THE LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS

By B. M. Bower

CHAPTER I. IN SEARCH OF THE WESTERN TONE

"What do you care, anyway?" asked Reeve-Howard philosophically. "Itisn't as if you depended on the work for a living. Why worry over thefact that a mere pastime fails to be financially a success. You don'tneed to write--"

"Neither do you need to slave over those dry-point things, " Thurstonretorted, in none the best humor with his comforter "You've an incomebigger than mine; yet you toil over Grecian-nosed women with untidy hairas if each one meant a meal and a bed. "

"A meal and a bed--that's good; you must think I live like a king. "

"And I notice you hate like the mischief to fail, even though. "

"Only I never have failed, " put in Reeve-Howard, with the amusedcomplacency born of much adulation. 

Thurston kicked a foot-rest out of his way. "Well, I have. The fashionnow is for swashbuckling tales with a haze of powder smoke risingto high heaven. The public taste runs to gore and more gore, andkidnappings of beautiful maidens-bah!"

"Follow the fashion then--if you must write. Get out of your pink teaand orchid atmosphere, and take your heroines out West--away out, beyondthe Mississippi, and let them be kidnapped. Or New Mexico would do. "

"New Mexico is also beyond the Mississippi, I believe, " Thurston hinted. 

"Perhaps it is. What I mean is, write what the public wants, since youdon't relish failure. Why don't you do things about the plains? Itought to be easy, and you were born out there somewhere. It should comenatural. "

"I have, " Thurston sighed. "My last rejection states that the localcolor is weak and unconvincing. Hang the local color!" The foot-restsuffered again. 

Reeve-Howard was getting into his topcoat languidly, as he dideverything else. "The thing to do, then, " he drawled, "is to go out andstudy up on it. Get in touch with that country, and your local colorwill convince. Personally though, I like those little society skits youdo--"

"Skits!" exploded Thurston. "My last was a four-part serial. I never dida skit in my life. "

"Beg pardon-which is more than you did after accusing my studies ofhaving untidy hair. Don't look so glum, Phil. Go out and learn yourWest; a month or so will put you up to date--and by Jove! I half envyyou the trip. "

That is what put the idea into Thurston's head; and as Thurston's ideasgenerally bore fruit of one sort or another, he went out that very dayand ordered from his tailor a complete riding outfit, and because hewas a good customer the tailor consented to rush the work. It seemed toThurston, looking over cuts of the very latest styles in riding clothes, that already he was breathing the atmosphere of the plains. 

That night he stayed at home and dreamed, of the West. His memory, coupled with what he had heard and idealized by his imagination, conjured dim visions of what he had once known had known and forgotten;of a land here men and conditions harked back to the raw foundationsof civilization; where wide plains flecked with sage-brush and ribbonedwith faint, brown trails, spread away and away to a far sky-line. ForPhil Thurston was range-born, if not range-bred, His father had chosenalways to live out on the edge of things--out where the trails of menare dim and far apart-and the silent prairie bequeaths a heritage ofdistance-hunger to her sons. 

While he brooded grew a keen longing to see again the little townhuddled under the bare, brown hills that shut out the world; to see thegay-blanketed Indians who stole like painted shadows about the place, and the broad river always hurrying away to the sunrise. He had beenafraid of the river and of the bare hills and the Indians. He felt thathis mother, also, had been afraid. He pictured again--and he picture wasblurred and indistinct-the day when strange men had brought his fathermysteriously home; men who were silent save for the shuffling of theirfeet, and who carried their big hats awkwardly in their hands. 

There had been a day of hushed voices and much weeping and gloom, andhe had been afraid to play. Then they had carried his father asmysteriously away again, and his mother had hugged him close and criedbitterly and long. The rest was blank. When one is only five, thepresent quickly blurs what is past, and he wondered that, afterall these years, he should feel the grip of something very likehomesickness--and for something more than half forgotten. But thoughhe did not realize it, in his veins flowed the adventurous blood of hisfather, and to it the dim trails were calling. 

In four days he set his face eagerly toward the dun deserts and thesage-brush gray. 

At Chicago a man took the upper berth in Thurston's section, and settledinto the seat with a deep sigh--presumably of thankfulness. Thurston, with the quick eye of those who write, observed the whiteness of hisungloved hands, the coppery tan of cheeks and throat, the clear keennessof his eyes, and the four dimples in the crown of his soft, gray hat, and recognized him as a fine specimen of the Western type of farmer, returning home from the stockman's Mecca. After that he went calmly backto his magazine and forgot all about him. 

Twenty miles out, the stranger leaned forward and tapped him lightly onthe knee. "Say, I hate to interrupt yuh, " he began in a whimsical drawl, evidently characteristic of the man, "but I'd like to know where it isI've seen yuh before. "

Thurston glanced up impersonally, hesitated between annoyance and anatural desire to, be courteous, and replied that he had no memory ofany previous meeting. 

"Mebby not, " admitted the other, and searched the face of Thurston withhis keen eyes. It came to Phil that they were also a bit wistful, but hewent unsympathetically back to his reading. 

Five miles more and be touched Thurston again, apologetically yetinsistently. "Say, " he drawled, "ain't your name Thurston? I'll beta carload uh steers it is--Bud Thurston. And your home range is FortBenton. "

Phil stared and confessed to all but the "Bud. "

"That's what me and your dad always called yuh, " the man asserted. "Well, I'll be hanged! But I knew it. I knew I'd run acrost yuhsomewheres. You're the dead image uh your dad, Bill Thurston. And me andBill freighted together from Whoop-up to Benton along in the seventies. Before yuh was born we was chums. I don't reckon you'd remember me? HankGraves, that used to pack yuh around on his back, and fill yuh up ondried prunes--when dried prunes was worth money? Yuh used to call 'em'frumes, ' and--Why, it was me with your dad when the Indians pot-shothim at Chimney Rock; and it was me helped your mother straighten thingsup so she could pull out, back where she come from. She never took tothe West much. How is she? Dead? Too bad; she was a mighty fine woman, your mother was. 

"Well, I'll-be-hanged! Bud Thurston little, tow-headed Bud that used toholler for 'frumes' if he seen me coming a mile off. Doggone your measlyhide, where's all them pink apurns yuh used to wear?" He leaned back andlaughed--a silent, inner convulsion of pure gladness. 

Philip Thurston was, generally speaking, a conservative young manand one slow to make friends; slower still to discard them. He wasastonished to feel a choky sensation in his throat and a stinging ofeyelids, and a leap in his blood. To be thus taken possession of bya blunt-speaking stranger not at all in his class; to be addressedas "Bud, " and informed that he once devoured dried prunes; to be told"Doggone your measly hide" should have affronted him much. Instead, heseemed to be swept mysteriously back into the primitive past, and tofeel akin to this stranger with the drawl and the keen eyes. It was theblood of his father coming to its own. 

From that hour the two were friends. Hank Graves, in his whimsicaldrawl, told Phil things about his father that made his blood tinglewith pride; his father, whom he had almost forgotten, yet who had livedbravely his life, daring where other men quailed, going steadfastly uponhis way when other men hesitated. 

So, borne swiftly into the West they talked, and the time seemed short. The train had long since been racing noisily over the silent prairiesspread invitingly with tender green--great, lonely, inscrutable, luringmen with a spell as sure and as strong as is the spell of the sea. 

The train reeled across a trestle that spanned a deep, dry gash in theearth. In the green bottom huddled a cluster of pygmy cattle and mountedmen; farther down were two white flakes of tents, like huge snowflakesleft unmelted in the green canyon. 

"That's the Lazy Eight--my outfit, " Graves informed Thurston with theunconscious pride of possession, pointing a forefinger as they whirledon. "I've got to get off, next station. Yuh want to remember, Bud, theLazy Eight's your home from now on. We'll make a cow-puncher of yuh inno time; you've got it in yuh, or yuh wouldn't look so much like yourdad. And you can write stories about us all yuh want--we won't kick. The way I've got the summer planned out, you'll waller chin-deep inmaterial; all yuh got to do is foller the Lazy Eight through tillshipping time. "

Thurston had not intended learning to be a cow-puncher, or followingthe Lazy Eight or any other hieroglyphic through 'till shippingtime--whenever that was. 

But facing Hank Graves, he had not the heart to tell him so, or that hehad planned to spend only a month--or six weeks at most--in the West, gathering local color and perhaps a plot or two? and a few types. Thurston was great on types. 

The train slowed at a little station with a dismal red section house inthe immediate background and a red-fronted saloon close beside. "Herewe are, " cried Graves, "and I ain't sorry; only I wisht you was goingto stop right now. But I'll look for yuh in three or four days at theoutside. So-long, Bud. Remember, the Lazy Eight's your hang-out. "

CHAPTER II. LOCAL COLOR IN THE RAW

For the rest of the way Thurston watched the green hills slide by--andthe greener hollows--and gave himself up to visions of Fort Benton;visions of creaking bull-trains crawling slowly, like giant brown worms, up and down the long hill; of many high-piled bales of buffalo hidesupon the river bank, and clamorous little steamers churning up againstthe current; the Fort Benton that had, for many rushing miles, filledand colored the speech of Hank Graves and stimulated his childishhalf-memory. 

But when he reached the place and wandered aimlessly about the streets, the vision faded into half-resentful realization that these things wereno more forever. For the bull-trains, a roundup outfit clatterednoisily out of town and disappeared in an elusive dust-cloud; for thegay-blanketed Indians slipping like painted shadows from view, straycow-boys galloped into town, slid from their saddles and clanked withdragging rowels into the nearest saloon, or the post-office. Betweenwhiles the town cuddled luxuriously down in the deep little valleyand slept while the river, undisturbed by pompous steamers, murmured alullaby. 

It was not the Fort Benton he had come far to see, so that on the secondday he went away up the long hill that shut out the world and, until theeast-bound train came from over the prairies, paced the depot platformimpatiently with never a vision to keep him company. 

For a long time the gaze of Thurston clung fascinated to the wideprairie land, feeling again the stir in his blood. Then, when a deep cutshut from him the sight of the wilderness, he chanced to turn his head, and looked straight into the clear, blue-gray eyes of a girl acrossthe aisle. Thurston considered himself immune from blue-gray--or anyother-eyes, so that he permitted himself to regard her calmly andjudicially, his mind reverting to the fact that he would need a heroineto be kidnapped, and wondering if she would do. She was a Western girl, he could tell that by the tan and by her various little departures fromthe Eastern styles--such as doing her hair low rather than high. Wherehe had been used to seeing the hair of woman piled high and skeweredwith many pins, hers was brushed smoothly back-smoothly save for little, irresponsible waves here and there. Thurston decided that the style wasbecoming to her. He wondered if the fellow beside her were her brother;and then reminded himself sagely that brothers do not, as a rule, devotetheir time quite so assiduously to the entertainment of their sisters. He could not stare at her forever, and so he gave over his speculationsand went back to the prairies. 

Another hour, and Thurston was stiffing a yawn when the coaches bumpedsharply together and, with wheels screeching protest as the brakesclutched them, the train, grinding protest in every joint, came, with afinal heavy jar, to a dead stop. Thurston thought it was a wreck, untilout ahead came the sharp crackling of rifles. A passenger behind himleaned out of the window and a bullet shattered the glass above hishead; he drew back hastily. 

Some one hurried through the front vestibule, the door was pushedunceremoniously open and a man--a giant, he seemed to Thurston--stoppedjust inside, glared down the length of the coach through slits in theblack cloth over his face and bawled, "Hands up!"

Thurston was so utterly surprised that his hands jerked themselvesinvoluntarily above his head, though he did not feel particularlyfrightened; he was filled with a stupefied sort of curiosity to knowwhat would come next. The coach, so far as he could see, seemed filledwith uplifted, trembling hands, so that he did not feel ashamed of hisown. The man behind him put up his hands with the other--but one of themheld a revolver that barked savagely and unexpectedly close against thecar of Thurston. Thurston ducked. There was an echo from the front, andthe man behind, who risked so much on one shot, lurched into the aisle, swaying uncertainly between the seats. He of the mask fired again, viciously, and the other collapsed into a still, awkwardly huddled heapon the floor. The revolver dropped from his fingers and struck againstThurston's foot, making him wince. 

Thurston had never before seen death come to a man, and the verysuddenness of it unnerved him. All his faculties were numbed before thatterrible, pitiless form in the door, and the limp, dead body at his feetin the aisle. He did not even remember that here was the savagelocal color he had come far a-seeking. He quite forgot to improve theopportunity by making mental note of all the little, convincing details, as was his wont. 

