "Got 'em both—form'mince pies!" He waggled his head,winked twice with his left eye, and wentback to the bunk-house.

Still Ford did not appear. Josephine came,however, in riding skirt and gray hat andgauntlets, treading lightly down the paththat lay all in a yellow glow which wasnot so much sunlight as that mellow hazewhich we call Indian Summer. She lookedin at the stable, and then came straightover to Dick. There was, when Josephinewas her natural self, something very directand honest about all her movements, as ifshe disdained all feminine subterfuges andtook always the straight, open trail to her

object.

"Do you know where Mr. Campbell is,Dick?" she asked him, and added noexplanation of her desire to know.

"I do," said Dick, with the rising inflectionwhich was his habit, when the wordswere used for a bait to catch anotherquestion.

"Well, where is he, then?"

Dick straightened up and smiled downupon her queerly. "Count ten before youask me that again," he parried, "becausemaybe you'd rather not know."

Josephine lifted her chin and gave him thatstraight, measuring stare which had soannoyed Ford the first time he had seen

her. "I have counted," she said calmlyafter a pause. "Where is Mr. Campbell,please?"—and the "please" pushed Dickto the very edge of her favor, it was socoldly formal.

"Well, if you're sure you counted straight,the last time I saw him he was in the bunk-house."

"Well?" The tone of her demanded more.

"He was in the bunk-house—sitting closeup to a gallon jug of whisky." His eyelidsflickered. "He's there yet—but I wouldn'tswear to the gallon—"

"Thank you very much." This time her tonepushed him over the edge and into thedepths of her disapproval. "I was sure I

could depend upon you—to tell!"

"What else could I do, when you asked?"

But she had her back to him, and waswalking away up the path, and if sheheard, she did not trouble to answer. Butin spite of her manner, Dick smiled, andbrought the hammer down against a postwith such force that he splintered thehandle.

"Something's going to drop on this ranch,pretty quick," he prophesied, lookingdown at the useless tool in his hand. "Andif I wanted to name it, I'd call it Ford." Heglanced up the path to where Josephinewas walking straight to the west door ofthe bunk-house, and laughed sourly."Well, she needn't take my word for it if

she don't want to, I guess," he muttered."Nothing like heading off a critter—or awoman—in time!"

Josephine did not hesitate upon thedoorstep. She opened the door and wentin, and shut the door behind her before theecho of her step had died. Ford was lyingas he had lain once before, upon a bunk,with his face hidden in his folded arms.He did not hear her—at any rate he did notknow who it was, for he did not lift hishead or stir.

Josephine looked at the jug upon the floorbeside him, bent and lifted it very gentlyfrom the floor; tilted it to the window sothat she could look into it, tilted her noseat the odor, and very, very gently put itback where she had found it. Then she

stood and looked down at Ford with hereyebrows pinched together.

She did not move, after that, and shecertainly did not speak, but her presencefor all that became manifest to him. Helifted his head and stared at her over anelbow; and his eyes were heavy withtrouble, and his mouth was set in lines ofbitterness.

"Did you want me for something?" heasked, when he saw that she was not goingto speak first.

She shook her head. "Is it—pretty steep?"she ventured after a moment, and glanceddown at the jug.

He looked puzzled at first, but when his

own glance followed hers, he understood.He stared up at her somberly before he lethis head drop back upon his arms, so thathis face was once more hidden.

"You've never been in bell, I suppose," hetold her, and his voice was dull and tired.After a minute he looked up at herimpatiently. "Is it fun to stand and watch aman—What do you want, anyway? Itdoesn't matter—to you."

"Are you sure?" she retorted sharply."And—suppose it doesn't. I have Kate tothink of, at least."

He gave a little laugh that came nearerbeing a snort. "Oh, if that's all, you needn'tworry. I'm not quite that far gone, thankyou!"

"I was thinking of the ranch, and of herideals, and her blind trust in you, and ofthe effect on the men," she explainedimpatiently.

He was silent a moment. "I'm thinking ofmyself!" he told her grimly then.

"And—don't you ever—think of me?" Sheset her teeth sharply together after thewords were out, and watched him,breathing quickly.

Ford sprang up from the bunk and facedher with stern questioning in his eyes, butshe only flushed a little under his scrutiny.Her eyes, he noticed, were clear andsteady, and they had in them something ofthat courage which fears but will notflinch.

"I don't want to think of you!" he said,lowering his voice unconsciously. "Forthe last month I've tried mighty hard not tothink of you. And if you want to know why—I'm married!"

She leaned back against the door andstared up at him with widening pupils.Ford looked down and struck the jug withhis toe. "That thing," he said slowly, "I'vegot to fight alone. I don't know which isgoing to come out winner, me or thebooze. I—don't—know." He lifted hishead and looked at her. "What did youcome in here for?" he asked bluntly.

She caught her breath, but she would notdodge. Ford loved her for that. "Dick toldme—and I was—I wanted to—well, help.I thought I might—sometimes when the

climb is too steep, a hand will keep onefrom—slipping."

"What made you want to help? You don'teven like me." His tone was flat andunemotional, but she did not seem able tomeet his eyes. So she looked down at thejug.

"Dick said—but the jug is full practically.I don't understand how—"

"It isn't as full as it ought to be; it lacksone swallow." He eyed it queerly. "I wishI knew how much it would lack by dark,"he said.

She threw out an impulsive hand. "Oh, butyou must make up your mind! You mustn'ttemporize like that, or wonder—or—"

"This," he interrupted rather flippantly, "issomething little girls can't understand.They'd better not try. This isn't a woman'sproblem, to be solved by argument. It's aman's fight!"

"But if you would just make up your mind,you could win."

"Could I?" His tone was amusedlyskeptical, but his eyes were still somber.

"Even a woman," she said impatiently,"knows that is not the way to win a fight—to send for the enemy and give him allyour weapons, and a plan of thefortifications, and the password; when youknow there's no mercy to be hoped for!"

He smiled at her simile, and at her

earnestness also, perhaps; but that blackgloom remained, looking out of his eyes.

"What made you send for it? A wholegallon!"

"I didn't send for it. That jug belongs toMose," he told her simply. "Dick told meMose had it; rather, Dick went into thekitchen and got it, and turned it over tome." In spite of the words, he did not giveone the impression that he was defendinghimself; he was merely offering anexplanation because she seemed todemand one.

"Dick got it and turned it over to you!"Her forehead wrinkled again into verticallines. She studied him frowningly. "Willyou give it to me?" she asked directly.

Ford folded his arms and scowled downat the jug. "No," he refused at last, "Iwon't. If booze is going to be the boss ofme I want to know it. And I can't know ittoo quick."

"But—you're only human, Ford!"

"Sure. But I'm kinda hoping I'm a man,too." His eyes lightened a little while theyrested upon her.

"But you've got the poison of it—it's like atraitor in your fort, ready to open the door.You can't do it! I—oh, you'll neverunderstand why, but I can't let you risk it.You've got to let me help; give it to me,Ford!"

"No, You go on to the house, and don't

bother about me. You can't help—nobodycan. It's up to me."

She struck her hands together in a nervousrage. "You want to keep it because youwant to drink it! If you didn't want it, you'dhate to be near it. You'd want some one totake it away. You just want to get drunk,and be a beast. You—you—oh—you don'tknow what you're doing, or how much itmeans! You don't know!" Her hands wentup suddenly and covered her face.

Ford walked the length of the room awayfrom her, turned and came back until hefaced her where she stood leaning againstthe door, with her face still hidden behindher palms. He reached out his arms to her,hesitated, and drew them back.

"I wish you'd go," he said. "There aresome things harder to fight than whisky.You only make it worse."

"I'll go when you give me that." She flunga hand out toward the jug.

"You'll go anyway!" He took her by thearm, quietly pulled her away from thedoor, opened it, and then closed it while,for just a breath or two, he held her tightlyclasped in his arms. Very gently, after that,he pushed her out upon the doorstep andshut the door behind her. The lock clickeda hint which she could not fail to hear andunderstand. He waited until he heard herwalk away, sat down with the air of a manwho is very, very weary, rested hiselbows upon his knees, and with his handsclasped loosely together, he glowered at

the jug on the floor. Then the soul of FordCampbell went deep down into the pitwhere all the devils dwell.

CHAPTER XIII

A Plan Gone Wrong

It was Mose crashing headlong into theold messbox where he kept rattly basins,empty lard pails, and such, that rousedFord. He got up and went into the kitchen,and when he saw what was, the matter,extricated Mose by the simple method ofgrabbing his shoulders and pulling hard;then he set the cook upon his feet, and gotfull in his face the unmistakable fumes ofwhisky.

"What? You got another jug?" he asked,with some disgust, steadying Mose againstthe wall.

"Ah—I ain't got any jug uh nothin'," Moseprotested, rather thickly. "And I nevertook them bottles outa the stack; that mustabeen Dick done that. Get after him aboutit; he's the one told me where yuh hid 'em—but I never touched 'em, honest I never.If they're gone, you get after Dick. Don'tyuh go 'n' lay it on me, now!" He waswhimpering with maudlin pathos beforehe finished. Ford scowled at himthoughtfully.

"Dick told you about the bottles in thehaystack, did he?" he asked. "Which stackwas it? And how many bottles?"

Mose gave him a bleary stare. "Aw, youknow. You hid 'em there yourself! Dicksaid so. I ain't goin' to say which stack, orhow many bottles—or—any other—darnthing about it." He punctuated his phrasesby prodding a finger against Ford's chest,and he wagged his head with all the self-consciousness of spurious virtue."Promised Dick I wouldn't, and I won't.Not a—darn—word about it. Wantedsome—for m' mince-meat, but I never tookany outa the haystack." Whereupon hebegan to show a pronounced limpness inhis good leg, and a tendency to slide downupon the floor.

Ford piloted him to a chair, eased him intoit, and stood over him in frowningmeditation. Mose was drunk; absolutely,

undeniably drunk. It could not have beenthe jug, for the jug was full. Till then theoddity of a full jug of whisky in Mose'skitchen after at least twenty-four hoursmust have elapsed since its arrival, hadnot occurred to him. He had been toopreoccupied with his own fight to thinkmuch about Mose.

"Shay, I never took them bottles outa thestack," Mose looked up to protestsolemnly. "Dick never told me about 'em,neither. Dick tol' me—" tapping Ford'sarm with his finger for every word, "—'atthere was aigs down there, for m' mince-meat." He stopped suddenly and goggledup at Ford. "Shay, yuh don't put aigs in—mince-meat," he informed him earnestly."Not a darn aig! That's what Dick tol' me

—aigs for m' mince-meat. Oh, I knowedright off what he meant, all right," heexplained proudly. "He didn't wanta comeright out 'n' shay what it was—an' I—got—the—aigs!"

"Yes—how many—eggs?" Ford heldhimself rigidly quiet.

"Two quart—aigs!" Mose laughed at thejoke. "I wisht," he added pensively, "thehens'd all lay them kinda aigs. I'd buy upall the shickens in—the whole worl'." Hegazed raptly upon the vision the wordsconjured. "Gee! Quart aigs—'n' all theshickens in the worl' layin' reg'lar!"

"Have you got any left?"

"No—honest. Used 'em all up—for m'

mince-meat!"