Presently he awoke to the realization of certain words spokeninsistently close beside him. He turned his eyes and saw that the girl, her eyes staring straight before her, her slim, brown hands uplifted, was yet commanding him imperiously, her voice holding to that murmuringmonotone more discreet than a whisper. 

"The gun--drop down--and get it. He can't see to shoot for the seat infront. Get the gun. Get the gun!" was what she was saying. 

Thurston looked at her helplessly, imploringly. In truth, he had neverfired a gun in all his peaceful life. 

"The gun--get it--and shoot!" Her eyes moved quickly in a cautious, side-long glance that commanded impatiently. Her straight eyebrows drewtogether imperiously. Then, when he met her eyes with that same helplesslook, she said another word that hurt. It was "Coward!"

Thurston looked down at the gun, and at the huddled form. A tiny riverof blood was creeping toward him. Already it had reached his foot, andhis shoe was red along the sole. He moved his foot quickly away from it, and shuddered. 

"Coward!" murmured the girl contemptuously again, and a splotch of angershowed under the tan of her cheek. 

Thurston caught his breath and wondered if he could do it; he lookedtoward the door and thought how far it was to send a bullet straightwhen a man has never, in all his life, fired a gun. And without lookinghe could see that horrible, red stream creeping toward him like somemonster in a nightmare. His flesh crimpled with physical repulsion, buthe meant to try; perhaps he could shoot the man in the mask, so thatthere would be another huddled, lifeless Thing on the floor, and anothercreeping red stream. 

At that instant the tawny-haired young fellow beside the girl gatheredhimself for a spring, flung himself headlong before her and into theaisle; caught the dead man's pistol from the floor and fired, seeminglywith one movement. Then he sprang up, still firing as fast as thetrigger could move. From the door came answer, shot for shot, and thecar was filled with the stifling odor of burnt powder. A woman screamedhysterically. 

Then a puff of cool, prairie breeze came in through the shattered windowbehind Thurston, and the smoke-cloud lifted like a curtain blown upwardin the wind. The tawny-haired young fellow was walking coolly down theaisle, the smoking revolver pointing like an accusing finger toward theoutlaw who lay stretched upon his face, his fingers twitching. 

Outside, rifles were crackling like corn in a giant popper. Presentlyit slackened to an occasional shot. A brakeman, followed by two coatlessmail-clerks with Winchesters, ran down the length of the train callingout that there was no danger. The thud of their running feet, and thewholesome mingling of their shouting struck sharply in the silence afterthe shooting. One of the men swung up on the steps of the day coach andcame in. 

"Hello, Park, " he cried to the tawny haired boy. "Got one, did yuh?That's good. We did, too got him alive. Think uh the nerve uh thatWagner bunch! to go up against a train in broad daylight. Made an easygetaway, too, except the feller we gloomed in the express car. How'sthis one? Dead?"

"No. I reckon he'll get well enough to stretch a rope; he killed a man, in here. " He motioned toward the huddled figure in the aisle. They cametogether, lifted the dead man and carried him away to the baggage car. A brakeman came with a cloth and wiped up the red pool, and Thurstonpressed his lips tightly together and turned away his head; he could notremember when the sight of anything had made him so deathly sick. Oncehe glanced slyly at the girl opposite, and saw that she was very whiteunder her tan, and that the hands in her lap were clasped tightly andyet shook. But she met his eyes squarely, and Thurston did not look ather again; he did not like the expression of her mouth. 

News of the holdup had been telegraphed ahead, and all Shellanne--whichwas not much of a crowd--gathered at the station to meet the train andcongratulate the heroes. Thurston alighted almost shamefacedly into themidst of the loud-voiced commotion. While he was looking uncertainlyabout him, wondering where to go and what to do, a voice he knew hailedhim with drawling welcome. 

"Hello, Bud. Got back quicker than you expected, didn't yuh? It's luckyI happened to be in town--yuh can ride out with me. Say, yuh got quitea bunch uh local color for a story, didn't yuh? You'll be writingblood-and-thunder for a month on the strength of this little episode, Ireckon. " his twinkling eyes teased, though his face was quite serious, as was his voice. 

She of the blue-gray eyes turned and measured Thurston with adeliberate, leisurely glance, and her mouth still had that unpleasantexpression. Thurston colored guiltily, but Hank Graves lifted his hatand called her Mona, and asked her if she wasn't scared stiff, and ifshe were home to stay. Then he beckoned to the tawny-haired fellow withhis finger, and winked at Mona--a proceeding which shocked Thurstonconsiderably. 

"Mona--here, hold on a minute, can't yuh? Mona, this is a friend uhmine; Bud Thurston's his name. He's come out to study us up and round upa hunch uh real Western atmosphere. He's a story-writer. I used to whackbulls all over the country with his father. Bud, this is Mona Stevens;she ranges down close to the Lazy Eight, so the sooner yuh gitacquainted, the quicker. " He did not explain what would be the quicker, and Thurston's embarrassment was only aggravated by the introduction. 

Miss Stevens gave him a chilly smile, the kind that is worse than noneat all and turned her back, thinly pretending that she heard her brothercalling her, which she did not. Her brother was loudly explaining whatwould have happened if he had been on that train and had got a whack atthe robbers, and his sister was far from his mind. 

Graves slapped the shoulder of the fellow they had called Park. "You young devil, next time I leave the place for a week--yes, orovernight--I'll lock yuh up in the blacksmith shop. Have yuh got to beMona's special escort, these days?"

"Wish I was, " Park retorted, unmoved. 

"Different here--yuh ain't much account, as it is. Bud, this here's mywagon-boss, Park Holloway; one of 'em, that is. I'm going to turn yuhover to him and let him wise yuh up. Say, you young bucks ought to getalong together pretty smooth. Your dads run buffalo together beforeeither of yuh was born. Well, let's be moving--we ain't home yet. Got awar-bag, Bud?"

Late that night Thurston lay upon a home-made bed and listened to thefrogs croaking monotonously in the hollow behind the house, and tothe lone coyote which harped upon the subject of his wrongs away on adistant hillside, and to the subdued snoring of Hank Graves in the roombeyond. He was trying to adjust himself to this new condition of things, and the new condition refused utterly to be measured by his acceptedstandard. 

According to that standard, he should feel repulsed and annoyed by thefamiliarity of strangers who persisted in calling him "Bud" withouttaking the trouble to find out whether or not he liked it. And whatpuzzled Thurston and put him all at sea was the consciousness that hedid like it, and that it struck familiarly upon his ears as something towhich he had been accustomed in the past. 

Also, according to his well-ordered past, he should hate this raw lifeand rawer country where could occur such brutal things as he had thatday witnessed. He should dislike a man like Park Holloway who, havingwounded a man unto death, had calmly dismissed the subject with theregret that his aim had not been better, so that he could have saved thecounty the expense of trying and hanging the fellow. Thurston was amazedto find that, down in the inner man of him, he admired Park Hollowayexceedingly, and privately resolved to perfect himself in the use offire-arms, he who had been wont to deplore the thinly veneered savageryof men who liked such things. 

After much speculation he decided that Mona Stevens would not do for akidnapped heroine. He could not seem to "see" her in such a position, and, besides, he told himself that such a type of girl did not attracthim at all. She had called him a coward--and why? simply because he, straight from the trammels of civilization, had not been prepared tomeet the situation thrust upon him-which she had thrust upon him. Shehad demanded of him something he had not the power to accomplish, andshe had called him a coward. And in his heart Thurston knew that it wasunjust, and that he was not a coward. 

CHAPTER III. FIRST IMPRESSIONS

Thurston, dressed immaculately in riding clothes of the latest Englishcut, went airily down the stairs and discovered that he was not early, as he had imagined. Seven o'clock, he had told himself proudly, was notbad for a beginner; and he had smiled in anticipation of Hank Graves'surprise which was fortunate, since he would otherwise have been cheatedof smiling at all. For Hank Graves, he learned from the cook, had eatenbreakfast at five and had left the ranch more than an hour before; themen also were scattered to their work. 

Properly humbled in spirit, he sat down to the kitchen table and ate hisbelated breakfast, while the cook kneaded bread at the other end of thesame table and eyed Thurston with frank amusement. Thurston had neverbefore been conscious of feeling ill at ease in the presence of aservant, and hurried through the meal so that he could escape into theclear sunshine, feeling a bit foolish in the unaccustomed bagginess ofhis riding breeches and the snugness of his leggings; for he had nevertaken to outdoor sports, except as an onlooker from the shade of a grandstand or piazza. 

While he was debating the wisdom of writing a detailed description ofyesterday's tragedy while it was still fresh in his mind and stowing itaway for future "color, " Park Holloway rode into the yard and on to thestables. He nodded at Thurston and grinned without apparent cause, asthe cook had done. Thurston followed him to the corral and watched himpull the saddle off his horse, and throw it carelessly to one side. Itlooked cumbersome, that saddle; quite unlike the ones he had inspectedin the New York shops. He grasped the horn, lifted upon it and said, "Jove!"

"Heavy, ain't it?" Park laughed, and slipped the bridle down over theears of his horse and dismissed him with a slap on the rump. "Don't yuhlike the looks of it?" he added indulgently. 

Thurston, engaged in wondering what all those little strings were for, felt the indulgence and straightened. "How should I know?" he retorted. "Anyone can see that my ignorance is absolute. I expect you to laugh atme, Mr. Holloway. "

"Call me Park, " said he of the tawny hair, and leaned against the fencelooking extremely boyish and utterly incapable of walking calmly downupon a barking revolver and shooting as he went. "You're bound to learnall about saddles and what they're made for, " he went on. "So long asyuh don't get swell-headed the first time yuh stick on a horse thatside-steps a little, or back down from a few hard knocks, you'll be allright. "

Thurston had not intended getting out and actually living the life hehad come to observe, but something got in his nerves and his blood andbred an impulse to which he yielded without reserve. "Park, seehere, " he said eagerly. "Graves said he'd turn me over to you, so youcould--er--teach me wisdom. It's deuced rough on you, but I hope youwon't refuse to be bothered with me. I want to learn--everything. And Iwant you to find fault like the mischief, and--er--knock me into shape, if it's possible. " He was very modest over his ignorance, and his voicerang true. 

Park studied him gravely. "Bud, " he said at last, "you'll do. You'regreener right now than a blue-joint meadow in June, but yuh got theright stuff in yuh, and it's a go with me. You come along with us afterthat trail-herd, and you'll get knocked into shape fast enough. Smoke?"

Thurston shook his head. "Not those. "

"I dunno I'm afraid yuh can't be the real thing unless yuh fan yourlungs with cigarette smoke regular. " The twinkle belied him, though. "Say, where did you pick them bloomers?"

"They were made in New York. " Thurston smiled in sickly fashion. He hadall along been uncomfortably aware of the sharp contrast between his ownmodish attire and the somewhat disreputable leathern chaps of his host'sforeman. 

"Well, " commented Park, "you told me to find fault like the mischief, and I'm going to call your bluff. This here's Montana, recollect, and Iraise the long howl over them habiliments. The best thing you can do ispace along to the house and discard before the boys get sight of yuh. They'd queer yuh with the whole outfit, sure. Uh course, " he went onsoothingly when he saw the resentment in Thurston's eyes, "I expectthey're real stylish--back East--but the boys ain't educated to standfor anything like that; they'd likely tell yuh they set like the hideon the hind legs of an elephant--which is a fact. I hate to say it, Kid, but they sure do look like the devil. "

"So would you, in New York, " Thurston flung back at him. 

"Why, sure. But this ain't New York; this here's the Lazy Eight corral, and I'm doing yuh a favor. You wouldn't like to have the boys shootingholes through the slack, would yuh? You amble right along and get somepants on--and when you've wised up some you'll thank me a lot. I'm goingon a little jaunt down the creek, before dinner, and you might go along;you'll need to get hardened to the saddle anyway, before we start forBillings, or you'll do most uh riding on the mess-wagon. "

Thurston, albeit in resentful mood, went meekly and did as he wascommanded to do; and no man save Park and the cook ever glimpsed thosesmart riding clothes of English cut. 

"Now yuh look a heap more human, " was the way Park signified hisapproval of the change. "Here's a little horse that's easy to ride anddead gentle if yuh don't spur him in the neck, which you ain't liableto do at present; and Hank says you can have this saddle for keeps. Hankused to ride it, but he out-growed it and got one longer in the seat. When we start for Billings to trail up them cattle, of course you'll geta string of your own to ride. "

"A string? I'm afraid I don't quite understand. "

"Yuh don't savvy riding a string? A string, m'son, is ten or a dozensaddle-horses that yuh ride turn about, and nobody else has got anyright to top one; every fellow has got his own string, yuh see. "

Thurston eyed his horse distrustfully. "I think, " he ventured, "one willbe enough for me. I'll scarcely need a dozen. " The truth was that hethought Park was laughing at him. 

Park slid sidewise in the saddle and proceeded to roll anothercigarette. "I'd be willing to bet that by fall you'll have a good-sizedstring rode down to a whisper. You wait; wait till it gets in yourblood. Why, I'd die if you took me off the range. Wait till yuh set outin the dark, on your horse, and count the stars and watch the big dipperswing around towards morning, and listen to the cattle breathing closeby--sleeping while you ride around 'em playing guardian angel over theirdreams. Wait till yuh get up at daybreak and are in the saddle withthe pink uh sunrise, and know you'll sleep fifteen or twenty miles fromthere that night; and yuh lay down at night with the smell of new grassin your nostrils where your bed had bruised it. 

"Why, Bud, if you're a man, you'll be plumb spoiled for your littleold East. " Then he swung back his feet and the horses broke into a lopewhich jarred the unaccustomed frame of Thurston mightily, though he keptthe pace doggedly. 

"I've got to go down to the Stevens place, " Park informed him. "Youmet Mona yesterday--it was her come down on the train with me, yuhremember. " Thurston did remember very distinctly. "Hank says yuh composestories. Is that right?"

Thurston's mind came back from wondering how Mona Stevens' mouth lookedwhen she was pleased with one, and he nodded. 

"Well, there's a lot in this country that ain't ever been wrote about, Iguess; at least if it was I never read it, and I read considerable. Butthe trouble is, them that know ain't in the writing business, and themthat write don't know. The way I've figured it, they set back Eastsomewhere and write it like they think maybe it is; and it's a hell of ajob they make of it. "

Thurston, remembering the time when he, too, "set back East" and wroteit like he thought maybe it was, blushed guiltily. He was thankful thathis stories of the West had, without exception, been rejected as oflittle worth. He shuddered to think of one of them falling into thehands of Park Holloway. 

"I came out to learn, and I want to learn it thoroughly, " he said, inthe face of much physical discomfort. Just then the horses slowed for aclimb, and he breathed thanks. "In the first place, " he began again whenhe had readjusted himself carefully in the saddle, "I wish you'd tell mejust where you are going with the wagons, and what you mean by trailinga herd. "

"Why, I thought I said we were going to Billings, " Park answered, surprised. "What we're going to do when we get there is to receive ashipment of cattle young steer that's coming up from the Panhandle whichis a part uh Texas. And we trail 'em up here and turn 'em loose thisside the river. After that we'll start the calf roundup. The Lazy Eightruns two wagons, yuh know. I run one, and Deacon Smith runs the other;we work together, though, most of the time. It makes quite a crew, twenty-five or thirty men. "

"I didn't know, " said Thurston dubiously, "that you ever shipped cattleinto this country. I supposed you shipped them out. Is Mr. Graves buyingsome?"

"Hank? I guess yes! six thousand head uh yearlings and two year-olds, this spring; some seasons it's more. We get in young stock every yearand turn 'em loose on the range till they're ready to ship. It's cheaperthan raising calves, yuh know. When yuh get to Billings, Bud, you'll seesome cattle! Why, our bunch alone will make seven trains, and that ain'ta commencement. Cattle's cheap down South, this year, and seems likeeverybody's buying. Hank didn't buy as much as some, because he runsquite a bunch uh cows; we'll brand six or seven thousand calves thisspring. Hank sure knows how to rake in the coin. "

Thurston agreed as politely as he could for the jolting. They hadagain struck the level and seven miles, at Park's usual pace, washeartbreaking to a man not accustomed to the saddle. Thurston hadwritten, just before leaving home, a musical bit of verse born of hisluring dreams, about "the joy of speeding fleetly where the grasslandmeets the sky, " and he was gritting his teeth now over the idioticlines. 

When they reached the ranch and Mona's mother came to the door andinvited them in, he declined almost rudely, for he had a feeling thatonce out of the saddle he would have difficulty in getting into itagain. Besides, Mona was not at home, according to her mother. 

So they did not tarry, and Thurston reached the Lazy Eight alive, butwith the glamour quite gone from his West. If he had not been the son ofhis father, he would have taken the first train which pointed itsnose to the East, and he would never again have essayed the writingof Western stories or musical verse which sung the joys of gallopingblithely off to the sky-line. He had just been galloping off to asky-line that was always just before and he had not been blithe; nor didthe memory of it charm. Of a truth, the very thought of things Westernmade him swear mild, city-bred oaths. 

He choked back his awe of the cook and asked him, quite humbly, whatwas good to take the soreness from one's muscles; afterward he had creptpainfully up the stairs, clasping to his bosom a beer bottle filled withpungent, home-made liniment which the cook had gravely declared "out uhsight for saddle-galls. "

Hank Graves, when he heard the story, with artistic touches from thecook, slapped his thigh and laughed one of his soundless chuckles. "Theson-of-a-gun! He's the right stuff. Never whined, eh? I knew it. He'shis dad over again, from the ground up. " And loved him the better. 

CHAPTER IV. THE TRAIL-HERD

Thurston tucked the bulb of his camera down beside the bellows andclosed the box with a snap. "I wonder what old Reeve would say to thatview, " he mused aloud. 

"Old who?"

"Oh, a fellow back in New York. Jove! he'd throw up his dry-point headsand take to oils and landscapes if he could see this. "

The "this" was a panoramic view of the town and surrounding valley ofBillings. The day was sunlit and still, and far objects stood up withsharp outlines in the clear atmosphere. Here and there the white tentsof waiting trail-outfits splotched the bright green of the prairie. Horsemen galloped to and from the town at top speed, and a long, grimyred stock train had just snorted out on a siding by the stockyards wherethe bellowing of thirsty cattle came faintly like the roar of poundingsurf in the distance. 

Thurston--quite a different Thurston from the trim, pale young man whohad followed the lure of the West two weeks before--drew a long breathand looked out over the hurrying waters of the Yellowstone. It was goodto be alive and young, and to live the tented life of the plains; itwas good even to be "speeding fleetly where the grassland meets the sky"--for two weeks in the saddle had changed considerably his view-point. He turned again to the dust and roar of the stockyards a mile or soaway. 

"Perhaps, " he remarked hopefully, "the next train will be ours. " Strangehow soon a man may identify himself with new conditions and new aims. Hehad come West to look upon the life from the outside, and now his chiefthought was of the coming steers, which he referred to unblushingly as"our cattle. " Such is the spell of the range. 

"Let's ride on over, Bud, " Park proposed. "That's likely the Circle Barshipment. Their bunch comes from the same place ours does, and I want tosee how they stack up. "

Thurston agreed and went to saddle up. He had mastered the art ofsaddling and could, on lucky days and when he was in what he called"form, " rope the horse he wanted; to say nothing of the times when hisloop settled unexpectedly over the wrong victim. Park Holloway, forinstance, who once got it neatly under his chin, much to his disgust andthe astonishment of Thurston. 

"I'm going to take my Kodak, " said he. "I like to watch them unload, andI can get some good pictures, with this sunlight. "

"When you've hollered 'em up and down the chutes as many times as Ihave, " Park told him, "yuh won't need no pictures to help yuh rememberwhat it's like. "

It was an old story with Park, and Thurston's enthusiasm struck him asa bit funny. He perched upon a corner of the fence out of the way, andsmoked cigarettes while he watched the cattle and shouted pleasantriesto the men who prodded and swore and gesticulated at the wild-eyedhuddle in the pens. Soon his turn would come, but just now he wascontent to look on and take his ease. 

"For the life of me, " cried Thurston, sidling gingerly over to him, "Ican't see where they all come from. For two days these yards have neverbeen empty. The country will soon be one vast herd. "

"Two days--huh! this thing'll go on for weeks, m'son. And after all isover, you'll wonder where the dickens they all went to. Montana is somebigger than you realize, I guess. And next fall, when shipping starts, you'll think you're seeing raw porterhouse steaks for the whole world. Let's drift out uh this dust; you'll have time to get a carload uhpictures before our bunch rolls in. "

As a matter of fact, it was two weeks before the Lazy Eight consignmentarrived. Thurston haunted the stockyards with his Kodak, but after thefirst two or three days he took no pictures. For every day was but arepetition of those that had gone before: a great, grimy engine shuntingcars back and forth on the siding; an endless stream of weary, youngcattle flowing down the steep chutes into the pens, from the pens to thebranding chutes, where they were burned deep with the mark of their newowners; then out through the great gate, crowding, pushing, wild to fleefrom restraint, yet held in and guided by mounted cowboys; out upon thegreen prairie where they could feast once more upon sweet grasses anddrink their fill from the river of clear, mountain water; out upon theweary march of the trail, on and on for long days until some boundarywhich their drivers hailed with joy was passed, and they were free atlast to roam at will over the wind-brushed range land; to lie down insome cool, sweet-scented swale and chew their cuds in peace. 

Two weeks, and then came a telegram for Park. In the reading of it heshuffled off his attitude of boyish irresponsibility and became in abreath the cool, business-like leader of men. Holding the envelope stillin his hand he sought out Thurston, who was practicing with a rope. AsPark approached him he whirled the noose and cast it neatly over thepeak of the night-hawk's teepee. 

"Good shot, " Park encouraged, "but I'd advise yuh to take anothertarget. You'll have the tent down over Scotty's ears, and then you'llthink yuh stirred up a mess uh hornets. 

"Say, Bud, our cattle are coming, and I'm going to be short uh men. Ifyou'd like a job I'll take yuh on, and take chances on licking yuh intoshape. Maybe the wages won't appeal to yuh, but I'm willing to throw inheaps uh valuable experience that won't cost yuh a cent. " He lowered aneyelid toward the cook-tent, although no one was visible. 

Thurston studied the matter while he coiled his rope, and no longer. Secretly he had wanted all along to be a part of the life instead of anonlooker. "I'll take the job, Park--if you think I can hold it down. "The speech would doubtless have astonished Reeve-Howard in more waysthan one; but Reeve-Howard was already a part of the past in Thurston'smind. He was for living the present. 

"Well, " Park retorted, "it'll be your own funeral if yuh get fired. Better stake yourself to a pair uh chaps; you'll need 'em on the trip. "

"Also a large, rainbow-hued silk handkerchief if I want to look thepart, " Thurston bantered. 

"If yuh don't want your darned neck blistered, yuh mean, " Park flungover his shoulders. "Your wages and schooling start in to-morrow atsunup. "

It was early in the morning when the first train arrived, hungry, thirsty, tired, bawling a general protest against fate and man's modeof travel. Thurston, with a long pole in his hand, stood on the narrowplank near the top of a chute wall and prodded vaguely at an endless, moving incline of backs. Incidentally he took his cue from hisneighbors, and shouted till his voice was a croak-though he couldnot see that he accomplished anything either by his prodding or hisshouting. 

Below him surged the sea of hide and horns which was barely suggestiveof the animals as individuals. Out in the corrals the dust-cloud hunglow, just as it had hovered every day for more than two weeks; just asit would hover every day for two weeks longer. Across the yards near thebig, outer gate Deacon Smith's crew was already beginning to brand. Thefirst train was barely unloaded when the second trailed in and outon the siding; and so the third came also. Then came a lull, for theconsignment had been split in two and the second section was severalhours behind the first. 

Thurston rode out to camp, aching with the strain and ravenously hungry, after toiling with his muscles for the first time in his life; for hishad been days of physical ease. He had yet to learn the art of workingso that every movement counted something accomplished, as did theothers; besides, he had been in constant fear of losing his hold on thefence and plunging headlong amongst the trampling hoofs below, a fatethat he shuddered to contemplate. He did not, however, mention thatfear, or his muscle ache, to any man; he might be green, but he was notthe man to whine. 