Ford knew he was lying. His eyessearched the untidy tables and the cornersfilled with bags and boxes. Mose was agood cook, but his ideas of order werevague, and his system of housekeepingwas the simple one of leaving everythingwhere he had last been using it, so that itmight be handy when he wanted it again.A dozen bottles might be concealed there,like the faces in a picture-puzzle, and itwould take a housecleaning to disclosethem all. But Ford, when he knew that nobottle had been left in sight, began turningover the bags and looking behind theboxes.

He must have been "growing warm" whenhe stood wondering whether it was worth

while to look into the flour-bin, for Mosegave an inarticulate snarl and pounced onhim from behind. The weight of him sentFord down on all fours and kept him therefor a space, and even after he was up hefound himself quite busy. Mose was ahusky individual, with no infirmity of thearms and fists, even if he did have a stiffleg, and drunkenness frequently flares andfades in a man like a candle guttering inthe wind. Besides, Mose was fighting tosave his whisky.

Still, Ford had not sent all of Sunset intoits cellars, figuratively speaking, fornothing; and while a man may feel moreenthusiasm for fighting when under theinfluence of the stuff that cheerssometimes and never fails to inebriate, the

added incentive does not necessarily meanalso added muscular development or moreweight behind the punch. Ford, fighting ashe had always fought, be he drunk orsober, came speedily to the point wherehe could inspect a skinned knuckle andafterwards gaze in peace upon hisantagonist.

He was occupied with both diversionswhen the door was pushed open as by aman in great haste. He looked up from theknuckle into the expectant eyes of JimFelton, and over the shoulder of Jim hesaw a gloating certainty writ large uponthe face of Dick Thomas. They had beenrunning; he could tell that by their unevenbreathing, and it occurred to him that theymust have heard the clamor when he

pitched Mose head first into the dishcupboard. There had been considerablenoise about that time, he remembered; theymust also have heard the howl Mose gaveat the instant of contact. Ford glancedinvoluntarily at that side of the roomwhere stood the cupboard, and mentallyadmitted that it looked like there had beena slight disagreement, or else a severeseismic disturbance; and Montana is notwhat one calls an earthquake country. Hiseyes left the generous sprinkle of brokendishes on the floor, with Mose sprawledinertly in their midst, looking not unlike abroken platter himself—or one badlynicked—and rested again upon thegrinning face behind the shoulder of JimFelton.

Ford was ever a man of not many words,even when he had a grievance. He madestraight for Dick, and when he had pushedJim out of the way, he reached himviolently. Dick tottered upon the step andwent off backward, and Ford landed uponhim fairly and with full knowledge andintent.

Dick tottered upon the step and wentoff backward.

Jim Felton was a wise young man. He

stood back and let them fight it out, andwhen it was over he said never a worduntil Dick had picked himself up andwalked off, holding to his nose ahandkerchief that reddened rapidly.

"Say, you are a son-of-a-gun to fight," heobserved admiringly then to Ford. "Don'tyou know Dick's supposed to be abso-lute-ly unlickable?"

"May be so—but he sure shows all thesymptoms of being licked right at present."Ford moved a thumb joint gently to seewhether it was really dislocated or merelyfelt that way.

"He's going up to the house now, to tell themissus," remarked Jim, craning his neckfrom the doorway.

"If he does that," Ford replied calmly, "I'llhalf kill him next time. What I gave himjust now is only a sample package left onthe doorstep to try." He sat down upon acorner of the table and began to makehimself a smoke. "Is he going up to thehouse—honest?" He would not yield tothe impulse to look and see for himself.

"We-el, the trail he's taking has no otherlogical destination," drawled Jim. "He'sacross the bridge." When Ford showed nodisposition to say anything to that, Jimcame in and closed the door. "Say, whatlaid old Mose out so nice?" he asked, withan indolent sort of curiosity. "Booze? Orjust bumps?"

"A little of both," said Ford indifferently,between puffs. He was thinking of the tale

Dick would tell at the house, and he wasthinking of the probable effect upon onelistener; the other didn't worry him, thoughhe liked Mrs. Kate very much.

Jim went over and investigated;discovering that Mose was close tosnoring, he sat upon a corner of the othertable, swung a spurred boot, and regardedFord interestedly over his own cigarettebuilding. "Say, for a man that's supposedto be soused," he began, after a silence,"you act and talk remarkably lucid. I wishI could carry booze like that," he addedregretfully. "But I can't; my tongue and mylegs always betray the guilty secret. Haveyou got any particular system, or is it justa gift?"

"No"—Ford shook his head—"nothing

like that. I just don't happen to be drunk."He eyed Jim sharply while he consideredwithin himself. "It looks to me," he began,after a moment, "as if our friend Dick hadframed up a nice little plant. One way andanother I got wise to the whole thing; butfor the life of me, I can't see what madehim do it. Lordy me! I never kicked him onany bunion!" He grinned, as memoryflashed a brief, mental picture of Sunsetand certain incidents which occurredthere. But memory never lets well enoughalone, and one is lucky to escape withoutseeing a picture that leaves a sting; Ford'ssmile ended in a scowl.

"Jealousy, old man," Jim pronouncedwithout hesitation. "Of course, I don'tknow the details, but—details be darned.

If he has tried to hand you a package, takeit from me, jealousy's the string he tied itwith. I don't mind saying that Dick told mewhen I first rode up to the corral that youand Mose were both boozing up to beatthe band; and right after that we heard adeuce of a racket up here, and it did look—" He waved an apologetic hand at Moseand the fragments of pottery which framedlike a "still life" picture on the floor, andlet it go at that. "I'm strong for you, Ford,"he added, and his smile was frank andfriendly. "Double Cross is the name of thisoutfit, but I'm all in favor of running thatbrand on the cow-critters and keeping itout of the bunk-house. If you shouldhappen to feel like elucidating—" hehinted delicately.

Ford had always liked Jim Felton; now hewarmed to him as a real friend, andcertain things he told him. As much aboutthe jug with the brown neck and handle asconcerned Dick, and all he knew of thebottles in the haystack, while Jim smoked,and swung the foot which did not restupon the floor, and listened.

"Sounds like Dick, all right," he passedjudgment, when Ford had finished. "Hecounted on your falling for the jug—andoh, my! It was a beautiful plant. I'd surehate to have anybody sing 'Yield not totemptation' at me, if a gallon jug of thereal stuff fell into my arms and nobodywas looking." He eyed Ford queerly."You've got quite a reputation—" heventured.

"Well, I earned it," Ford observedlaconically.

"Dick banked on it—I'd stake my wholestack of blues on that. And after you'd tornup the ranch, and pitched the fragmentsinto the gulch, he'd hold the last trump,with all high cards to keep the lead.Whee!" He meditated admiringly upon thestrategy. "But what I can't seem tounderstand," he said frankly, "is why thedeuce it didn't work! Is your swallowerout of kilter? If you don't mind my asking!"

"I never noticed that it was paralyzed,"Ford answered grimly. He got up, lifted alid of the stove, and threw in the cigarettestub mechanically. Then he bethought himof his interrupted search, and prodded along-handled spoon into the flour bin,

struck something smooth and hard, anddrew out a befloured, quart bottle half fullof whisky. He wiped the bottle carefully,inspected it briefly, and pitched it into thegully, where it smashed odorously upon arock. Jim, watching him, knew that he wasthinking all the while of something else.When Ford spoke, he proved it.

"Are you any good at all in the kitchen,Jim?" he asked, turning to him as if he haddecided just how he would meet thesituation.

"Well, I hate to brag, but I've known ofmen eating my grub and going right onliving as if nothing had happened," Jimadmitted modestly.

"Well, you turn yourself loose in here,

will you? The boys will be good andempty when they come—it's dinner timeright now. I'll help you carry Mose out ofthe way before I go."

Jim looked as if he would like to ask whatFord meant to do, but he refrained. Therewas something besides preoccupation inFord's face, and it did not make for easyquestioning. Jim did yield to his curiosityto the extent of watching through awindow, when Ford went out, to seewhere he was going; and when he sawFord had the jug, and that he took the pathwhich led across the little bridge and so tothe house, he drew back and said "Whee-e-e!" under his breath. Then he remarkedto the recumbent Mose, who was not in acondition either to hear or understand: "I'll

bet you Dick's got all he wants, right now,without any postscript." After which Jimhunted up a clean apron and proceeded,with his spurs on his heels, his hat on theback of his head, and a smile upon hislips, to sweep out the broken dishes sothat he might walk without hearing themcrunch unpleasantly under his boots. "I'lltake wildcats in mine, please," heremarked once irrelevantly aloud, andsmiled again.

CHAPTER XIV

The Feminine Point of View

When Ford stepped upon the porch withthe jug in his hand, he gave everyindication of having definitely made up hismind. When he glimpsed Josephine'sworried face behind the lace curtain in thewindow, he dropped the jug lower andheld it against his leg in such a way as toindicate that he hoped she could not see it,but otherwise he gave no sign ofperturbation. He walked along the porchto the door of his own room, went in,

locked the door after him, and put the jugdown on a chair. He could hear faintsounds of dishes being placed upon thetable in the dining-room, which was nextto his own, and he knew that dinner washalf an hour late; which was unusual inMrs. Kate's orderly domain. Mrs. Katewas one of those excellent women whosehouse is always immaculate, whose mealsare ever placed before one when the clockpoints to a certain hour, and whose tablenever lacks a salad and a dessert—thoughhow those feats are accomplished upon acattle ranch must ever remain a mystery.Ford was therefore justified in taking thesecond look at his watch and in holding itup to his ear, and also in lifting hiseyebrows when all was done. Fifteenminutes by the watch it was before he

heard the silvery tinkle of the tea bell,which was one of the ties which boundMrs. Kate to civilization, and whichannounced that he might enter the dining-room.

He went in as clean and fresh and straight-backed and quiet as ever he had done, andwhen he saw that the room was emptysave for Buddy, perched upon his long-legged chair with his heels hooked overthe top round and a napkin tuckedexpectantly inside the collar of his blueblouse, he took in the situation and satdown without waiting for the women. Thevery first glance told him that Mrs. Katehad never prepared that meal. It was,putting it bluntly, a scrappy affair hastilygathered from various shelves in the

pantry and hurriedly arranged haphazardupon the table.

Buddy gazed upon the sprinkle of disheswith undisguised dissatisfaction. "Thereain't any potatoes," he announcedgloomily. "My own mamma always cookspotatoes. Josephine's the limit! I beenworking to-day. I almost dug out a badger,over by the bluff. I got where I could hearhim scratching to get away, and then itwas all rocks, so I couldn't dig any more.Gee, it was hard digging! And I'm justabout starved, if you want to know. Andthere ain't any potatoes."

"Bread and butter is fine when you'rehungry," Ford suggested, and spread aslice for Buddy, somewhat inattentively,because he was also keeping an eye upon

the kitchen door, where he had caught afleeting glimpse of Josephine looking in athim.

"You're putting the butter all in oneplace," Buddy criticised, with his usualfrankness. "I guess you're drunk, all right.If you're too drunk to spread butter, let medo it."

"What makes you think I'm drunk?" Fordquestioned, lowering his voice because ofthe person he suspected was in thekitchen.