When he went back into the dust and roar, Park ordered him curtly totend the branding fire, since both crews would brand that afternoon andget the corrals cleared for the next shipment. Thurston thanked Parkmentally; tending branding-fire sounded very much like child's play. 

Soon the gray dust-cloud took on a shade of blue in places where thesmoke from the fires cut through; a new tang smote the nostrils: therank odor of burning hair and searing hides; a new note crept into theclamoring roar: the low-keyed blat of pain and fright. 

Thurston turned away his head from the sight and the smell, and piledon wood until Park stopped him with. "Say, Bud, we ain't celebrating anyelection! It ain't a bonfire we want, it's heat; just keep her going andsave wood all yuh can. " After an hour of fire-tending Thurston decidedthat there were things more wearisome than "hollering 'em down thechutes. " His eyes were smarting intolerably with smoke and heat, and thesmell of the branding was not nice; but through the long afternoon hestuck to the work, shrewdly guessing that the others were not having anyfun either. Park and "the Deacon" worked as hard as any, branding thesteers as they were squeezed, one by one, fast in the little brandingchutes. The setting sun shone redly through the smoke before Thurstonwas free to kick the half-burnt sticks apart and pour water upon them asdirected by Park. 

"Think yuh earned your little old dollar and thirty three cents, Bud?"Park asked him. And Thurston smiled a tired, sooty smile that seemed allteeth. 

"I hope so; at any rate, I have a deep, inner knowledge of the joys ofbranding cattle. "

"Wait 'till yuh burn Lazy Eights on wriggling, blatting calves for twoor three hours at a stretch before yuh talk about the joys uh branding. "Park rubbed eloquently his aching biceps. 

At dusk Thurston crept into his blankets, feeling that he would like thenight to be at least thirty six hours long. He was just settling intoa luxurious, leather-upholstered dream chair preparatory to tellingReeve-Howard his Western experiences when Park's voice bellowed into thetent:

"Roll out, boys--we got a train pulling in!"

There was hurried dressing in the dark of the bed-tent, hasty mounting, and a hastier ride through the cool night air. There were long hours atthe chutes, prodding down at a wavering line of moving shadows, whilethe "big dipper" hung bright in the sky and lighted lanterns bobbed backand forth along the train waving signals to one another. At intervalsPark's voice cut crisply through the turmoil, giving orders to men whomhe could not see. 

The east was lightening to a pale yellow when the men climbed at lastinto their saddles and galloped out to camp for a hurried breakfast. Thurston had been comforting his aching body with the promise of restand sleep; but three thousand cattle were milling impatiently in thestockyards, so presently he found himself fanning a sickly little blazewith his hat while he endeavored to keep the smoke from his tired eyes. Of a truth, Reeve-Howard would have stared mightily at sight of him. 

Once Park, passing by, smiled down upon him grimly. "Here's where yuhget the real thing in local color, " he taunted, but Thurston wastoo busy to answer. The stress of living had dimmed his eye for thepicturesque. 

That night, one Philip Thurston slept as sleeps the dead. But he awokewith the others and thanked the Lord there were no more cattle to unloadand brand. 

When he went out on day-herd that afternoon he fancied that he wasgetting into the midst of things and taking his place with the veterans. He would have been filled with resentment had he suspected the truth:that Park carefully eased those first days of his novitiate. That waswhy none of the night-guarding fell to him until they had left Billingsmany miles behind them. 

CHAPTER V. THE STORM

The third night he was detailed to stand with Bob MacGregor on themiddle guard, which lasts from eleven o'clock until two. The outfit hadcamped near the head of a long, shallow basin that had a creek runningthrough; down the winding banks of it lay the white-tented camps ofseven other trail-herds, the cattle making great brown blotches againstthe green at sundown. Thurston hoped they would all be there in themorning when the sun came up, so that he could get a picture. 

"Aw, they'll be miles away by then, " Bob assured him unfeelingly. "Bythe signs, you can take snap-shots by lightning in another hour. Gotyour slicker, Bud?"

Thurston said he hadn't, and Bob shook his head prophetically. "You'llsure wish yuh had it before yuh hit camp again; when yuh get wise, you'll ride with your slicker behind the cantle, rain or shine. They'llneed singing to, to-night. "

Thurston prudently kept silent, since he knew nothing whatever about it, and Bob gave him minute directions about riding his rounds, and how toturn a stray animal back into the herd without disturbing the others. 

The man they relieved met them silently and rode away to camp. Offto the right an animal coughed, and a black shape moved out from theshadows. 

Bob swung towards it, and the shape melted again into the splotch ofshade which was the sleeping herd. He motioned to the left. "Yuh can gothat way; and yuh want to sing something, or whistle, so they'll knowwhat yuh are. " His tone was subdued, as it had not been before. Heseemed to drift away into the darkness, and soon his voice rose, awayacross the herd, singing. As he drew nearer Thurston caught the words, at first disjointed and indistinct, then plainer as they met. It was asong he had never heard before, because its first popularity had sweptfar below his social plane. 

 "She's o-only a bird in a gil-ded cage, A beautiful sight to see-e-e; You may think she seems ha-a-aappy and free from ca-a-re. . "

The singer passed on and away, and only the high notes floated across toThurston, who whistled softly under his breath while he listened. Then, as they neared again on the second round, the words came pensively:

 "Her beauty was so-o-old For an old man's go-o-old, She's a bird in a gilded ca-a-age. "

Thurston rode slowly like one in a dream, and the lure of the range-landwas strong upon him. The deep breathing of three thousand sleepingcattle; the strong, animal odor; the black night which grew each momentblacker, and the rhythmic ebb and flow of the clear, untrained voiceof a cowboy singing to his charge. If he could put it into words; ifhe could but picture the broody stillness, with frogs cr-ekk, er-ekkingalong the reedy creek-bank and a coyote yapping weirdly upon a distanthilltop! From the southwest came mutterings half-defiant and ominous. A breeze whispered something to the grasses as it crept away down thevalley. 

 "I stood in a church-yard just at ee-eve, While the sunset adorned the west. "

It was Bob, drawing close out of the night. "You're doing fine, Kid;keep her a-going, " he commended, in an undertone as he passed, andThurston moistened his unaccustomed lips and began industriouslywhistling "The Heart Bowed Down, " and from that jumped to Faust. Fifteenminutes exhausted his memory of the whistleable parts, and he was notgiven to tiresome repetitions. He stopped for a moment, and Bob's voicechanted admonishingly from somewhere, "Keep her a-go-o-ing, Bud, oldboy!" So Thurston took breath and began on "The Holy City, " and camenear laughing at the incongruity of the song; only he remembered that hemust not frighten the cattle, and checked the impulse. 

"Say, " Bob began when he came near enough, "do yuh know the words uhthat piece? It's a peach; I wisht you'd sing it. " He rode on, stillhumming the woes of the lady who married for gold. 

Thurston obeyed while the high-piled thunder-heads rumbled deepaccompaniment, like the resonant lower tones of a bass viol. 

 "Last night I lay a-sleeping, there came a dream so fair; I stood in old Jerusalem, beside the temple there. "

A steer stepped restlessly out of the herd, and Thurston's horse, trained to the work, of his own accord turned him gently back. 

 "I heard the children singing; and ever as they sang, Me thought the voice of angels from heaven in answer rang. "

From the west the thunder boomed, drowning the words in itsdeep-throated growl. 

 "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, lift up your gates and sing. "

"Hit her up a little faster, Bud, or we'll lose some. They're getting ontheir feet with that thunder. "

Sunfish, in answer to Thurston's touch on the reins, quickened to atrot. The joggling was not conducive to the best vocal expression, butthe singer persevered:

 "Hosanna in the highest, Hosanna to your King!"

Flash! the lightning cut through the storm-clouds, and Bob, who hadcontented himself with a subdued whistling while he listened, took upthe refrain:

 "Jerusalem, Jerusalem. "

It was as if a battery of heavy field pieces boomed overhead. The entireherd was on its feet and stood close-huddled, their tails to the comingstorm. Now the horses were loping steadily in their endless circling--apace they could hold for hours if need be. For one blinding instantThurston saw far down the valley; then the black curtain dropped assuddenly as it had lifted. 

"Keep a-hollering, Bud!" came the command, and after it Bob's voicetrilled high above the thunder-growl:

 "Hosanna in the high-est. Hosanna to your King!"

A strange thrill of excitement came to Thurston. It was all new to him;for his life had been sheltered from the rages of nature. He had neverbefore been out under the night sky when it was threatening as now. Heflinched when came an ear-splitting crash that once again lifted theblack curtain and showed him, white-lighted, the plain. In the dark thatfollowed came a rhythmic thud of hoofs far up the creek, and the rattleof living castanets. Sunfish threw up his head and listened, musclesa-quiver. 

"There's a bunch a-running, " called Bob from across the frightened herd. "If they hit us, give Sunfish his head, he's been there before--and keepon the outside!"

Thurston yelled "All right!" but the pounding roar of the stampededrowned his voice. A whirlwind of frenzied steers bore down uponhim--twenty-five hundred Panhandle two-year-olds, though he did not knowit then, his mind was all a daze, with one sentence zigzagging throughit like the lightning over his head, "Give Sunfish his head, and keep onthe outside!"

That was what saved him, for he had the sense to obey. After a fewminutes of breathless racing, with a roar as of breakers in his ears andthe crackle of clashing horns and the gleaming of rolling eyeballs closeupon his horse's heels, he found himself washed high and dry, as itwere, while the tumult swept by. Presently he was galloping along behindand wondering dully how he got there, though perhaps Sunfish knew wellenough. 

In his story of the West--the one that had failed to be convincing--hehad in his ignorance described a stampede, and it had not been in theleast like this one. He blushed at the memory, and wondered if he shouldever again feel qualified to write of these things. 

Great drops of rain pounded him on the back as he rode--chill drops, that went to the skin. He thought of his new canary-colored slicker inthe bed-tent, and before he knew it swore just as any of the othermen would have done under similar provocation; it was the first real, able-bodied oath he had ever uttered. He was becoming assimilated withthe raw conditions of life. 

He heard a man's voice calling to him, and distinguished the dim shapeof a rider close by. He shouted that password of the range, "Hello!"

"What outfit is this?" the man cried again. 

"The Lazy Eight!" snapped Thurston, sure that the other had come withthe stampede. Then, feeling the anger of temporary authority, "What inhell are you up to, letting your cattle run?" If Park could have heardhim say that for Reeve-Howard!

Down the long length of the valley they swept, gathering to themselvesother herds and other riders as incensed as were themselves. It is notpretty work, nor amusing, to gallop madly in the wake of a stampede atnight, keeping up the stragglers and taking the chance of a broken neckwith the rain to make matters worse. 

Bob MacGregor sought Thurston with much shouting, and having found himthey rode side by side. And always the thunder boomed overhead, and bythe lightning flashes they glimpsed the turbulent sea of cattle fleeing, they knew not where or why, with blind fear crowding their heels. 

The noise of it roused the camps as they thundered by; men rose up, peered out from bed-tents as the stampede swept past, cursed the delayit would probably make, hoped none of the boys got hurt, and thanked theLord the tents were pitched close to the creek and out of the track ofthe maddened herds. 

Then they went back to bed to wait philosophically for daylight. 

When Sunfish, between flashes, stumbled into a shallow washout, and sentThurston sailing unbeautifully over his head, Bob pulled up and slid offhis horse in a hurry. 

"Yuh hurt, Bud?" he cried anxiously, bending over him. For Thurston, from the very frankness of his verdant ignorance, had won for himselfthe indulgent protectiveness of the whole outfit; not a man but watchedunobtrusively over his welfare--and Bob MacGregor went farther andloved him whole-heartedly. His voice, when he spoke, was unequivocallyfrightened. 

Thurston sat up and wiped a handful of mud off his face; if it had notbeen so dark Bob would have shouted at the spectacle. "I'm 'kinda sortershuck up like, "' he quoted ruefully. "And my nose is skinned, thank you. Where's that devil of a horse?"

Bob stood over him and grinned. "My, I'm surprised at yuh, Bud! Whatwould your Sunday-school teacher say if she heard yuh? Anyway, yuh ain'tgot any call to cuss Sunfish; he ain't to blame. He's used to fellowsthat can ride. "

"Shut up!" Thurston commanded inelegantly. "I'd like to see you ride ahorse when he's upside down!"

"Aw, come on, " urged Bob, giving up the argument. "We'll be plumb lostfrom the herd if we don't hustle. "

They got into their saddles again and went on, riding by sound and therare glimpses the lightning gave them as it flared through the stormaway to the east. 