"Mamma and Jo was quarreling about it;that's why. And my own mamma cried,and shut the door, and wouldn't let me goin. And Jo pretty near cried too, all right. Iguess she did, only not when any one was

looking. Her eyes are awful red, anyway."Buddy took great, ravenous bites of thebread and butter and eyed Fordunwinkingly.

"What's disslepointed?" he demandedabruptly, after he had given himself awhite mustache with his glass of milk.

"Why do you want to know?"

"That's what my own mamma is, and that'swhat Jo is. Only my own mamma is itabout you, and Jo's it about mamma. Say,did you lick Dick? Jo told my ownmamma she wisht you'd killed him. Jo'sawful mad to-day. I guess she's mad atDick, because he ain't very much of afighter. Did you lick him easy? Did youpaste him one in the jaw?"

Josephine entered then with Ford's belatedtea. Her eyelids were pink, as Buddy hadtold him, and she did not look at himwhile she filled his cup.

"Kate has a sick headache," she explainedprimly, "and I did the best I could withlunch. I hope it's—"

"It is," Ford interrupted reassuringly."Everything is fine and dandy."

"You didn't cook any potatoes!" Buddycharged mercilessly. "And Ford's toodrunk to put the butter on right. I'm goingto tell my dad that next time he goes toOregon I'm going along. This outfit willsure go to the devil if he stays muchlonger!"

"Where did you hear that, Bud?"Josephine asked, still carefully avoiding aglance at Ford.

"Well, Dick said it would go to the devil.I guess," he added on his own account,with an eloquent look at the table, "it's onthe trail right now."

Ford looked at Josephine, opened his lipsto say that it might still be headed off, anddecided not to speak. There was astubborn streak in Ford Campbell. Shehad said some bitter things, in her anger.Perhaps she had not entirely believedthem herself, and perhaps Mrs. Kate hadnot been accurately quoted by herprecocious young son; she may not havesaid that she was disappointed in Ford.They might not have believed whatever it

was Dick told them, and they might stillhave full confidence in him, FordCampbell. Still, there was the stubbornstreak which would not explain or defend.So he left the table, and went into his ownroom without any word save a mutteredexcuse; and that in spite of the fact thatJosephine looked full at him, at last, andwith a wistfulness that moved him almostto the point of taking her in his arms andkissing away the worry—if he could.

He went up to the table where stood thejug, looked at it, lifted it, and set it downagain. Then he lifted it again and pulledthe cork out with a jerk, wondering if thesound of it had reached through the thinpartition to the ears of Josephine; he wasguilty of hoping so. He put back the cork

—this time carefully—walked to the outerdoor, turned the key, opened the door, andclosed it again with a slam. Then, with agrim set of the lips, he walked softly intothe closet and pulled the door nearly shut.

He knew there was a chance thatJosephine, if she were interested in hismovements, would go immediately intothe sitting-room, where she could see thepath, and would know that he had notreally left the house. But she did not,evidently. She sat long enough in thedining-room for Ford to call himself aname or two and to feel exceedinglyfoolish over the trick, and to decide that itwas a very childish one for a grown manto play upon a woman. Then she pushedback her chair, came straight toward his

room, opened the door, and looked in;Ford knew, for he saw her through thecrack he had left in the closet doorway.She stood there looking at the jug on thetable, then went up and lifted it, much asFord had done, and pulled the cork with acertain angry defiance. Perhaps, heguessed shrewdly, Josephine also feltrather foolish at what she was doing—andhe smiled over the thought.

Josephine turned the jug to the light, shutone eye into an adorable squint, andpeered in. Then she set the jug down andpushed the cork slowly into place; and herface was puzzled. Ford could havelaughed aloud when he saw it, but insteadhe held his breath for fear she shoulddiscover him. She stood very still for a

minute or two, staring at nothing at all;moved the jug into the exact place whereit had stood before, and went out of theroom on her toes.

So did Ford, for that matter, and he was ina cold terror lest she should look out andsee him walking down the path where heshould logically have walked more thanfive minutes before. He did not dare toturn and look—until he was outside thegate; then inspiration came to aid him andhe went back boldly, stepped upon theporch with no effort at silence, opened hisdoor, and went in as one who has a rightthere.

He heard the click of dishes which toldthat she was clearing the table, and hebreathed freer. He walked across the

room, waited a space, and walked backagain, and then went out with his heart inits proper position in his chest; Ford wasunused to feeling his heart rise to hispalate, and the sensation was more novelthan agreeable. When he went again downthe path, there was a certain exhilarationin his step. His thoughts arrangedthemselves in clear-cut sentences, as if hewere speaking, instead of those vague,almost wordless impressions which fillthe brain ordinarily.

"She's keeping cases on that jug. She mustcare, or she wouldn't do that. She'sworried a whole lot; I could see that, allalong. Down at the bunk-house she calledme Ford twice—and she said it meant alot to her, whether I make good or not. I

wonder—Lordy me! A man could makegood, all right, and do it easy, if shecared! She doesn't know what to think—that jug staying right up to high-watermark, like that!" He laughed then, silently,and dwelt upon the picture she had madewhile she had stood there before the table.

"Lord! she'd want to kill me if she knew Ihid in that closet, but I just had a hunch—that is, if she cared anything about it. Iwonder if she did really say she wishedI'd killed Dick?

"Anyway, I can fight it now, with herkeeping cases on the quiet. I know I canfight it. Lordy me, I've got to fight it! I'vegot to make good; that's all there is aboutit. Wonder what she'll think when she seesthat jug don't go down any? Wonder—oh,

hell! She'd never care anything about me.If she did—" His thoughts went hazy withvague speculation, then clarified suddenlyinto one hard fact, like a rock thrusting upthrough the lazy sweep of a windless tide."If she did care, I couldn't do anything. I'mmarried!"

His step lost a little of its spring, then, andhe went into the bunk-house with much thesame expression on his face as when hehad left it an hour or so before.

He did not see Dick that day. The otherboys watched him covertly, it seemed tohim, and showed a disposition to talkamong themselves. Jim was whistlingcheerfully in the kitchen. He turned hishead and laughed when Ford went in.

"I found a dead soldier behind the sack ofspuds," Jim announced, and produced anempty bottle, mate to the one Ford hadthrown into the gully. "And Dick didn'tseem to have any appetite at all, and Moseis still in Sleepytown. I guess that's all thenews at this end of the line. Er—hopeeverything is all right at the house?"

"Far as I could see, it was," Ford replied,with an inner sense of evasion. "I guesswe'll just let her go as she looks, Jim. Didyou say anything to the boys?"

Jim reddened under his tan, but he laugheddisarmingly. "I cannot tell a lie," heconfessed honestly, "and it was too goodto keep to myself. I'm the most generousfellow you ever saw, when it comes topassing along a good story that won't hurt

anybody's digestion. You don't care, doyou? The joke ain't on you."

"If you'd asked me about it, I'd have saidkeep it under your hat. But—"

"And that would have been a sin and ashame," argued Jim, licking a finger hehad just scorched on a hot kettle-handle."The fellows all like a good story—and itdon't sound any worse because it's onDick. And say! I kinda got a clue to wherehe connected with that whisky. Walt sayshe come back from the line-camp with hisovercoat rolled up and tied behind thesaddle—and it wasn't what you could calla hot night, either. He musta had that jugwrapped up in it. I'll bet he sent in byPeterson, the other day, for it. He wasover there, I know. He's sure a deliberate

kind of a cuss, isn't he? Must have had thisthing all figured out a week ago. The boysare all tickled to death at the way he got itin the neck; they know Dick pretty well.But if you'd told me not to say anything, I'dhave said he stubbed his toe on hisshadow and fell all over himself, and let itgo at that."

"Lordy me! Jim, you needn't worry aboutit; you ought to know you can't keep athing like this quiet, on a ranch. It doesn'tmatter much how he got that whisky here,either; I know well enough you didn't haulit out. I'd figured it out about as Walt says.

"Say, it looks as if you'll have to wrastlewith the pots and pans till to-morrow. Thelower fence I'll ride, this afternoon; didyou get clear around the Pinnacle field?"

"I sure did—and she's tight as a drum.Say, Mose is a good cook, but he's amighty punk housekeeper, if you ask me.I'm thinking of getting to work here with ahoe!"

So life, which had of late loomed big andbitter before the soul of Ford, slippedback into the groove of daily routine.

CHAPTER XV

The Climb

Into its groove of routine slipped life atthe Double Cross, but it did not movequite as smoothly as before. It was as ifthe "hill" which Ford was climbingsuffered small landslides here and there,which threatened to block the trail below.Sometimes—still keeping to the simile—itwas but a pebble or two kicked loose byFord's heel; sometimes a bowlder whichone must dodge.

Dick, for instance, must have likenedMose to a real landslide when he came athim the next day, with a roar of rage andthe rolling-pin. Mose had sobered to thepoint where he wondered how it had allhappened, and wanted to get his hands inthe wool of the "nigger" said to lurk inwoodpiles. He asked Jim, with variousembellishments of speech, what it was allabout, and Jim told him and told him truly.

"He was trying to queer you with theoutfit, Mose, and that's a fact," he finished;which was the only exaggeration Jim wasguilty of, for Dick had probably thoughtvery little of Mose and his ultimatestanding with the Double Cross. "And hewas trying to queer Ford—but you cansearch me for the reason why he didn't

make good, there."

Mose, like many of us, was a self-centered individual. He wasted a minute,perhaps, thinking of the trick upon Ford;but he spent all of that forenoon and wellinto the afternoon in deep meditation uponthe affair as it concerned himself. And thefirst time Dick entered the presence of thecook, he got the result of Mose'sreasoning.

"Tried to git me in bad, did yuh? Thoughtyou'd git me fired, hey?" he shouted, as asort of punctuation to the belaboring.

A rolling pin is considered a more or lessfearsome weapon in the hands of awoman, I believe; when wielded by anincensed man who stands close to six feet

and weighs a solid two hundred pounds,and who has the headache which followsinevitably in the wake of three pints ofwhisky administered internally in the shortspace of three hours or so, a rolling-pinshould justly be classed with deadlyweapons.

Jim said afterward that he never hadbelieved it possible to act out the roughstuff of the silly supplements in the Sundaypapers, but after seeing Mose performwith that rolling-pin, he was willing tocall every edition of the "funny papers"realistic to a degree. Since it was Jim whohelped pull Mose off, naturally he feltqualified to judge. Jim told Ford about theaffair with sober face and eyes thatlaughed.

"And where's Dick?" Ford asked him,without committing himself upon thejustice of the chastisement.

"Gone to bed, I believe. He didn't comeout with anything worse than bumps, Iguess—but what I saw of them are surepeaches; or maybe Italian prunes wouldhit them off closer; they're a fine purpleshade. I ladled Three H all over him."

"I thought Dick was a fighter fromFighterville," grinned Ford, trying hard toremain non-committal and making a poorjob of it.

"Well, he is, when he can stand up andbox according to rule, or hit a man whenhe isn't looking. But my, oh! This wasn't afight, Ford; this was like the pictures you

see of an old woman lambasting her son-in-law with an umbrella. Dick never got achance to begin. Whee-ee! Mose sure canhandle a rolling-pin some!"