"Wet?" Bob sung out sympathetically from the streaming shelter of hisslicker. Thurston, wriggling away from his soaked clothing, grunted asarcastic negative. 

The cattle were drifting now before the storm which had settled to amonotonous downpour. The riders--two or three men for every herd thathad joined in the panic--circled, a veritable picket line without thepassword. There would be no relief ride out to them that night, and theyknew it and settled to the long wait for morning. 

Thurston took up his station next to Bob; rode until he met the nextman, and then retraced his steps till he faced Bob again; rode until theworld seemed unreal and far away, with nothing left but the night andthe riding back and forth on his beat, and the rain that oozed throughhis clothes and trickled uncomfortably down inside his collar. He lostall count of time, and was startled when at last came gray dawn. 

As the light grew brighter his eyes widened and forgot theirsleep-hunger; he had not thought it would be like this. He was ridingpart way across one end of a herd larger than his imagination had everpictured; three thousand cattle had seemed to him a multitude--yethere were more than twenty thousand, wet, draggled, their backs humpedmiserably from the rain which but a half hour since had ceased. He wasstill gazing and wondering when Park rode up to him. 

"Lord! Bud, you're a sight! Did the bunch walk over yuh?" he greeted. 

"No, only Sunfish, " snapped Thurston crossly. Time was when PhilipThurston would not have answered any man abruptly, however great theprovocation. He was only lately getting down to the real, elemental manof him; to the son of Bill Thurston, bull-whacker, prospector, follower of dim trails. He rode silently back to camp with Bob, atehis breakfast, got into dry clothes and went out and tied his slickerdeliberately and securely behind the cantle of his saddle, though thesun was shining straight into his eyes and the sky fairly twinkled, itwas so clean of clouds. 

Bob watched him with eyes that laughed. "My, you're an ambitiousson-of-a-gun, " he chuckled. "And you've got the slicker question settledin your mind, I see; yuh learn easy; it takes two or three soakings tolearn some folks. "

"We've got to go back and help with the herd, haven't we?" Thurstonasked. "The horses are all out. "

"Yep. They'll stay out, too, till noon, m'son. We hike to bed, ifanybody should ask yuh. "

So it was not till after dinner that he rode back to the greatherd--with his Kodak in his pocket--to find the cattle split upinto several bunches. The riders at once went to work separating thedifferent brands. He was too green a hand to do anything but help holdthe "cut, " and that was so much like ordinary herd-ing that his interestflagged. He wanted, more than anything, to ride into the bunch andsingle out a Lazy Eight steer, skillfully hazing him down the slope tothe cut, as he saw the others do. 

Bob told him it was the biggest mix-up he had ever seen, and Bob hadridden the range in every State where beef grows wild. He was in thethickest of the huddle, was Bob, working as if he did not know themeaning of fatigue. Thurston, watching him thread his way in and out ofthe restless, milling herd, only to reappear unexpectedly at the edgewith a steer just before the nose of his horse, rush it out from amongthe others--wheeling, darting this way and that, as it tried to dodgeback, and always coming off victor, wondered if he could ever learn todo it. 

Being in pessimistic mood, he told himself that he would probably alwaysremain a greenhorn, to be borne with and coached and given boy's work todo; all because he had been cheated of his legacy of the dim trails andforced to grow up in a city, hedged about all his life by artificialconditions, his conscience wedded to convention. 

CHAPTER VI. THE BIG DIVIDE

The long drive was nearly over. Even Thurston's eyes brightened whenhe saw, away upon the sky-line, the hills that squatted behind the homeranch of the Lazy Eight. The past month had been one of rapid livingunder new conditions, and at sight of them it seemed only a few dayssince he had first glimpsed that broken line of hills and the bachelorhousehold in the coulee below. 

As the travel-weary herd swung down the long hill into the valley of theMilk River, stepping out briskly as they sighted the cool water in thenear distance, the past month dropped away from Thurston, and what hadgone just before came back fresh as the happenings of the morning. There was the Stevens ranch, a scant half mile away from where the tentsalready gleamed on their last camp of the long trail; the smoke fromthe cook-tent telling of savory meats and puddings, the bare thought ofwhich made one hurry his horse. 

His eyes dwelt longest, however, upon the Stevens house half hiddenamong the giant cottonwoods, and he wondered if Mona would still smileat him with that unpleasant uplift at the corner of her red mouth. Hewould take care that she did not get the chance to smile at him in anyfashion, he told himself with decision. 

He wondered if those train-robbers had been captured, and if the onePark wounded was still alive. He shivered when he thought of the deadman in the aisle, and hoped he would never witness another death;involuntarily he glanced down at his right stirrup, half expecting tosee his boot red with human blood. It was not nice to remember thatscene, and he gave his shoulders an impatient hitch and tried to thinkof something else. 

Mindful of his vow, he had bought a gun in Billings, but he had not yetlearned to hit anything he aimed at; for firearms are hushed in roundupcamps, except when dire necessity breeds a law of its own. Range cattledo not take kindly to the popping of pistols. So Thurston's revolver wasyet unstained with powder grime, and was packed away inside his bed. He was promising his pride that he would go up on the hill, back of theLazy Eight corrals, and shoot until even Mona Stevens must respect hismarksmanship, when Park galloped back to him--"The world has moved somewhile we was gone, " he announced in the tone of one who has news to telland enjoys thoroughly the telling. "Yuh mind the fellow I laid out inthe hold-up? He got all right again, and they stuck him in jail alongwith another one old Lauman, the sheriff, glommed a week ago. Well, theydidn't do a thing last night but knock a deputy in the head, annex hisgun, swipe a Winchester and a box uh shells out uh the office and hitthe high places. Old Lauman is hot on their trail, but he ain't metup with 'em yet, that anybody's heard. When he does, there'll sure besomething doing! They say the deputy's about all in; they smashed hisskull with a big iron poker. "

"I wish I could handle a gun, " Thurston said between his teeth. "I'dgo after them myself. I wish I'd been left to grow up out here where Ibelong. I'm all West but the training--and I never knew it till a monthago! I ought to ride and rope and shoot with the best of you, and Ican't do a thing. All I know is books. I can criticize an opera and anew play, and I'm considered something of an authority on clothes, but Ican't shoot. "

"Aw, go easy, " Park laughed at him. "What if yuh can't do thedouble-roll? Riding and shooting and roping's all right--we couldn'tvery well get along without them accomplishments. But that's all theyare; just accomplishments. We know a man when we see him, and it don'tmatter whether he can ride a bronk straight up, or don't know which waya saddle sets on a horse. If he's a man he gets as square a deal as wecan give him. " Park reached for his cigarette book. "And as for huntingoutlaws, " he finished, "we've got old Lauman paid to do that. And he'sdead onto his job, you bet; when he goes out after a man he comes prettynear getting him, m'son. But I sure do wish I'd killed that jasper whileI was about it; it would have saved Lauman a lot uh hard riding. "

Thurston could scarcely explain to Park that his desire to hunttrain-robbers was born of a half-defiant wish to vindicate to MonaStevens his courage, and so he said nothing at all. He wondered if Parkhad heard her whisper, that day, and knew how he had failed to obeyher commands; and if he had heard her call him a coward. He had oftenwondered that, but Park had a way of keeping things to himself, andThurston could never quite bring himself to open the subject boldly. Atany rate, if Park had heard, he hoped that he understood how it was anddid not secretly despise him for it. Women, he told himself bitterly, are never quite just. 

After the four o'clock supper he and Bob MacGregor went up the valleyto relieve the men on herd. There was one nice thing about Park as aforeman: he tried to pair off his crew according to their congeniality. That was why Thurston usually stood guard with Bob, whom he liked betterthan any of the others-always excepting Park himself. 

"I brought my gun along, " Bob told him apologetically when they wereleft to themselves. "It's a habit I've got when I know there's bad menrampaging around the country. The boys kinda gave me the laugh whenthey seen me haul it out uh my war bag, but I just told 'em to go tothunder. "

"Do you think those--"

"Naw. Uh course not. I just pack it on general principles, same as anold woman packs her umbrella. "

"Say, this is dead easy! The bunch is pretty well broke, ain't it? I'msure glad to see old Milk River again; this here trailing cattle getsplumb monotonous. " He got down and settled his back comfortably againsta rock. Below them spread the herd, feeding quietly. "Yes, sir, this issure a snap, " he repeated, after he had made himself a smoke. "They'sonly two ways a bunch could drift if they wanted to which they don't-upthe river, or down. This hill's a little too steep for 'em to tackleunless they was crowded hard. Good feed here, too. 

"Too bad yuh don't smoke, Bud. There's nothing like a good, smooth rockto your back and a cigarette in your face, on a nice, lazy day likethis. It's the only kind uh day-herding I got any use for. "

"I'll take the rock to my back, if you'll just slide along and makeroom, " Thurston laughed. "I don't hanker for a cigarette, but I do wishI had my Kodak. "

"Aw, t'ell with your Kodak!" Bob snorted. "Can't yuh carry this layoutin your head? I've got a picture gallery in mine that I wouldn't tradefor a farm; I don't need no Kodak in mine, thankye. You just let thishere view soak into your system, Bud, where yuh can't lose it. "

Thurston did. Long after he could close his eyes and see it in everydetail; the long, green slope with hundreds of cattle loitering in therank grass-growth; the winding sweep of the river and the green, rollinghills beyond; and Bob leaning against the rock beside him, smokingluxuriously with half-closed eyes, while their horses dozed withdrooping heads a rein-length away. 

"Say, Bud, " Bob's voice drawled sleepily, "I wisht you'd sing thatJerusalem song. I want to learn the words to it; I'm plumb stuck on thatpiece. It's different from the general run uh songs, don't yuh think?Most of 'em's about your old home that yuh left in boyhood's happy days, and go back to find your girl dead and sleeping in a little church-yardor else it's your mother; or your girl marries the other man and you getit handed to yuh right along--and they make a fellow kinda sick to hisstomach when he's got to sing 'em two or three hours at a stretch onnight-guard, just because he's plumb ignorant of anything better. Thishere Jerusalem one sounds kinda grand, and--the cattle seems to like it, too, for a change. "

"The composer would feel flattered if he heard that, " Thurston laughed. He wanted to be left alone to day-dream and watch the clouds traillazily across to meet the hills; and there was an embryonic poemforming, phrase by phrase, in his mind. But he couldn't refuse Bobanything, so he sat a bit straighter and cleared his throat. He sangwell--well enough indeed to be sought after at informal affairs amonghis set at home. When he came to the refrain Bob took his cigarette frombetween his lips and held it in his fingers while he joined his voicelustily to Thurston's:

 "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, Lift up your gates and sing Hosanna in the high-est. Hosanna to your King!"

The near cattle lifted their heads to stare stupidly a moment, thenmoved a few steps slowly, nosing for the sweetest grass-tufts. Thehorses shifted their weight, resting one leg with the hoof barelytouching the earth, twitched their ears at the flies and slept again. 

 "And then me thought my dream was changed, The streets no longer rang, Hushed were the glad Hosannas The little children sang--"

Tamale lifted his head and gazed inquiringly up the hill; but Bob wasnot observant of signs just then. He was Striving with his recreantmemory for the words that came after:

 "The sun grew dark with mystery, The morn was cold and still, As the shadow of a cross arose Upon a lonely hill. "

Tamale stirred restlessly with head uplifted and ears pointed straightbefore up the steep bluff. Old Ironsides, Thurston's mount, was not thesort to worry about anything but his feed, and paid no attention. Bobturned and glanced the way Tamale was looking; saw nothing, and settleddown again on the small of his back. 

"He sees a badger or something, " he Said. "Go on, Bud, with the chorus. "

 "Jerusalem, Jerusalem, Lift up your gates and sing. "

"Lift up your hands damn quick!" mimicked a voice just behind. "If yuhain't got anything to do but lay in the shade of a rock and yawp, we'llborrow your cayuses. You ain't needin' 'em, by the looks!"

They squirmed around until they could stare into two blackgun-barrels--and then their hands went up; their faces held aparticularly foolish expression that must have been amusing to the menbehind the guns. 

One of the gun-barrels lowered and a hand reached out and quietly tookpossession of Tamale's reins; the owner of the hand got calmly intoBob's saddle. Bob gritted his teeth. It was evident their movements hadbeen planned minutely in advance, for, once settled to his liking, thefellow tested the stirrups to make sure they were the right length, andraising his gun pointed it at the two in a business-like manner thatleft no doubt of his meaning. Whereupon the man behind them came forwardand appropriated Old Ironsides to his own use. 

"Too bad we had to interrupt Sunday-school, " he remarked ironically. "You can go ahead with the meetin' now--the collection has been tookup. " He laughed without any real mirth in his voice and gathered up thereins. "If yuh want our horses, they're up on the bench. I don'treckon they'll ever turn another cow, but such as they are you're quitewelcome. Better set still, boys, till we get out uh sight; one of us'llkeep an eye peeled for yuh. So long, and much obliged. " They turned androde warily down the slope. 

"Now, wouldn't that jar yuh?" asked Bob in deep disgust His handsdropped to his sides; in another second he was up and shooting savagely. "Get behind the rock, Bud, " he commanded. 

Just then a rifle cracked, and Bob toppled drunkenly and went limply tothe grass. 

"My God!" cried Thurston, and didn't know that he spoke. He snatched upBob's revolver and fired shot after shot at the galloping figures. Notone seemed to do any good; the first shot hit a two-year-old square inthe ribs. After that there were no cattle within rifle range. 

One of the outlaws stopped, took deliberate aim with the stolenWinchester and fired, meaning to kill; but he miscalculated the range abit and Thurston crumpled down with a bullet in his thigh. The revolverwas empty now and fell smoking at his feet. So he lay and cursedimpotently while he watched the marauders ride out of sight up thevalley. 

When the rank timber-growth hid their flying figures he crawled over towhere Bob lay and tried to lift him. 

"Art you hurt?" was the idiotic question he asked. 

Bob opened his eyes and waited a breath, as if to steady his thought. "Did I get one, Bud?"

"I'm afraid not, " Thurston confessed, and immediately after wished thathe had lied and said yes. "Are you hurt?" he repeated senselessly. 

"Who, me?" Bob's eyes wavered in their directness. "Don't yuh bothernone about me, " evasively. 

"But you've got to tell me. You--they--" He choked over the words. 

"Well--I guess they got me, all right. But don't let that worry yuh; itdon't me. " He tried to speak carelessly and convincingly, but it wasa miserable failure. He did not want to die, did Bob, however much hemight try to hide the fact. 

Thurston was not in the least imposed upon. He turned away his head, pretending to look after the outlaws, and set his teeth together tight. He did not want to act a fool. All at once he grew dizzy and sick, andlay down heavily till the faintness passed. 

Bob tried to lift himself to his elbow; failing that, he put out a handand laid it on Thurston's shoulder. "Did they--get you--too?" he queriedanxiously. 

"The damn coyotes!"

"It's nothing; just a leg put out of business, " Thurston hurried toassure him. "Where are you hurt, Bob?"

"Aw, I ain't any X-ray, " Bob retorted weakly but gamely. "Somewheresinside uh me. It went in my side but the Lord knows where it woundup. It hurts, like the devil. " He lay quiet a minute. "I wish--do yuhfeel--like finishing--that song, Bud?"

Thurston gulped down a lump that was making his throat ache. When heanswered, his voice was very gentle:

"I'll try a verse, old man. "

"The last one--we'd just come to the last. It's most like church. I--Inever went--much on religion, Bud; but when a fellow's--going out overthe Big Divide. "

"You're not!" Thurston contradicted fiercely, as if that could make itdifferent. He thought he could not bear those jerky sentences. 

"All right--Bud. We won't fight over it. Go ahead. The last verse. "

Thurston eased his leg to a better position, drew himself up till hisshoulders rested against the rock and began, with an occasional, oddbreak in his voice:

 "I saw the holy city Beside the tideless Sea; The light of God was on its street The gates were open wide. And all who would might enter And no one was denied. "

"Wonder if that there--applies--to bone-headed--cowpunchers, " Bobmuttered drowsily. "'And all--who would--" Thurston glanced quickly athis face; caught his breath sharply at what he saw there written, anddropped his head upon his arms. 

And so Park and his men, hurrying to the sound of the shooting, foundthem in the shadow of the rock. 

CHAPTER VII. AT THE STEVENS PLACE

When the excitement of the outrage had been pushed aside by theinsistent routine of everyday living, Thurston found himself thrust fromthe fascination of range life and into the monotony of invalidism, andhe was anything but resigned. To be sure, he was well cared for at theStevens ranch, where Park and the boys had taken him that day, and Mrs. Stevens mothered him as he could not remember being mothered before. 

Hank Graves rode over nearly every day to sit beside the bed and cursethe Wagner gang back to their great-great-grandfathers and down to morethan the third generation yet unborn, and to tell him the news. On thesecond visit he started to give him the details of Bob's funeral; butThurston would not listen, and told him so plainly. 

"All right then, Bud, I won't talk about it. But we sure done the rightthing by the boy; had the best preacher in Shellanne out, and flowerstill further notice: a cross uh carnations, and the boys sent up toMinot and had a spur made uh--oh, well, all right; I'll shut up aboutit, I know how yuh feel, Bud; it broke us all up to have him go thatway. He sure was a white boy, if ever there was one, and--ahem!"

"I'd give a thousand dollars, hard coin, to get my hands on themWagners. It would uh been all off with them, sure, if the boys had runacrost 'em. I'd uh let 'em stay out and hunt a while longer, only oldLauman'll get 'em, all right, and we're late as it is with the calfroundup. Lauman'll run 'em down--and by the Lord! I'll hire Bowmanmyself and ship him out from Helena to help prosecute 'em. They're deadmen if he takes the case against 'em, Bud, and I'll get him, sure--andto hell with the cost of it! They'll swing for what they done to you andBob, if it takes every hoof I own. "

Thurston told him he hoped they would be caught and--yes, hanged; thoughhe had never before advocated capital punishment. 

But when he thought of Bob, the care-naught, whole-souled fellow. 

He tried not to think of him, for thinking unmanned him. He had thesoftest of hearts where his friends were concerned, and there weretimes when he felt that he could with relish officiate at the Wagners'execution. 

He fought against remembrance of that day; and for sake of diversion hetook to studying a large, pastel portrait of Mona which hung against thewall opposite his bed. It was rather badly; done, and at first, when hesaw it, he laughed at the thought that even the great, still plains ofthe range land cannot protect one against the ubiquitous pictureagent. In the parlor, he supposed there would be crayon pictures ofgrandmothers and aunts-further evidence of the agent's glibness. 

He was glad that it was Mona who smiled down at him instead of agrand-mother or an aunt. For Mona did smile, and in spite of the cheapcrudity the smile was roguish, with little dimply creases at the cornersof the mouth, and not at all unpleasant. If the girl would only looklike that in real life, he told himself, a fellow would probably get toliking her. He supposed she thought him a greater coward than ever now, just because he hadn't got killed. If he had, he would be a hero now, like Bob. Well, Bob was a hero; the way he had jumped up and begunshooting required courage of the suicidal sort. He had stood up andshot, also and had succeeded only in being ridiculous; he hoped nobodyhad told Mona about his hitting that steer. When he could walk again hewould learn to shoot, so that the range stock wouldn't suffer from hismarksmanship. 

After a week of seeing only Mrs. Stevens or sympathetic menacquaintances, he began to wonder why Mona stayed so persistently away. Then one morning she came in to take his breakfast things out. She didnot, however, stay a second longer than was absolutely necessary, andshe was perfectly composed and said good morning in her most impersonaltone. At least Thurston hoped she had no tone more impersonal than that. He decided that she had really beautiful eyes and hair; after she hadgone he looked up at the picture, told himself that it did not beginto do her justice, and sighed a bit. He was very dull, and even hercompanionship, he thought, would be pleasant if only she would come downoff her pedestal and be humanly sociable. 

When he wrote a story about a fellow being laid up in the same housewith a girl--a girl with big, blue-gray eyes and ripply brown hair--hewould have the girl treat the fellow at least decently. She would readpoetry to him and bring him flowers, and do ever so many nice thingsthat would make him hate to get well. He decided that he would writejust that kind of story; he would idealize it, of course, and have thefellow in love with the girl; you have to, in stories. In real life itdoesn't necessarily follow that, because a fellow admires a girl's hairand eyes, and wants to be on friendly terms, he is in love with her. For example, he emphatically was not in love with Mona Stevens. He onlywanted her to be decently civil and to stop holding a foolish grudgeagainst him for not standing up and letting himself be shot full ofholes because she commanded it. 

In the afternoons, Mrs. Stevens would sit beside him and knit thingsand talk to him in a pleasantly garrulous fashion, and he would lie andlisten to her--and to Mona, singing somewhere. Mona sang very well, hethought; he wondered if she had ever had any training. Also, he wishedhe dared ask her not to sing that song about "She's only a bird in agilded cage. " It brought back too vividly the nights when he and Bobstood guard under the quiet stars. 

And then one day he hobbled out into the dining-room and ate dinner withthe family. Since he sat opposite Mona she was obliged to look athim occasionally, whether she would or no. Thurston had a strain ofobstinacy in his nature, and when he decided that Mona should not onlylook at him, but should talk to him as well, he set himself diligentlyto attain that end. He was not the man to sit down supinely and let agirl calmly ignore him; so Mona presently found herself talking to himwith some degree of cordiality; and what is more to the point, listeningto him when he talked. It is probable that Thurston never had tried sohard in his life to win a girl's attention. 

It was while he was still hobbling with a cane and taxing hisimagination daily to invent excuses for remaining, that Lauman, thesheriff, rode up to the door with a deputy and asked shelter forthemselves and the two Wagners, who glowered sullenly down from theirweary horses. When they had been safely disposed in Thurston's bedroom, with one of the ranch hands detailed to guard them, Lauman and his mangave themselves up to the joy of a good meal. Their own cooking, theysaid, got mighty tame especially when they hadn't much to cook and darednot have a fire. 

They had come upon the outlaws by mere accident, and it is hard tellingwhich was the most surprised. But Lauman was, perhaps, the quickest manwith a gun in Valley County, else he would not have been serving hisfourth term as sheriff. He got the drop and kept it while his deputydid the rest. It had been a hard chase, he said, and a long one if youcounted time instead of miles. But he had them now, harmless as rattlerswith their fangs fresh drawn. He wanted to get them to Glasgow beforepeople got to hear of their capture; he thought they wouldn't be any toosafe if the boys knew he had them. 

If he had known that the Lazy Eight roundup had just pulled in to thehome ranch that afternoon, and that Dick Farney, one of the Stevensmen, had slipped out to the corral and saddled his swiftest horse, itis quite possible that Lauman would not have lingered so long over hissupper, or drank his third cup of coffee--with real cream in it--with sogreat a relish. And if he had known that the Circle Bar boys were campedjust three miles away within hailing distance of the Lazy Eight trail, he would doubtless have postponed his after-supper smoke. 

He was sitting, revolver in hand, watching the Wagners give a practicaldemonstration of the extent of their appetites, when Thurston limped infrom the porch, his eyes darker than usual. "There are a lot of riderscoming, Mr. Lauman, " he announced quietly. "It sounds like a wholeroundup. I thought you ought to know. "

The prisoners went white, and put down knife and fork. If they had neverfeared before, plainly they were afraid then. 

Lauman's face did not in the least change. "Put the hand-cuffs on, Waller, " he said. "If you've got a room that ain't easy to get at fromthe outside, Mrs. Stevens, I guess I'll have to ask yuh for the use ofit. "

Mrs. Stevens had lived long in Valley County, and had learned how tomeet emergencies. "Put 'em right down cellar, " she invited briskly. "There's just the trap-door into it, and the windows ain't big enoughfor a cat to go through. Mona, get a candle for Mr. Lauman. " She turnedto hurry the girl, and found Mona at her elbow with a light. 

"That's the kind uh woman I like to have around, " Lauman chuckled. "Comeon, boys; hustle down there if yuh want to see Glasgow again. "

Trembling, all their dare-devil courage sapped from them by the menaceof Thurston's words, they stumbled down the steep stairs, and thedarkness swallowed them. Lauman beckoned to his deputy. 