Ford laughed and went up to the house tohis supper, and to the constrainedatmosphere which was telling on hisnerves more severely than did the gallonjug in his closet, and the moral effort itcost to keep that jug full to the neck.

He went in quietly, threw his hat on thebed, and sat down with an air ofdiscouragement. It was not yet six o'clock,and he knew that Mrs. Kate would nothave supper ready; but he wanted a quietplace in which to think, and he was closerto Josephine; though he would never haveadmitted to himself that her nearness was

any comfort to him. He did admit,however, that the jug with the brown neckand handle pulled him to the room manytimes in spite of himself. He would take itfrom the corner of the closet and let hisfingers close over the cork, but so far hehad never yielded beyond that point.Always he had been able to set the jugback unopened.

He was getting circles under his eyes, twonew creases had appeared on each side ofhis whimsical lips, and a permanent linewas forming between his eyebrows; but hehad not opened the jug, and it had been inhis possession thirty-six hours. Thirty-sixhours is not long, to be sure, when liferuns smoothly with slight incidents toemphasize the figures on the dial, but it

may seem long to the poor devil on therack.

Just now Ford was trying to forget that agallon of whisky stood in the right-handcorner of his closet, behind a pair of half-worn riding-boots that pinched his instepso that he seldom wore them, and that hehad only to take the jug out from behindthe boots, pull the cork, and lift the jug tohis lips—

He caught himself leaning forward andstaring at the closet door until his eyesached with the strain. He drew back andpassed his hand over his forehead; itached, and he wanted to think about whathe ought to do with Dick. He did not liketo discharge him without first consultingMrs. Kate, for he knew that Ches Mason

was in the habit of talking things over withher, and since Mason was gone, she hadassumed an air of latent authority. ButMrs. Kate had looked at him with suchreproachful eyes, that day at dinner, andher voice had sounded so squeezed andunnatural, that he had felt too far removedfrom her for any discussion whatever totake place between them.

Besides, he knew he could proveabsolutely nothing against Dick, if Dickwere disposed toward flat denial. Hemight suspect—but the facts showed Fordthe aggressor, and Mose also. What ifMrs. Kate declined to believe that Dickhad put that jug of whisky in the kitchen,and had afterward given it to Ford? Fordhad no means of knowing just what tale

Dick had told her, but he did know thatMrs. Kate eyed him doubtfully, and thather conversation was forced and hermanner constrained.

And Josephine was worse. Josephine hadnot spoken to him all that day. At breakfastshe had not been present, and at dinner shehad kept her eyes upon her plate and hadnothing to say to any one.

He wished Mason was home, so that hecould leave. It wouldn't matter then, hetried to believe, what he did. He evendwelt upon the desire of Mason's return tothe extent of calculating, with his eyesupon the fancy calendar on the wallopposite, the exact time of his absence.Ten days—there was no hope of releasefor another month, at least, and Ford

sighed unconsciously when he thought ofit; for although a month is not long, therewas Josephine refusing to look at him, andthere was Dick—and there was the jug inthe closet.

As to Josephine, there was no help for it;he could not avoid her without making theavoidance plain to all observers, and Fordwas proud. As to Dick, he would not sendhim off without some proof that he hadbroken an unwritten law of the DoubleCross and brought whisky to the ranch;and of that he had no proof. As to hissuspicions—well, he considered that Dickhad almost paid the penalty for havingroused them, and the matter would have torest where it was; for Ford was just. As tothe jug, he could empty it upon the ground

and be done with that particular form oftorture. But he felt sure that Josephine wassecretly "keeping cases" on the jug; andFord was stubborn.

That night Ford did not respond to thetinkle of the tea bell. His head achedabominably, and he did not want to seeJosephine's averted face opposite him atthe table. He lay still upon the bed wherehe had finally thrown himself, and let thebell tinkle until it was tired.

They sent Buddy in to see why he did notcome. Buddy looked at him with theround, curious eyes of precociouschildhood and went back and reported thatFord wasn't asleep, but was just lyingthere mad. Ford heard the shrill littlevoice innocently maligning him, and

swore to himself; but, he did not move forall that. He lay thinking and fightingdiscouragement and thirst, while littletable sounds came through the partitionand made a clicking accompaniment to histhoughts.

If he were free, he was wonderingbetween spells of temptation, would it doany good? Would Josephine care? Therewas no answer to that, or if there was hedid not know what it was.

After awhile the two women begantalking; he judged that Buddy had leftthem, because it was sheer madness tospeak so freely before him. At first hepaid no attention to what they were saying,beyond a grudging joy in the sound ofJosephine's voice. It had come to that,

with Ford! But when he heard his namespoken, and by her, he lifted shamelesslyto an elbow and listened, glad that thewalls were so thin, and that those whodwell in thin-partitioned houses are proneto forget that the other rooms may not bequite empty. They two spent most of theirwaking hours alone together, and habitbreeds carelessness always.

"Do you suppose he's drunk?" Mrs. Kateasked, and her voice was full ofuneasiness. "Chester says he's terriblewhen he gets started. I was sure he wasperfectly safe! I just can't stand it to havehim like this. Dick told me he's drinking alittle all the time, and there's no tellingwhen he'll break out, and—Oh, I think it'sperfectly terrible!"

"Hsh-sh," warned Josephine.

"He went out, quite a while ago. I heardhim," said Mrs. Kate, with rash certainty."He hasn't been like himself since that dayhe fought Dick. He must be—"

"But how could he?" Josephine's voiceinterrupted sharply. "That jug he's got isfull yet."

Ford could imagine Mrs. Kate shaking herhead with the wisdom born of matrimony.

"Don't you suppose he could keep puttingin water?" she asked pityingly. Fordalmost choked when he heard that!

"I don't believe he would." Josephine'stone was dubious. "It doesn't seem to methat a man would do that; he'd think he

was just spoiling what was left. That," shedeclared with a flash of inspiration, "iswhat a woman would do. And a manalways does something different!" Therewas a pathetic note in the last sentence,which struck Ford oddly.

"Don't think you know men, my dear, untilyou've been married to one for eight yearsor so," said Mrs. Kate patronizingly."When you've been—"

"Oh, for mercy's sake, do you think they'reall alike?" Josephine's voice was tart andimpatient. "I know enough about men toknow they're all different. You can't judgeone by another. And I don't believe thatFord is drinking at all. He's just—"

"Just what?—since you know so well!"

Mrs. Kate was growing ironical.

"He's trying not to—and worrying." Hervoice lowered until it took love to hear it.Ford did hear, and his breath came fast.He did not catch Mrs. Kate's reply; he wasnot in love with Mrs. Kate, and he wasengaged in letting the words of Josephinesink into his very soul, and in tellinghimself over and over that she understood.It seemed to him a miracle of intuition,that she should sense the fight he wasmaking; and since he felt that way about it,it was just as well he did not know thatJim Felton sensed it quite as keenly asJosephine—and with a far greaterunderstanding of how bitter a fight it was,and for that reason a deeper sympathy.

"I wish Chester was here!" wailed Mrs.

Kate, across the glow of his exultantthoughts. "I'm afraid to say anything to himmyself, he's so morose. It's a shame,because he's so splendid when he's—himself."

"He's as much himself now as ever hewas," Josephine defended hotly. "Whenhe's drinking he's altogether—"

"You never saw him drunk," Mrs. Katepointed to the weak spot in Josephine'sdefense of him. "Dick says—"

"Oh, do you believe everything Dick says?A week ago you were bitter against Dickand all enthusiasm for Ford."

"You were flirting with Dick then, andyou'd hardly treat Ford decently. And

Ford hadn't gone to drink—"

"Will you hush?" There were tears ofanger in Josephine's voice. "He isn't, I tellyou!"

"What does he keep that jug in the closetfor? And every few hours he comes up tothe house and goes into his room—and henever did that before. And have younoticed his eyes? He'll scarcely talk anymore, and he just pretends to eat. Atdinner to-day he scarcely touched a thing!It's a sure sign, Phenie."

Ford was growing tired of that sort ofthing. It dimmed the radiance ofJosephine's belief in him, to have Mrs.Kate so sure of his weakness. He got upfrom the bed as quietly as he could and

left the house. He was even morethoughtful, after that, but not quite sogloomy—if one cared enough for hismoods to make a fine distinction.

Have you ever observed the fact that manyof life's grimmest battles and deepesttragedies scarce ripple the surface oftrivial things? We are always rubbingelbows with the big issues and neverknowing anything about it. Certainly noone at the Double Cross guessed what wasalways in the mind of the foreman. Jimthought he was "sore" because of Dick.Dick thought Ford was jealous of him, andtrying to think of some scheme to "playeven," without coming to open war. Mrs.Kate was positive, in her purely femininemind—which was a very good mind,

understand, but somewhat inadequatewhen brought to bear upon the bigproblems of life—that Ford was tipplingin secret. Josephine thought—just whatshe said, probably, upon the chill daywhen she calmly asked Ford at thebreakfast table if he would let her go withhim.

Ford had casually remarked, in answer toa diffident question from Mrs. Kate, thathe was going to ride out on Long Ridgeand see if any stock was drifting backtoward the ranch. He hadn't sent any oneover that way for several days. Ford, be itsaid, had announced his intentiondeliberately, moved by a vague,unreasoning impulse.

"Can I go?" teased Buddy, from sheer

force of habit; no one ever mentionedgoing anywhere, but Buddy shot thatquestion into the conversation.

"No, you can't. You can't, with that cold,"his mother vetoed promptly, and Buddy,whimpering over his hot cakes, knew wellthe futility of argument, when Mrs. Kateused that tone of finality.

"Will you let me go?" Josephine askedunexpectedly, and looked straight at Ford.But though her glance was direct, it wasunreadable, and Ford mentally threw uphis hands after one good look at her, andtried not to betray the fact that this waswhat he had wanted, but had not hopedfor.

"Sure, you can go," he said, with deceitful

brevity. Josephine had not spoken to himall the day before, except to say good-morning when he came in to his breakfast.Ford made no attempt to understand her,any more. He was carefully giving her thelead, as he would have explained it, andwas merely following suit until he got achance to trump; but he was beginning tohave a discouraged feeling that the gamewas hers, and that he might as well laydown his hand and be done with it. Which,when he brought the simile back topractical affairs, meant that he wasthinking seriously of leaving the ranch andthe country just as soon as Masonreturned.

He was thinking of trying the ArgentineRepublic for awhile, if he could sell the

land which he had rashly bought while hewas getting rid of his inheritance.

She did not offer any excuse for therequest, as most women would have done.Neither did she thank him, with lips orwith eyes, for his ready consent. Sheseemed distrait—preoccupied, as if she,also, were considering some weightyquestion.

Ford pushed back his chair, watching herfurtively. She rose with Kate, and glancedtoward the window.

"I suppose I shall need my heaviestsweater," she remarked practically, and asif the whole affair were too commonplacefor discussion. "It does look threatening.How soon will you want to start?" This

without looking toward Ford at all.

"Right away, if that suits you." Ford wasstill watchful, as if he had not quite givenup hope of reading her meaning.

She told him she would be ready by thetime he had saddled, and she appeared inthe stable door while he was cinching thesaddle on the horse he meant to ride.