"You go with 'em, Waller, " he ordered. "If anybody but me offers to liftthis trap, shoot. Don't yuh take any chances. Blow out that candle soonas you're located. "

It was then that fifty riders clattered into the yard and up to thefront door, grouping in a way that left no exit unseen. Thurston, standing in the doorway, knew them almost to a man. Lazy Eight boys, they were; men who night after night had spread their blankets under thetent-roof with him and with Bob MacGregor; Bob, who lay silently outon the hill back of the home ranch-house, waiting for the last, greatround-up. They glanced at him in mute greeting and dismounted without aword. With them mingled the Circle Bar boys, as silent and grim as theirfellows. Lauman came up and peered into the dusk; Thurston observed thathe carried his Winchester unobtrusively in one hand. 

"Why, hello, boys, " he greeted cheerfully. But for the rifle you neverwould have guessed he knew their errand. 

"Hello, Lauman, " answered Park, matching him for cheerfulness. Then:

"We rode over to hang them Wagners. " Lauman grinned. "I hate todisappoint yuh, Park, but I've kinda set my heart on doing that littlejob myself. I'm the one that caught 'em, and if you'd followed my trailthe last month you'd say I earned the privilege. "

"Maybe so, " Park admitted pleasantly, "but we've got a little personalmatter to settle up with those jaspers. Bob MacGregor was one of us, yuhremember. "

"I'll hang 'em just as dead as you can, " Lauman argued. 

"But yuh won't do it so quick, " Park lashed back. "They're spoiling theair every breath they draw. We want 'em, and I guess that pretty nearsettles it. "

"Not by a damn sight it don't! I've never had a man took away from meyet, boys, and I've been your sheriff a good many years. You hike rightback to camp; yuh can't have 'em. "

Thurston could scarcely realize the deadliness of their purpose. He knewthem for kind-hearted, laughter-loving young fellows, who would givetheir last dollar to a friend. He could not believe that they wouldresort to violence now. Besides, this was not his idea of a mob; hehad fancied they would howl threats and wave bludgeons, as they did instories. Mobs always "howled and seethed with passion" at one's doors;they did not stand about and talk quietly as though the subject wastrivial and did not greatly concern them. 

But the men were pressing closer, and their very calmness, had he knownit, was ominous. Lauman shifted his rifle ready for instant aim. 

"Boys, look here, " he began more gravely, "I can't say I blame yuh, looking at it from your view-point. If you'd caught these men when yuhwas out hunting 'em, you could uh strung 'em up--and I'd likely uh hadbusiness somewhere else about that time. But yuh didn't catch 'em; yuhgive up the chase and left 'em to me. And yuh got to remember that I'mthe one that brought 'em in. They're in my care. I'm sworn to protect'em and turn 'em over to the law--and it ain't a question uh whetherthey deserve it or not. That's what I'm paid for, and I expect to goright ahead according to orders and hang 'em by law. You can't have'em--unless yuh lay me out first, and I don't reckon any of yuh would gothat far. "

"There's never been a man hung by law in this county yet, " a voice criedangrily and impatiently. 

"That ain't saying there never will be, " Lauman flung back. "Don't yuhworry, they'll get all that's coming to them, all right. "

"How about the time yuh had 'em in your rotten old jail, and let 'em getout and run loose around the country, killing off white men?" drawledanother-a Circle-Bar man. 

"Now boys. "

A hand--the hand of him who had stood guard over the Wagners in thebedroom during supper--reached out through the doorway and caught hisrifle arm. Taken unawares from behind, he whirled and then went downunder the weight of men used to "wrassling" calves. Even old Lauman wasno match for them, and presently he found himself stretched upon theporch with three Lazy Eight boys sitting on his person; which, beinginclined to portliness, he found very uncomfortable. 

Moved by an impulse he had no name for, Thurston snatched the sheriff'srevolver from its scabbard. As the heap squirmed pantingly upon theporch he stepped into the doorway to avoid being tripped, which was thewisest move he could have made, for it put him in the shadow--andthere were men of the Circle Bar whose trigger-finger would not havehesitated, just then, had he been in plain sight and had they known hispurpose. 

"Just hold on there, boys, " he called, and they could see the glimmer ofthe gun-barrel. Those of the Lazy Eight laughed at him. 

"Aw, put it down, Bud, " Park admonished. "That's too dangerous a toy foryou to be playing with--and yuh know damn well yuh can't hit anything. "

"I killed a steer once, " Thurston reminded him meekly, whereat the laughhushed; for they remembered. 

"I know I can't shoot straight, " he went on frankly, "but you're takingthat much the greater chance. If I have to, I'll cut loose--and there'sno telling where the bullets may strike. "

"That's right, " Park admitted. "Stand still, boys; he's more dangerousthan a gun that isn't loaded. What d'yuh want, m'son?"

"I want to talk to you for about five minutes. I've got a game leg, sothat I can neither run nor fight, but I hope you'll listen to me. TheWagners can't get away--they're locked up, with a deputy standing overthem with a gun; and on top of that they're handcuffed. They're ashelpless, boys, as two trapped coyotes. " He looked down over the crowd, which shifted uneasily; no one spoke. 

"That's what struck me most, " he continued. "You know what I thought ofBob, don't you? And I didn't thank them for boring a hole in my leg; itwasn't any kindness of theirs that it didn't land higher--they weren'tshooting at me for fun. And I'd have killed them both with a clearconscience, if I could. I tried hard enough. But it was different then;out in the open, where a man had an even break. I don't believe if Ihad shot as straight as I wanted to that I'd ever have felt a moment'scompunction. But now, when they're disarmed and shackled and altogetherhelpless, I couldn't walk up to them deliberately and kill them couldyou?

"It could be done, and done easily. You have Lauman where he can't doanything, and I'm not of much account in a fight; so you've really onlyone deputy sheriff and two women to get the best of. You could dragthese men out and hang them in the cottonwoods, and they couldn't raisea hand to defend themselves. We could do it easily--but when it was doneand the excitement had passed I'd have a picture in my memory that I'dhate to look at. I'd have an hour in my life that would haunt me. Andso would you. You'd hate to look back and think that one time you helpedkill a couple of men who couldn't fight back. 

"Let the law do it, boys. You don't want them to live, and I don't;nobody does, for they deserve to die. But it isn't for us to play judgeand jury and hangman here to-night. Let them get what's coming to themat the hands of the officers you've elected for that purpose. They won'tget off. Hank Graves says they will hang if it takes every hoof he owns. He said he would bring Bowman down here to help prosecute them. I don'tknow Bowman--"

"I do, " a voice spoke, somewhere in the darkness. "Lawyer from Helena. Never lost a case. "

"I'm glad to hear it, for he's the man that will prosecute. They haven'ta ghost of a show to get out of it. Lauman here is responsible for theirsafe keeping and I guess, now that he knows them better, we needn't beafraid they'll escape again. And it's as Lauman said; he'll hang themquite as dead as you can. He's drawing a salary to do these things, makehim earn it. It's a nasty job, boys, and you wouldn't get anything outof it but a nasty memory. "

A hand that did not feel like the hand of a man rested for an instant onhis arm. Mona brushed by him and stepped out where the rising moon shoneon her hair and into her big, blue-gray eyes. 

"I wish you all would please go away, " she said. "You are making mammasick. She's got it in her head that you are going to do something awful, and I can't convince her you're not. I told her you wouldn't do anythingso sneaking, but she's awfully nervous about it. Won't you please go, right now?"

They looked sheepishly at one another; every man of them feared theridicule of his neighbor. 

"Why, sure we'll go, " cried Park, rallying. "We were going anyway in aminute. Tell your mother we were just congratulating Lauman on roundingup these Wagners. Come on, boys. And you, Bud, hurry up and get wellagain; we miss yuh round the Lazy Eight. "

The three who were sitting on Lauman got up, and he gave a sigh ofrelief. "Say, yuh darned cowpunchers don't have no mercy on an old man'scarcass at all, " he groaned, in exaggerated self-pity. "Next time yuhwant to congratulate me, I wish you'd put it in writing and send it bymail. "

A little ripple of laughter went through the crowd. Then they swung upon their horses and galloped away in the moonlight. 

CHAPTER VIII. A QUESTION OF NERVE

"That was your victory, Miss Stevens. Allow me to congratulate you. " IfThurston showed any ill grace in his tone it was without intent. But itdid seem unfortunate that just as he was waxing eloquent and felt sureof himself and something of a hero, Mona should push him aside as thoughhe were of no account and disperse a bunch of angry cowboys with half adozen words. 

She looked at him with her direct, blue-gray eyes, and smiled. Andher smile had no unpleasant uplift at the corners; it was the dimply, roguish smile of the pastel portrait only several times nicer. Re couldhardly believe it; he just opened his eyes wide and stared. When he cameto a sense of his rudeness, Mona was back in the kitchen helping withthe supper dishes, just as though nothing had happened--unless oneobserved the deep, apple-red of her cheeks--while her mother, who showednot the faintest symptoms of collapse, flourished a dish towel made ofa bleached flour sack with the stamp showing a faint pink and blue XXXXacross the center. 

"I knew all the time they wouldn't do anything when it came rightto the point, " she declared. "Bless their hearts, they thought theywould--but they're too soft-hearted, even when they are mad. If yuh goat 'em right yuh can talk 'em over easy. It done me good to hear yuhtalk right up to 'em, Bud. " Mrs. Stevens had called hi Bud fromthe first time she laid eyes on him. "That's all under the sun theyneeded--just somebody to set 'em thinking about the other side. You're areal good speaker; seems to me you ought to study to be a preacher. "

Thurston's face turned red. But presently he forgot everything in hisamazement, for Mona the dignified, Mona of the scornful eyes and thechilly smile, actually giggled--giggled like any ordinary girl, and shothim a glance that had in it pure mirth and roguish teasing, and a dashof coquetry. He sat down and giggled with her, feeling idiotically happyand for no reason under the sun that he could name. 

He had promised his conscience that he would go home to the Lazy Eightin the morning, but he didn't; he somehow contrived, overnight, toinvent a brand new excuse for his conscience to swallow or not, as itliked. Hank Graves had the same privilege; as for the Stevens trio, heblessed their hospitable souls for not wanting any excuse whatever forhis staying. They were frankly glad to have him there; at least Mrs. Stevens and Jack were. As for Mona, he was not so sure, but he hoped shedidn't mind. 

This was the reason inspired by his great desire: he was going to writea story, and Mona was unconsciously to furnish the material for hisheroine, and so, of course, he needed to be there so that he might studyhis subject. That sounded very well, to himself, but to Hank Graves, for some reason, it seemed very funny. When Thurston told him, Hankwas taken with a fit of strangling that turned his face a dark purple. Afterward he explained brokenly that something had got down his Sundaythroat--and Thurston, who had never heard of a man's Sunday throat, eyed him with suspicion. Hank blinked at him with tears still inhis quizzical eyes and slapped him on the back, after the way of theWest--and any other enlightened country where men are not too dignifiedto be their real selves--and drawled, in a way peculiar to himself:

"That's all right, Bud. You stay right here as long as yuh want to. Idon't blame yuh--if I was you I'd want to spend a lot uh time studyingthis particular brand uh female girl myself. She's out uh sight, Bud--and I don't believe any uh the boys has got his loop on her so far;though I could name a dozen or so that would be tickled to death if theyhad. You just go right ahead and file your little, old claim--"

"You're getting things mixed, " Thurston interrupted, rather testily. "I'm not in love with her. I, well, it's like this: if you were going topaint a picture of those mountains off there, you'd want to be where youcould look at them--wouldn't you? You wouldn't necessarily want to--toown them, just because you felt they'd make a fine picture. Yourinterest would be, er, entirely impersonal. "

"Uh-huh, " Hank agreed, his keen eyes searching Phil's face amusedly. 

"Therefore, it doesn't follow that I'm getting foolish about a girl justbecause I--hang it! what the Dickens makes you look at a fellow thatway? You make me?"

"Uh-huh, " said Hank again, smoothing the lower half of his face with onehand. "You're a mighty nice little boy, Bud. I'll bet Mona thinks so, too and when yuh get growed up you'll know a whole lot more than yuh doright now. Well, I guess I'll be moving. When yuh get that--er--storydone, you'll come back to the ranch, I reckon. Be good. "

Thurston watched him ride away, and then flounced, oh, men do flounce attimes, in spirit, if not in deed; and there would be no lack of the deedif only they wore skirts that could rustle indignantly in sympathy withthe wearer--to his room. Plainly, Hank did not swallow the excuse anymore readily than did his conscience. 