"I hope you haven't given me Dude," shesaid unemotionally. "He's supposed to begentle—but he bucked me off that day Isprained my ankle, and all the excuse hehad was that a rabbit jumped out from abush almost under his nose. I've lost faithin him since. Oh—it's Hooligan, is it? I'mglad of that; Hooligan's a dear—and hehas the easiest gallop of any horse on the

ranch. Have you tried him yet, Ford?"

The heart of Ford lifted in his chest at hertone and her words, along toward the last.He forgot the chill of her voice in thebeginning, and he dwelt greedily upon thefact that once more she had called himFord. But his joy died suddenly when heled his horse out and discovered that Dickand Jim Felton were coming down thepath, within easy hearing of her. Ford didnot know women very well, but most menare born with a rudimentary understandingof them. He suspected that her intimacy oftone was meant for Dick's benefit; andwhen they had ridden three or four milesand her share of the conversation duringthat time had consisted of "yes" twice,"no" three times, and one "indeed," he was

sure of it.

So Ford began to wonder why she came atall—unless that, also, was meant todiscipline Dick—and his own moodbecame a silent one. He did not, he toldhimself indignantly, much relish beingused as a club to beat some other man intogood behavior.

They rode almost to Long Ridge beforeFord discovered that Josephine wasstealing glances at his face whenever shethought he was not looking, and that theglances were questioning, and mightalmost be called timid. He waited until hewas sure he was not mistaken, and thenturned his head unexpectedly, and smiledinto her startled eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, still smiling at her."I won't bite. Say it, why don't you?"

She bit her lips and looked away.

"I wanted to ask something—ask you to dosomething," she said, after a minute. Andthen hurriedly, as if she feared her couragemight ebb and leave her stranded, "I wishyou'd give me that—jug!"

Sheer surprise held Ford silent, staring ather.

"I don't ask many favors—I wish you'dgrant just that one. I wouldn't ask another."

"What do you want of it?"

"Oh—" she stopped, then plunged onrecklessly. "It's getting on my nerves so!

And if you gave it to me, you wouldn'thave to fight the temptation—"

"Why wouldn't I? There's plenty morewhere that came from," he reminded her.

"But it wouldn't be right where you couldget it any time the craving came. Won'tyou let me take it?" He had never beforeheard that tone from her; but he foughtdown the thrill of it and held himselfrigidly calm.

"Oh, I don't know—the jug's doing allright, where it is," he evaded; what hewanted most was to get at her real object,and, man-like, to know beyond doubtwhether she really cared.

"But you don't—you never touch it," she

urged. "I know, because—well, becauseevery day I look into it! I suppose you'llsay I have no right, that it's spying, orsomething. But I don't care for that. And Ican see that it's worrying you dreadfully.And if you don't drink any of it, why won'tyou let me have it?"

"If I don't drink it; what difference does itmake who has it?" he countered.

"I'm afraid there'll be a time when you'llyield, just because you are blue anddiscouraged—or something; whatevermood it is that makes the temptationhardest to resist. I know myself that thingsare harder to endure some days than theyare others." She stopped and looked athim in that enigmatical way she had. "Youmay not know it—but I've been staying

here just to see whether you fail orsucceed. I thought I understood a little ofwhy you came, and I—I stayed." Sheleaned and twisted a wisp of Hooligan'smane nervously, and Ford noticed how thecolor came and went in the cheek nearesthim.

"I—oh, it's awfully hard to say what Iwant to say, and not have it sounddifferent," she began again, withoutlooking at him. "But if you don'tunderstand what I mean—" Her teethclicked suggestively.

Ford leaned to her. "Say it anyway andtake a chance," he urged, and his voicewas like a kiss, whether he knew it or not.He did know that she caught her breath atthe words or the tone, and that the color

flamed a deeper tint in her cheek and thenfaded to a faint glow.

"What I mean is that I appreciate the wayyou have acted all along. I—it wasn't aneasy situation to meet, and you have met itlike a man—and a gentleman. I was afraidof you at first, and I misunderstood youcompletely. I'm ashamed to confess it, butit's true. And I want to see you make goodin this thing you have attempted; and ifthere's anything on earth that I can do tohelp you, I want you to let me do it. Youwill, won't you?" She looked at him thenwith clear, honest eyes. "It's my way ofwanting to thank you for—for not takingany advantage, or trying to, of—your—position that night."

Ford's own cheeks went hot. "I thought

you knew all along that I wasn't a cur, atleast," he said harshly. "I never knewbefore that you had any reason to be afraidof me, that night. If I'd known that—but Ithought you just didn't like me, and let itgo at that. And what I said I meant. Youneedn't feel that you have anything to thankme for; I haven't done a thing that deservesthanks—or fear either, for that matter."

"I thought you understood, when I left—"

"I didn't worry much about it, one way orthe other," he cut in. "I hunted around foryou, of course, and when I saw you'dpulled out for good, I went over the hilland camped. I didn't get the note till nextmorning; and I don't know," he added,with a brief smile, "as that did muchtoward making me understand. You just

said to wait till some one came after me.Well, I didn't wait." He laughed andleaned toward her again. "Now thereseems a chance of our being—pretty goodfriends," he said, in the caressing tone hehad used before, and of which he wasutterly unconscious, "we won't quarrelabout that night, will we? You got homeall right, and so did I. We'll forget allabout it. Won't we?" He laid a hand on thehorn of her saddle so that they rode closetogether, and tried futilely to read whatwas in her face, since she did not speak.

Josephine stared blankly at the brownslope before them. Her lips were setfirmly together, and her brows werecontracted also, and her gloved fingersgripped the reins tightly. She paid not the

slightest attention to Ford's hand upon hersaddle horn, nor at the steady gaze of hiseyes. Later, when Ford observed therigidity of her whole pose and sensed thatmental withdrawing which needs nospeech to push one off from the moreintimate ground of companionship, hewondered a little. Without in the leastknowing why he felt rebuffed, he tookaway his hand, and swung his horseslightly away from her; his own backstiffened a little in response to the chilledatmosphere.

"Yes," she said at last, "we'll forget allabout it, Mr. Campbell."

"You called me Ford, a while ago," hehinted.

"Did I? One forms the habit of picking upa man's given name, out here in the West, Ifind. I'm sorry—"

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you todo it again. All the time," he added boldly.

He caught the gleam of her eyes under herheavy lashes, as she glanced at himsidelong.

"If you go looking at me out of the cornerof your eyes," he threatened recklessly,kicking his horse closer, "I'm liable to kissyou!"

And he did, before she could draw away.

"I've been kinda thinking maybe I'm inlove with you, Josephine," he murmured,holding her close. "And now I'm dead sure

of it. And if you won't love me back why—there'll be something doing, that's all!"

"Yes? And what would you do, please?"Her tone was icy, but he somehow felt thatthe ice was very, very thin, and that herheart beat warm beneath. She drew herselffree, and he let her go.

"I dunno," he confessed whimsically. "ButLordy me! I'd sure do something!"

"Look for comfort in that jug, I supposeyou mean?"

"No, I don't mean that." He stopped andconsidered, his forehead creased as if hewere half angry at the imputation. "I'mpretty sure of where I stand, on thatsubject. I've done a lot of thinking, since I

hit the Double Cross—and I've cut outwhisky for good.

"I know what you thought, and what Mrs.Kate thinks yet; and I'll admit it wasmighty tough scratching for a couple ofdays after I got hold of that jug. But Ifound out which was master—and itwasn't the booze!" He looked at her witheyes that shone. "Josie, girl, I took a longchance—but I put it up to myself this way,when the jug seemed to be on top. I toldmyself it was whisky or you; not thatexactly, either. It's hard to say just what Ido mean. Not you, maybe—but what youstand for. What I could get out of life, if Iwas straight and lived clean, and had alittle woman like you. It may not be you atall; that's as you—"

He stopped as if some one had laid a handover his mouth. It was not as she said. Itmight have been, only for that drunkenmarriage of his. Never before had hehated whisky as bitterly as he did then,when he remembered what it had done forhim that night in Sunset, and what it wasdoing now. It closed his lips upon what hewould have given much to be able to say;for he was a man with all the instincts ofchivalry and honor—and he loved the girl.It was, he realized bitterly, just because hedid love her so well, that he could not saymore. He had said too much already; buther nearness had gone to his head, and hehad forgotten that he was not free to saywhat he felt.

Perhaps Josephine mistook his sudden

silence for trepidation, or humility. At anyrate she reined impulsively close, andreached out and caught the hand hangingidly at his side.

"Ford, I'm no coquette," she saidstraightforwardly, with a blush formaiden-modesty's sake. "I believe you;absolutely and utterly I believe you. If youhad been different at first—if you hadmade any overtures whatever toward—toward lovemaking, I should havedespised you. I never would have lovedyou in this world! But you didn't. You keptat such a distance that I—I couldn't helpthinking about you and studying you. Andlately—when I knew you were fighting the—the habit—I loved you for the way youdid fight. I was afraid, too. I used to slip

into your room every time you left it, andlook—and I just ached to help you! But Iknew I couldn't do a thing; and that wasthe hardest part. All I could do was standback—clear back out of sight, and hope.And—and love you, too, Ford. I'm proudof you! I'm proud to think that I—I love aman that is a man; that doesn't sit downand whine because a fight is hard, or giveup and say it's no use. I do despise amoral weakling, Ford. I don't mind whatyou have been; it's what you are, thatcounts with me. And you're a man, everyinch of you. I'm not a bit afraid you'llweaken. Only," she added halfapologetically, "I did want you to give methe—the jug, because I couldn't bear tosee you look so worried." She gave hisfingers an adorable little squeeze, and

flung his hand away from her, and laughedin a way to set his heart pounding heavilyin his chest. "Now you know where Istand, Mr. Man," she cried lightly, "solet's say no more about it. I bet I can beatyou across this flat!" She laughed again,wrinkled her nose at him impertinently,and was off in a run.

"Ford, I'm no coquette," she saidstraightforwardly.

If she had waited, Ford would have told

her. If she had given him a chance, hewould have told her afterward; but she didnot. She was extremely careful not to lettheir talk become intimate, after that. Shelaughed, she raced Hooligan almost to thepoint of abuse, she chattered abouteverything under the sun that came into hermind, except their own personal affairs oranything that could possibly lead up to thesubject.

Ford, for a time, watched for an openinghonestly; saw at last the impossibility oftelling her—unless indeed he shouted,"Say, I'm a married man!" to her withoutpreface or extenuating explanation—andyielded finally to the reprieve the fatessent him.

CHAPTER XVI

To Find and Free a Wife

Ford spent the rest of that day and all ofthe night that followed, in thinking whatwould be the best and the easiest methodof gaining the point he wished to reach.All along he had been uncomfortablyaware of his matrimonial entanglementand had meant, as soon as he convenientlycould, to try and discover who was hiswife, and how best to free himself andher. He had half expected that she herselfwould do something to clear the mystery.

She had precipitated the marriage, heconstantly reminded himself, and it wasreasonable to expect that she would dosomething; though what, Ford could onlyconjecture.

When he faced Josephine across thebreakfast table the next morning, andcaught the shy glance she gave him whenMrs. Kate was not looking, a plan he hadhalf formed crystallized into adetermination. He would not tell heranything about it until he knew just whathe was up against, and how long it wasgoing to take him to free himself. Andsince he could not do anything about itwhile he rode and planned and gaveorders at the Double Cross, he swallowedhis breakfast rather hurriedly and went out

to find Jim Felton.

"Say, Jim," he began, when he ran thatindividual to earth in the stable, where,with a pair of sheep shears, he wasroaching the mane of a shaggy old cowpony to please Buddy, who wanted tomake him look like a circus horse, even ifthere was no hope of his ever acting likeone. "I'm going to hand you the lines andlet you drive, for a few days. I've got toscout around on business of my own, and Idon't know just how long it's going to takeme. I'm going right away—to-day."

"Yeah?" Jim poised the shears in air andregarded him quizzically over the pony'sneck. "Going to pass me foreman'sprivilege—to hire and fire?" he grinned."Because I may as well tell you that if you

do, Dick won't be far behind you on thetrail."

"Oh, darn Dick. I'll fire him myself,maybe, before I leave. Yes," he added,thinking swiftly of Josephine as the objectof Dick's desires, "that's what I'll do.Maybe it'll save a lot of trouble while I'mgone. He's a tricky son-of-a-gun."

"You're dead right; he is," Jim agreed.And then, dryly: "Grandmother just died?"

"Oh, shut up. This ain't an excuse—it'sbusiness. I've just got to go, and that's allthere is to it. I'll fix things with the missus,and tell her you're in charge. Anyway, Iwon't be gone any longer than I can help."

"I believe that, too," said Jim softly, and

busied himself with the shears.

Ford looked at him sharply, in doubt as tojust how much or how little Jim meant bythat. He finally shrugged his shoulders andwent away to tell Mrs. Kate, and foundthat a matter which required morediplomacy than he ever suspected hepossessed. But he did tell her, and hehoped that she believed the reason he gavefor going, and also had some faith in hisassurance that he would be back,probably, in a couple of days—or as soonafterwards as might be.

"There's nothing but chores to do nowaround the ranch, and Jack will ridefence," he explained unnecessarily, tocover his discomfort at her coldness. "Jimcan look after things just as well as I can.

There won't be any need to start feedingthe calves, unless it storms; and if it does,Jim and Jack will go ahead, all right. I'mgoing to let Dick and Curly go. We don'tneed more than two men besides Walt,from now on."

"I wish Chester was here," said Mrs. Kateambiguously.

Ford did not ask her why she wished that.He told her good-by as hastily as if he hadto run to catch a train, and left her. Hehoped he would be lucky enough to seeJosephine—and then he hoped quite assincerely that he would not see her, afterall. It would be easier to go without herclear eyes asking him why.

What he meant to do first was to find

Rock, and see if he had been sober enoughthat night in Sunset to remember whathappened at the marriage ceremony, andcould give him some clue as to thewoman's identity and whereabouts. If hefailed there, he intended to hunt up thepreacher. That, also, presented certaindifficulties, but Ford was in the mood toovercome obstacles. Once he discoveredwho the woman was, it seemed to him thatthere should be no great amount of troublein getting free. As he understood it, he wasnot the man she had intended to marry; andnot being the man she wanted, shecertainly could not be over-anxious tocling to him.

While he galloped down the trail to town,he went over the whole thing again in his

mind, to see if there might be somesimpler plan than the one he had formed inthe night.

"No, sir—it's Rock I've got to see first,"he concluded. "But Lord only knowswhere I'll find him; Rock never does camptwice in the same place. Never knew himto stay more than a month with one outfit.But I'll find him, all right!"

And by one of those odd twists ofcircumstances which sets men towondering if there is such a thing astelepathy and a specifically guiding handand the like, it was Rock and none otherwhom he met fairly in the trail before hehad gone another mile.

"Well, I'll be gol darned!" Ford

whispered incredulously to himself, andpulled up short in the trail to wait for him.

Rock came loping up with elbowsflapping loosely, as was his ungainlyhabit. His grin was wide and golden as ofyore, his hat at the same angle over hisright eyebrow.

"Gawd bless you, brother! May peace ridebehind your cantle!" he declaimedunctuously, for Rock was a character, inhis way, and in his speech was not in theleast like other men. "Whither wendestthou?"

"My wending is all over for the present,"said Ford, wheeling his horse shortaround, that he might ride alongside theother. "I started out to hunt you up, you old

devil. How are you, anyway?"

"It is well with me, and well with my soul—what little I've got—but it ain't so wellwith my winter grub-stake. I'm just astickled to see you as you ever dare be tomeet up with me, and that's no lie. I heardyou've got a stand-in with the DoubleCross, and seeing they ain't on to my littlepeculiarities, I thought I'd ride out and seeif I couldn't work you for a soft snap. Gotany ducks out there you want led towater?"

"Maybe—I dunno. I just canned two menthis morning, before I left." Ford wasdebating with himself how best toapproach the subject to him mostimportant.

"Good ee-nough! I can take the place ofthose two men; eat their share of grub, dotheir share of snoring, and shirk theirshare of work, and drink their share ofbooze—oh, lovely! But, in the words ofthe dead, immortal Shakespeare, 'What'seating you?' You look to me as if youhadn't enjoyed the delights of a good, stiffjag since—" He waved a hand vaguely."Ain't a scar on you, so help me!" Heregarded Ford with frank curiosity.

"Oh, yes there is. I've got the hide peeledoff two knuckles, and one of my thumbs isjust getting so it will move without beinggreased," Ford assured him, and then wentstraight at what was on his mind.

"Say, Rock, I was told that you had a handin my getting married, back in Sunset that

night."

Rock made his horse back until it nearlyfell over a rock; his face showedexaggerated symptoms of terror.

"I couldn't help it," he wailed. "Spare muh—for muh poor mother's sake, oh sparemuh life!" Whereat Ford laughed, just asRock meant that he should do. "You lickedBill twice for that, they tell me," Rockwent on, quitting his foolery and comingup close again. "And you licked thepreacher that night, and—so the talerunneth—like to have put the whole townon the jinks. Is there anything in particularyou'd like to do to me?"

"I just want you to tell me who I married—if you can." Ford reddened as the other

stared, but he did not stop. "I was sodarned full that night I let the wholebusiness ooze out of my memory, and Ihaven't been able to—"

Rock was leaning over the saddle horn,howling and watery-eyed. Ford looked athim with a dawning suspicion.

"It did strike me, once or twice," he saidgrimly, "that the whole thing was a put-upjob. If you fellows rigged up a josh likethat, and let it go as far as this, may theLord have mercy on your souls, for Iwon't!"

But Rock could only wave him offweakly; so Ford waited until he hadrecovered. Even then, it took some talkingto convince Rock that the affair was truly

serious and not to be treated any longer asa joke.

"Why, damn it, man, I'm in love with a girland I want to marry her if I can get rid ofthis other darned, mysterious, Tom-fool ofa woman," Ford gritted at last, in sheerdesperation. "Or if it's just a josh, by thisand by that I mean to find it out."

Rock sobered then. "It ain't any josh," hesaid, with convincing earnestness. "Yougot married, all right enough. And if it's asyou say, Ford, I sure am sorry for it. Idon't know the girl's name. I'd know herquick enough if I should see her, but I can'ttell you who she was."

Ford swore, of course. And Rock listenedsympathetically until he was done.

"That's the stuff; get it out of your system,Ford, and then you'll feel better. Then wecan put our heads together and see if thereisn't some way to beat this combination."

"Could you spot the preacher, do youreckon?" asked Ford more calmly.

"I could—if he didn't see us coming,"Rock admitted guardedly. "Name ofSanderson, I believe. I've seen him aroundGarbin. He could tell—he must have somerecord of it; but would he?"

"Don't you know, even, why she came andglommed onto me like that?" Ford's facewas as anxious as his tone.

"Only what you told me, confidentially, ina corner afterwards," said Rock

regretfully. "Maybe you told it straight,and maybe you didn't; there's no bankingon a man's imagination when he's soused.But the way you told it to me was this:

"You said the girl told you that she wasworking for some queer old party—an oldlady with lots of dough; and she made herwill and give her money all to someinstitution—hospital or some darned thing,I forget just what, or else you didn't say.Only, if this girl would marry her sonwithin a certain time, he could have thewad. Seems the son was something of ahigh-roller, and the old lady knew he'dblow it in, if it was turned over to himwithout any ballast, like; and the girl wassupposed to be the ballast, to hold himsteady. So the old lady, or else it was the

girl, writes to this fellow, and he agrees tohook up with the lady and take the moneyand behave himself. Near as I could makeit out, the time was just about up beforethe girl took matters into her own hand,and come out on a hunt for this FrankCameron. How she happened to sink herrope on you instead, and take her turnsbefore she found out her mistake, you'llhave to ask her—if you ever see her again.

"But this much you told me—and I thinkyou got it straight. The girl was willing tomarry you—or Frank Cameron—so hecould get what belonged to him. Shewasn't going to do any more, though, andyou told me"—Rock's manner becamevery impressive here—"that you promisedher, as a man and a gentleman, that you

wouldn't ever bother her, and that she wasto travel her own trail, and she didn't wantthe money. She just wanted to dodge thatfool will, seems like. Strikes me I'd a letthe fellow go plumb to Guinea, if I was inher place, but women get queer notions ofduty, and the like of that, sometimes.Looks to me like a fool thing for a womanto do, anyway."

Though they talked a good while about it,that was all the real information whichFord could gain. He would have to findthe minister and persuade him to show therecord of the marriage, and after that hewould have to find the girl.

Before they reached that definiteconclusion, the storm which had beenbrewing for several days swooped down

upon them, and drove Ford to thealternative of riding in the teeth of it totown, which was not only unpleasant butdangerous, if it grew any worse, orretracing his steps to the Double Crossand waiting there until it was over. So thatis what he did, with Rock to bear himwilling company.

They met Dick and Curly on the way, andthough Ford stopped them and suggestedthat they turn back also, neither would doso. Curly intimated plainly that the joys oftown were calling to him from afar, andthat facing a storm was merely calculatedto make his destination more alluring bycontrast. "Turn back with two months'wages burning up my inside pocket? Oh,no!" he laughed, and rode on. Dick did not

say why, but he rode on also. Ford turnedin the saddle and looked after them, asthey disappeared in a swirl of fine snow.

"That's what I ought to do," he said, "butI'm not going to do it, all the same."

"Which only goes to prove," banteredRock, "that the Double Cross pulls harderthan all the preacher could tell you. Iwonder if there isn't a girl at the DoubleCross, now!"

"There is," Ford confessed, with a grin ofembarrassment. "And you shut up."

"I just had a hunch there was," Rockpermitted himself to say meekly, before hedropped the subject.

It was ten minutes before Ford spoke

again.

"I'll take you up to the house and introduceyou to her, Rock, if you'll behaveyourself," he offered then, with a shynessin his manner that nearly set Rock off inone of his convulsions of mirth. "But themissus isn't wise—so watch out. And ifyou don't behave yourself," he addeddarkly, "I'll knock your block off."

"Sure. But my block is going to remainright where it's at," Rock assured him,which was a tacit promise of as perfectbehavior as he could attain.

They looked like snow men when theyunsaddled, with the powdery snow beateninto the very fabric of their clothing, andFord suggested that they go first to the

bunk-house to thaw out. "I'd sure hate topack all this snow into Mrs. Kate'sparlor," he added whimsically. "She's thekind of housekeeper that grabs the broomthe minute you're gone, to sweep yourtracks off the carpet. Awful nice littlewoman, but—"

"But not The One," chuckled Rock,treading close upon Ford's heels. "And I'llbet fifteen cents," he offered rashly,looking up, "that the person hitting the highplaces for the bunk-house is The One."

"How do you know?" Ford demanded,while his eyes gladdened at sight ofJosephine, with a Navajo blanket flungover her head, running down the paththrough the blizzard to the bunk-housekitchen.

"'Cause she shied when she saw youcoming. Came pretty near breaking backon you, too," Rock explained shrewdly.

They reached the kitchen together, andFord threw open the door, and held it forher to pass.

"I came after some of Mose's mince-meat," she explained hastily. "It's aterrible storm, isn't it? I'm glad it didn'tstrike yesterday. I thought you were goingto be gone for several days."

Ford, with embarrassed haste to match herown, presented Rock in the same breathwith wishing that Rock was elsewhere;for Mose was not in the kitchen, and hehad not had more than a few words withher for twenty-four hours. He was

perilously close to forgetting his legalhalter when he looked at her.

She was, he thought, about as sweet apicture of a woman as a man need everlook upon, as she stood there with the redNavajo blanket falling back from her darkhair, and with her wide, honest eyes fixedupon Rock. She was blushing, as if she,too, wished Rock elsewhere. She turnedimpulsively, set down the basin she hadbeen holding in her arm, and pulled theblanket up so that it framed her facebewitchingly.

"Mose can bring up the mince-meat whenhe comes—since he isn't here," she saidhurriedly. "We weren't looking for youback, but dinner will be ready in half anhour or so, I think." She pulled open the

door and went out into the storm.

Rock stared at the door, still quiveringwith the slam she had given it. Then helooked at Ford, and afterward sat downweakly upon a stool, and began dazedlypulling the icicles from his mustache.

"Well—I'll—be—cremated!" he said in awhisper.

"And what's eating you, Rock?" Fordquizzed gayly. He had seen something inthe eyes of Josephine, when he met her,that had set his blood jumping again. "DidMiss Melby—"

"Miss Melby my granny!" grunted Rock, indeep disgust. "That there is your wife!"

Ford backed up against the wall and

stared at him blankly. Afterward he took adeep breath and went out as though theplace was on fire.

CHAPTER XVII

What Ford Found at the Top

Ford Campbell was essentially a man ofaction; he did not waste ten seconds intrying to deduce the whys and hows of theamazing fact; he would have a wholelifetime in which to study them. He startedfor the house, and the tracks he made inthe loose, shifting snow wereconsiderably more than a yard apart. Heeven forgot to stamp off the clinging snowand scour his boot-soles upon the porchrug, and when he went striding in, he

pushed the door only half shut behind him,so that it swung in the wind and let a smalldrift collect upon the parlor carpet, untilMrs. Kate, feeling a draught, discoveredit, and was shocked beyond words at thesacrilege.

Ford went into the dining-room, crossed itin just three strides, and ran his quarry toearth in the kitchen, where she wasdistraitly setting out biscuit materials. Hestarted toward her, realized suddenly thatthe all-observing Buddy was at his veryheels, and delayed the reckoning while heled that terrible man-child to his mother.

"I wish you'd close-herd this kid for aboutfour hours," he told Mrs. Kate bluntly, andleft her looking scared and unconsciouslyposing as protective motherhood, her arm

around the outraged Robert ChesterMason. Mrs. Kate was absolutelyconvinced that Ford was at last reallydrunk and "on the rampage," and she had aterrible vision of slain girlhood in thekitchen, so that she was torn betweenmother-love and her desire to protectPhenie. But Ford had looked sothreateningly at her and Buddy that shecould not bring herself to attract hisattention to the child or herself. Pheniehad plenty of spirit; she could run down tothe bunk-house—Mrs. Kate heard a doorslam then, and shuddered. Phenie, shejudged swiftly, had locked herself into thepantry.

Phenie had. Or, to be exact, she had run inand slammed the door shut in Ford's very

face, and she was leaning her weightagainst it. Mrs. Kate, pressing thestruggling Buddy closer to her, heardvoices, a slight commotion, and thensilence. She could bear no more. Shethrew a shawl over her head, graspedBuddy firmly by the arm, and fled in terrorto the bunk-house.

The voices were a brief altercationbetween Ford and Josephine, on thesubject of opening the door, before it wasremoved violently from its hinges. Thecommotion was when Josephine, betweentears and laughter, failed to hold the dooragainst the pressure of a strong man uponthe other side, and, suddenly giving overthe attempt, was launched against a shelfand dislodged three tin pans, which she

barely saved from falling with a greatclatter to the floor. The silence—thesilence should explain itself; but sincehumanity is afflicted with curiosity, anddemands details, this is what occurredimmediately after Josephine had beenkissed four times for her stubbornness,and the pans had been restored to theirproper place.

"Say! Are you my wife?" was the abruptquestion which Ford asked, and kissed heragain while he waited for an answer.

"Why, yes—what makes you ask that? Ofcourse I am; that is—" Josephine twistedin his arms, so that she could look into hisface. She did not laugh at him, however.She was staring at him with that keen,measuring look which had so incensed

him, when he had first met her. "I don'tunderstand you at all, Ford," she said atlast, with a frown of puzzlement. "I neverhave, for that matter. I'd think I wasbeginning to, and then you would say ordo something that would put me all at sea.What do you mean, anyway?"

Ford told her what he meant; told herhumbly, truthfully, with never an excusefor himself. And it speaks well for thegood sense of Josephine that she heardhim through with neither tears, laughter,nor anger to mar his trust in her.

"Of course, I knew you had been drinking,that night," she said, when his story wasdone, and his face was pressed lightlyagainst the white parting in her soft,brown hair. "I saw it, after—after the

ceremony. You—you were going to kissme, and I caught the odor of liquor, and Ifelt that you wouldn't have done that if youhad been yourself; it frightened me, alittle. But you talked perfectly straight, andI never knew you weren't the man—FrankCameron—until you came here. Then Isaw you couldn't be he. Chester hadknown you when Frank was at home withhis mother—I compared dates and wassure of that—and he called you FordCampbell. So then I saw what a horribleblunder I'd made, and I was worriednearly to death! But I couldn't see what Icould do about it, and you didn't—"

"Say, what about this Frank Cameron,anyway?" Ford demanded, with true malejealousy. "What did you want to marry

him for? You couldn't have known him, or—"

"Oh, you wouldn't understand—"Josephine gave a little, impatient turn ofthe head, "unless you knew his mother. Idid know Frank, a long time ago, when Iwas twelve or thirteen, and when I sawyou, I thought he'd changed a lot. But itwas his mother; she was the dearest thing,but—queer. Sort of childish, you know.And she just worshiped Frank, and used towatch for the postman—oh, it was toopitiful! Sometimes I'd write a lettermyself, and pretend it was from him, andread it to her; her eyes were bad, so it waseasy—"

"Where was this Frank?" Ford interrupted.

"Oh, I don't know! I never did know.Somewhere out West, we thought. I usedto make believe the letters came fromHelena, or Butte, because that was whereshe heard from him last. He was alwayspromising to come home—in the letters.That used to make her so much better," sheexplained naïvely. "And sometimes she'dbe able to go out in the yard and fuss withher flowers, after one like that. But henever came, and so she got the notion thathe was wild and a spendthrift. I supposehe was, or he'd have written, orsomething. She had lots and lots of moneyand property, you know.

"Well," Josephine took one of Ford's handand patted it reassuringly, "she got thenotion that I must marry Frank, when he

came home. I tried to reason her out ofthat, and it only made her worse. It grewon her, and I got so I couldn't bear to writeany more letters, and that made it worsestill. She made a will that I must marryFrank within a year after she died, or hewouldn't get anything but a hundreddollars—and she was worth thousandsand thousands." Josephine snuggledcloser. "She was shrewd, too. I was not toget anything except a few trinkets. And ifwe didn't marry, the money would all goto an old ladies' home.

"So, when she died, I felt as if I ought todo something, you see. It didn't seem rightto let him lose the property, even if hewouldn't write to his mother. So I had thelawyers try to find him. I thought I could

marry him, and let him get the property,and then—well, I counted on getting adivorce." She looked up quickly intoFord's face.

"And you know you did promise not tobother me—just to desert me, you see, so Icould get a divorce in a year. I thought I'dcome and live with Kate till the year wasup, and then get a divorce, and go backhome to work. My father left me enough tosqueak along on, you see, if I lived in thecountry. Aunt Ida—that's Frank's mother—paid me a salary for staying with her andlooking after her house and her rents andthings. And then, when you followed meout here, I was furious! Just simplyfurious!" She bent her head and set herteeth gently into the fleshy part of Ford's

thumb, and Ford flinched. It happened tobe the sore one.

"Well, but that doesn't explain how yougot your loop on me, girlie—though I suream glad that you did!"

"Why, don't you see, the time was almostup, just for all the world like a play. 'Onlyone day more—and I must save the pa-apers!' So the lawyer Aunt Ida had foryears, heard that Frank was—or had been—at Garbin. I rushed out here, and heardthat there was a Cameron (only they musthave meant Campbell) at Sunset. So I gota license, and the Reverend Sanderson,and took the evening train down there. Atthe hotel I asked for Mr. Cameron, andthey sent you in. And you know the rest,you—you old fraud! How you palmed

yourself off on me—"

"I never did! I must have just been in oneof my obliging moods; and a man wouldhave to be mighty rude and unkind not tosay yes to a pretty girl when—"

That is as far as the discussion went, withanything like continuity or coherence even.Later, however, Josephine did protestsomewhat muffledly: "But, Ford, I marriedyou under the name of Frank Cameron, soI don't believe—and anyway—I'd like areal wedding—and a ring!"

Mrs. Kate, having been solemnly assuredby Rock that Ford was sober and as nearlyin his right mind as a man violently in lovecan be (Rock made it plain, by implicationat least, that he did not consider that very

near), ventured into the kitchen just then.She still looked scared and uncertain,until, through the half-open door of thepantry, she heard soft, whispery soundslike kissing—when the kissing is a rapturerather than a ceremony. Mrs. Kate hadonly been married eight years or so, andshe had a good memory. She backed fromthe kitchen on her toes, and pulled thedoor shut with the caution of a thief. Shedid more; she permitted dinner to be anhour late, rather than disturb those two inthe pantry.

The uphill climb was no climb at all, afterthat. For when a man has found the onewoman in the world, and with her thatelusive thing we call happiness, even the

demon must perforce sheathe his clawsand retire, discomfited, to the pit whencehe came.

There was a period of impatient waiting,because Josephine and Mrs. Kate bothstoutly maintained that the "real wedding"could not take place until Chester cameback. After that, there was a Mrs. foremanat the Double Cross until spring. And afterthat, there was a new ranch and a newhouse and a new home where happinesscame and dwelt unhindered.

THE END

STORIES OF RARECHARM BY

GENE STRATTON-PORTER

May be had wherever booksare sold. Ask for Grosset and

Dunlap's list.

THE HARVESTER Illustrated by W. L.

Jacobs

"The Harvester," David Langston, is aman of the woods and fields, who drawshis living from the prodigal hand ofMother Nature herself. If the book hadnothing in it but the splendid figure of thisman, with his sure grip on life, his superboptimism, and his almost miraculousknowledge of nature secrets, it would benotable. But when the Girl comes to his"Medicine Woods," and the Harvester'swhole sound, healthy, large outdoor beingrealizes that this is the highest point of lifewhich has come to him—there begins aromance, troubled and interrupted, yet ofthe rarest idyllic quality.

FRECKLES. Decorations by E. StetsonCrawford

Freckles is a nameless waif when the taleopens, but the way in which he takes holdof life; the nature friendships he forms inthe great Limberlost Swamp; the mannerin which everyone who meets himsuccumbs to the charm of his engagingpersonality; and his love-story with "TheAngel" are full of real sentiment.

A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST.Illustrated by Wladyslaw T. Brenda.

The story of a girl of the Michigan woods;a buoyant, lovable type of the self-reliantAmerican. Her philosophy is one of love

and kindness towards all things; her hopeis never dimmed. And by the sheer beautyof her soul, and the purity of her vision,she wins from barren and unpromisingsurroundings those rewards of highcourage.

It is an inspiring story of a life worthwhile and the rich beauties of the out-of-doors are strewn through all its pages.

AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW.Illustrations in colors by Oliver Kemp.Design and decorations by Ralph FletcherSeymour.

The scene of this charming, idyllic lovestory is laid in Central Indiana. The story

is one of devoted friendship, and tenderself-sacrificing love; the friendship thatgives freely without return, and the lovethat seeks first the happiness of the object.The novel is brimful of the most beautifulword painting of nature, and its pathos andtender sentiment will endear it to all.

Ask for compete free list of G.& D. Popular Copyrighted

FictionGrosset & Dunlap, 526 West

26th St., New York

JOHN FOX, JR'S.STORIES OF THE

KENTUCKYMOUNTAINS

May be had wherever booksare sold. Ask for Grossett and

Dunlap's list.

THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME

PINE. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.

The "lonesome pine" from which the storytakes its name was a tall tree that stood insolitary splendor on a mountain top. Thefame of the pine lured a young engineerthrough Kentucky to catch the trail, andwhen he finally climbed to its shelter hefound not only the pine but the foot-printsof a girl. And the girl proved to be lovely,piquant, and the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madderchase than "the trail of the lonesome pine."

THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OFKINGDOM COME Illustrated by F. C.Yohn.

This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlementknown as "Kingdom Come." It is a liferude, semi-barbarous; but natural andhonest, from which often springs theflower of civilization.

"Chad." the "little shepherd" did not knowwho he was nor whence he came—he hadjust wandered from door to door sinceearly childhood, seeking shelter withkindly mountaineers who gladly fatheredand mothered this waif about whom therewas such a mystery—a charming waif, bythe way, who could play the banjo betterthat anyone else in the mountains.

A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND.Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.

The scenes are laid along the waters of theCumberland, the lair of moonshiner andfeudsman. The knight is a moonshiner'sson, and the heroine a beautiful girlperversely christened "The Blight." Twoimpetuous young Southerners' fall underthe spell of "The Blight's" charms and shelearns what a large part jealousy andpistols have in the love making of themountaineers.

Included in this volume is "Hell fer-Sartain" and other stories, some of Mr.Fox's most entertaining Cumberland valleynarratives.

Ask for complete free list of G.

& D. Popular CopyrightedFiction

Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West26th St., New York

MYRTLE REED'SNOVELS

May be had wherever booksare sold. Ask for Grosset &

Dunlap's list

LAVENDER AND OLD LACE.

A charming story of a quaint corner ofNew England where bygone romance

finds a modern parallel. The story centersround the coming of love to the youngpeople on the staff of a newspaper—and itis one of the prettiest, sweetest andquaintest of old fashioned love stories, * ** a rare book, exquisite in spirit andconception, full of delicate fancy, oftenderness, of delightful humor andspontaniety.

A SPINNER IN THE SUN.

Miss Myrtle Reed may always bedepended upon to write a story in whichpoetry, charm, tenderness and humor arecombined into a clever and entertainingbook. Her characters are delightful andshe always displays a quaint humor of

expression and a quiet feeling of pathoswhich give a touch of active realism to allher writings. In "A Spinner in the Sun" shetells an old-fashioned love story, of aveiled lady who lives in solitude andwhose features her neighbors have neverseen. There is a mystery at the heart of thebook that throws over it the glamour ofromance.

THE MASTER'S VIOLIN,

A love story in a musical atmosphere. Apicturesque, old German virtuoso is thereverent possessor of a genuine"Cremona." He consents to take for hispupil a handsome youth who proves tohave an aptitude for technique, but not the

soul of an artist. The youth, has led thehappy, careless life of a modern, well-to-do young American and he cannot, withhis meagre past, express the love, thepassion and the tragedies of life and all itshappy phases as can the master who haslived life in all its fulness. But a girlcomes into his life—a beautiful bit ofhuman driftwood that his aunt had takeninto her heart and home, and through hispassionate love for her, he learns thelessons that life has to give—and his soulawakes.

Founded on a fact that all artists realize.

Ask for a complete free list of

G. & D. Popular CopyrightedFiction

Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West26th St., New York

GROSSET &DUNLAP'S

DRAMATIZEDNOVELS

THE KIND THAT AREMAKING THEATRICAL

HISTORY

May be had wherever booksare sold. Ask for Grosset &

Dunlap's list

WITHIN THE LAW. By Bayard Veiller& Martin Dana. Illustrated by Wm.Charles Cooke.

This is a novelization of the immenselysuccessful play which ran for two years inNew York and Chicago.

The plot of this powerful novel is of ayoung woman's revenge directed againsther employer who allowed her to be sentto prison for three years on a charge oftheft, of which she was innocent.

WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY. ByRobert Carlton Brown. Illustrated withscenes from the play.

This is a narrative of a young and innocentcountry girl who is suddenly thrown intothe very heart of New York, "the land ofher dreams," where she is exposed to allsorts of temptations and dangers.

The story of Mary is being told in movingpictures and played in theatres all over theworld.

THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM.By David Belasco. Illustrated by JohnRae.

This is a novelization of the popular playin which David War, field, as Old PeterGrimm, scored such a remarkable success.

The story is spectacular and extremelypathetic but withal, powerful, both as abook and as a play.

THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By RobertHichens.

This novel is an intense, glowing epic ofthe great desert, sunlit barbaric, with itsmarvelous atmosphere of vastness andloneliness.

It is a book of rapturous beauty, vivid inword painting. The play has been stagedwith magnificent cast and gorgeous

properties.

BEN HUR. A Tale of the Christ. ByGeneral Lew Wallace.

The whole world has placed this famousReligious—Historical Romance on aheight of pre-eminence which no othernovel of its time has reached. The clashingof rivalry and the deepest human passions,the perfect reproduction of brilliantRoman life, and the tense, fierceatmosphere of the arena have kept theirdeep fascination. A tremendous dramaticsuccess.

BOUGHT AND PAID FOR. By George

Broadhurst and Arthur Hornblow.Illustrated with scenes from the play.

A stupendous arraignment of modernmarriage which has created an interest onthe stage that is almost unparalleled. Thescenes are laid in New York, and dealwith conditions among both the rich andpoor.

The interest of the story turns on the day-by-day developments which show theyoung wife the price she has paid.

Ask for compete free list of G.& D. Popular Copyrighted

Fiction

Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West26th St., New York

GROSSET &DUNLAP'S

DRAMATIZEDNOVELS

Original, sincere andcourageous—often amusing—the kind that are making

theatrical history.

MADAME X. By Alexandra Bisson andJ. W. McConaughy. Illustrated with scenesfrom the play.

A beautiful Parisienne became an outcastbecause her husband would not forgive anerror of her youth. Her love for her son isthe great final influence in her career. Atremendous dramatic success.

THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By RobertHichens.

An unconventional English woman and aninscrutable stranger meet and love in anoasis of the Sahara. Staged this seasonwith magnificent cast and gorgeousproperties.

THE PRINCE OF INDIA. By Lew.Wallace.

A glowing romance of the ByzantineEmpire, presenting with extraordinarypower the siege of Constantinople, andlighting its tragedy with the warmunderglow of an Oriental romance. As aplay it is a great dramatic spectacle.

TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY.By Grace Miller White. Illust. by HowardChandler Christy.

A girl from the dregs of society, loves ayoung Cornell University student, and itworks startling changes in her life and the

lives of those about her. The dramaticversion is one of the sensations of theseason.

YOUNG WALLINGFORD. By GeorgeRandolph Chester. Illust. by F. R. Grugerand Henry Raleigh.

A series of clever swindles conducted bya cheerful young man, each of which isjust on the safe side of a State's prisonoffence. As "Get-Rich-QuickWallingford," it is probably the mostamusing expose of money manipulationever seen on the stage.

THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY. By P.G.

Wodehouse. Illustrations by Will Grefe.

Social and club life in London and NewYork, an amateur burglary adventure and alove story. Dramatized under the title of"A Gentleman of Leisure," it furnisheshours of laughter to the play-goers.

Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West26th St., New York

B.M. BOWER'SNOVELS

Thrilling WesternRomances

Large 12 mos. Handsomelybound in cloth. Illustrated

CHIP, OF THE FLYING U

A breezy wholesome tale, wherein thelove affairs of Chip and Della Whitmanare charmingly and humorously told.Chip's jealousy of Dr. Cecil Grantham,who turns out to be a big, blue eyed youngwoman is very amusing. A clever realisticstory of the American Cow-puncher.

THE HAPPY FAMILY

A lively and amusing story, dealing withthe adventures of eighteen jovial, bighearted Montana cowboys. Foremostamongst them, we find Ananias Green,known as Andy, whose imaginativepowers cause many lively and excitingadventures.

HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT

A realistic story of the plains, describinga gay party of Easterners who exchange acottage at Newport for the roughhomeliness of a Montana ranch-house. Themerry-hearted cowboys, the fascinatingBeatrice, and the effusive Sir Redmond,become living, breathing personalities.

THE RANGE DWELLERS

Here are everyday, genuine cowboys, justas they really exist. Spirited action, arange feud between two families, and aRomeo and Juliet courtship make this abright, jolly, entertaining story, without a

dull page.

THE LURE OF DIM TRAILS

A vivid portrayal of the experience of anEastern author, among the cowboys of theWest, in search of "local color" for a newnovel. "Bud" Thurston learns many alesson while following "the lure of thedim trails" but the hardest, and probablythe most welcome, is that of love.

THE LONESOME TRAIL

"Weary" Davidson leaves the ranch forPortland, where conventional city lifepalls on him. A little branch of sage brush,

pungent with the atmosphere of the prairie,and the recollection of a pair of largebrown eyes soon compel his return. Awholesome love story.

THE LONG SHADOW

A vigorous Western story, sparkling withthe free, outdoor, life of a mountain ranch.Its scenes shift rapidly and its actors playthe game of life fearlessly and like men. Itis a fine love story from start to finish.

Ask for a complete free list ofG. & D. Popular Copyrighted

Fiction.Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West

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