To prove the sincerity of his assertion to himself, his conscience, and to Hank Graves, he straightway got out a thick pad of paper andsharpened three lead pencils to an exceeding fine point. Then he sat himdown by the window--where he could see the kitchen door, which was theone most used by the family--and nibbled the tip off one of the pencilslike any school-girl. For ten minutes he bluffed himself into believingthat he was trying to think of a title; the plain truth is, he waswondering if Mona would go for a ride that afternoon and if so, might heventure to suggest going with her. 

He thought of the crimply waves in Mona's hair, and pondered whatadjectives would best describe it without seeming commonplace. "Rippling" was too old, though it did seem to hit the case all right. He laid down the pad and nearly stood on his head trying to reach hisDictionary of Synonyms and Antonyms without getting out of his chair. While he was clawing after it--it lay on the floor, where he had thrownit that morning because it refused to divulge some information hewanted--he heard some one open and close the kitchen door, and came nearkinking his neck trying to get up in time to see who it was. He failedto see anyone, and returned to the dictionary. 

"'Ripple--to have waves--like running water. '" (That was just the wayher hair looked, especially over the temples and at the nape of herneck--Jove, what a tempting white neck it was!) "Um-m. 'Ripple; wave;undulate; uneven; irregular. '" (Lord, what fools are the men who writedictionaries!) "'Antonym--hang the antonyms!"

The kitchen door slammed. He craned again. It was Jack--going to townmost likely. Thurston shrewdly guessed that Mrs. Stevens leaned far moreupon Mona than she did upon Jack, although he could hardly accuse herof leaning on anyone. But he observed that the men looked to her fororders. 

He perceived that the point was gone from his pencil, and proceeded tosharpen it. Then he heard Mona singing in the kitchen, and recollectedthat Mrs. Stevens had promised him warm doughnuts for supper. PerhapsMona was frying them at that identical moment--and he had never seenanyone frying doughnuts. He caught up his cane and limped out toinvestigate. That is how much his heart just then was set upon writing astory that would breathe of the plains. 

One great hindrance to the progress of his story was the difficulty hehad in selecting a hero for his heroine. Hank Graves suggested that heuse Park, and even went so far as to supply Thurston with considerabledata which went to prove that Park would not be averse to figuring ina love story with Mona. But Thurston was not what one might callenthusiastic, and Hank laughed his deep, inner laugh when he was wellaway from the house. 

Thurston, on the contrary, glowered at the world for two hours after. Park was a fine fellow, and Thurston liked him about as well as any manhe knew in the West, but--And thus it went. On each and every visit tothe Stevens ranch--and they were many--Hank, learning by direct inquirythat the story still suffered for lack of a hero, suggested some fellowwhom he had at one time and another caught "shining" around Mona. Andwith each suggestion Thurston would draw down his eyebrows till he camenear getting a permanent frown. 

A love story without a hero, while it would no doubt be original andall that, would hardly appeal to an editor. Phil tried heroes whollyimaginary, but he had a trick of making his characters seem very realto himself and sometimes to other people as well. So that, after a fewpassages of more or less ardent love-making, he would in a sense growjealous and spoil the story by annihilating the hero thereof. 

Heaven only knows how long the thing would have gone on if he hadn't, one temptingly beautiful evening, reverted to the day of the hold-up andapologized for not obeying her command. He explained as well as he couldjust why he sat petrified with his hands in the air. 

And then having brought the thing freshly to her mind, he somehow lostcontrol of his wits and told her he loved her. He told her a good dealin the next two minutes that he might better have kept to himself justthen. But a man generally makes a glorious fool of himself once or twicein his life and it seems the more sensible the man the more thorough ajob he makes of it. 

Mona moved a little farther away from him, and when she answered shedid not choose her words. "Of all things, " she said, evenly, "I admirea brave man and despise a coward. You were chicken-hearted that day, andyou know it; you've just admitted it. Why, in another minute I'd havehad that gun myself, and I'd have shown you--but Park got it beforeI really had a chance. I hated to seem spectacular, but it served youright. If you'd had any nerve I wouldn't have had to sit there and tellyou what to do. If ever I marry anybody, Mr. Thurston, it will be aman. "

"Which means, I suppose, that I'm not one?" he asked angrily. 

"I don't know yet. " Mona smiled her unpleasant smile--the one thatdid not belong in the story he was going to write. "You're new to thecountry, you see. Maybe you've got nerve; you haven't shown much, so faras I know--except when you talked to the boys that night. But you musthave known that they wouldn't hurt you anyway. A man must have a littlecourage as much as I have; which isn't asking much--or I'd never marryhim in the world. "

"Not even if you--liked him?" his smile was wistful. 

"Not even if I loved him!" Mona declared, and fled into the house. 

Thurston gathered himself together and went down to the stable andborrowed a horse of Jack, who had just got back from town, and rode hometo the Lazy Eight. 

When Hank heard that he was home to stay--at least until he could jointhe roundup again--he didn't say a word for full five minutes. Then, "Got your story done?" he drawled, and his eyes twinkled. 

Thurston was going up the stairs to his old room, and Hank could notswear positively to the reply he got. But he thought it sounded like, "Oh, damn the story!"

CHAPTER IX. THE DRIFT OF THE HERDS

Weeks slipped by, and to Thurston they seemed but days. Hisworld-weariness and cynicism disappeared the first time he met Monaafter he had left there so unceremoniously; for Mona, not being aware ofhis cynicism, received him on the old, friendly footing, and seemed tohave quite forgotten that she had ever called him a coward, or refusedto marry him. So Thurston forgot it also--so long as he was with her. 

How he filled in the hours he could scarcely have told; certain itis that he accomplished nothing at all so far as Western stories wereconcerned. Reeve-Howard wrote in slightly shocked phrases to ask whatwas keeping him so long; and assured him that he was missing much bystaying away. Thurston mentally agreed with him long enough to beginpacking his trunk; it was idiotic to keep staying on when he was clearlyreceiving no benefit thereby. When, however, he picked up a book whichhe had told Mona he would take over to her the next time he went, hestopped and considered:

There was the Wagner trial coming off in a month or so; he couldn't getout of attending it, for he had been subpoenaed as a witness for theprosecution. And there was the beef roundup going to start beforelong--he really ought to stay and take that in; there would be some finechances for pictures. And really he didn't care so much for the BarryWilson bunch and the long list of festivities which trailed ever inits wake; at any rate, they weren't worth rushing two-thirds across thecontinent for. 

He sat down and wrote at length to Reeve-Howard, explaining verycarefully--and not altogether convincingly--just why he could notpossibly go home at present. After that he saddled and rode over to theStevens place with the book, leaving his trunk yawning emptily in themiddle of his badly jumbled belongings. 

After that he spent three weeks on the beef roundup. At first he wasfull of enthusiasm, and worked quite as if he had need of the wages, butafter two or three big drives the novelty wore off quite suddenly, andnothing then remained but a lot of hard work. For instance, standingguard on long, rainy nights when the cattle walked and walked might atfirst seem picturesque and all that, but must at length, cease to beamusing. 

Likewise the long hours which he spent on day-herd, when the windwas raw and penetrating and like to blow him out of the saddle; alsostanding at the stockyard chutes and forcing an unwilling stream ofrollicky, wild-eyed steers up into the cars that would carry them toChicago. 

After three weeks of it he awoke one particularly nasty morning andthanked the Lord he was not obliged to earn his bread at all, to saynothing of earning it in so distressful a fashion. There was a lullin the shipping because cars were not then available. He promptly tookadvantage of it and rode by the very shortest trail to the ranch--andMona. But Mona was visiting friends in Chinook, and there was no tellingwhen she would return. Thurston, in the next few days, owned to himselfthat there was no good reason for his tarrying longer in the big, un-peopled West, and that the proper thing for him to do was go backhome to New York. 

He had come to stay a month, and he had stayed five. He could ride andrope like an old-timer, and he was well qualified to put up a stiffgun-fight had the necessity ever arisen--which it had not. 

He had three hundred and seventy-one pictures of different phases ofrange life, not counting as many that were over-exposed or under-exposedor out of focus. He had six unfinished stories, in each of which theheroine had big, blue-gray eyes and crimply hair, and the title and bareskeleton of a seventh, in which the same sort of eyes and hair wouldprobably develop later. He had proposed to Mona three times, and hadbeen three times rebuffed--though not, it must be owned, with that toneof finality which precludes hope. 

He was tanned a fine brown, which became him well. His eyes had lost thedreamy, introspective look of the student and author, and had grown keenwith the habit of studying objects at long range. He walked with thatpeculiar, stiff-legged gait which betrays long hours spent in thesaddle, and he wore a silk handkerchief around his neck habitually andhad forgotten the feel of a dress-suit. 

He answered to the name "Bud" more readily than to his own, and he madepractical use of the slang and colloquialisms of the plains without anymental quotation marks. 

By all these signs and tokens he had learned his West, and should havetaken himself back to civilization when came the frost. He had come toget into touch with his chosen field of fiction, that he might writeas one knowing whereof he spoke. So far as he had gone, he was in touchwith it; he was steeped to the eyes in local color--and there was therub The lure of it was strong upon him, and he might not loosen itshold. He was the son of his father; he had found himself, and knew that, like him, he loved best to travel the dim trails. 

Gene Wasson came in and slammed the door emphatically shut after him. "She's sure coming, " he complained, while he pulled the icicles fromhis mustache and cast them into the fire. "She's going to be a real, oldhowler by the signs. What yuh doing, Bud? Writing poetry?"

Thurston nodded assent with certain mental reservations; so far theeditors couldn't seem to make up their minds that it was poetry. 

"Well, say, I wish you'd slap in a lot uh things about hazy, lazy, daisydays in the spring--that jingles fine!--and green grass and thesun shining and making the hills all goldy yellow, and prairie dogschip-chip-chipping on the 'dobe flats. (Prairie dogs would go all rightin poetry, wouldn't they? They're sassy little cusses, and I don't knowof anything that would rhyme with 'em, but maybe you do. ) And read itall out to me after supper. Maybe it'll make me kinda forget there's ablizzard on. "

"Another one?" Thurston got up to scratch a trench in the half-inchlayer of frost on the cabin window. "Why, it only cleared up thismorning after three days of it. "

"Can't help that. This is just another chapter uh that same story. Whenthese here Klondike Chinooks gets to lapping over each other they neverknow when to quit. Every darn one has got to be continued tacked ontothe tail of it the winter. All the difference is, you can't read thewriting; but I can. "

"I've got some mail for yuh, Bud. And old Hank wanted me to ask yuh ifyou'd like to go to Glasgow next Thursday and watch old Lauman start theWagner boys for wherever's hot enough. He can get yuh in, you being inthe writing business. He says to tell yuh it's a good chance to takenotes, so yuh can write a real stylish story, with lots uh murder andsudden death in it. We don't hang folks out here very often, and yuhmight have to go back East after pointers, if yuh pass this up. "

"Oh, go easy. It turns me sick when I think about it; how they lookedwhen they got their sentence, and all that. I certainly don't care tosee them hanged, though they do deserve it. Where are the letters?"Thurston sprawled across the table for them. One was from Reeve-Howard;he put it by. Another had a printed address in the corner--an addressthat started his pulse a beat or two faster; for he had not yet reachedthat blase stage where he could receive a personal letter from one ofthe "Eight Leading" without the flicker of an eye-lash. He still gloatedover his successes, and was cast into the deeps by his failures. 

He held the envelope to the light, shook it tentatively, like any woman, guessed hastily and hopefully at the contents, and tore off an endimpatiently. From the great fireplace Gene watched him curiously andhalf enviously. He wished he could get important-looking letters fromNew York every few days. It must make a fellow feel that he amounted tosomething. 

"Gene, you remember that story I read to you one night--that yarn aboutthe fellow that lived alone in the hills, and how the wolves used tocome and sit on the ridge and howl o' nights--you know, the one yousaid was 'out uh sight'? They took it, all right, and--here, what do youthink of that?" He tossed the letter over to Gene, who caught it just asit was about to be swept into the flame with the draught in Thurston, inthe days which he spent one of the half-dozen Lazy Eight line-camps withGene, down by the river, had been writing of the West--writing infear and trembling, for now he knew how great was his subject and hisignorance of it. In the long evenings, while the fire crackled and theflames played a game they had invented, a game where they tried whichcould leap highest up the great chimney; while the north wind whoo-ooedaround the eaves and fine, frozen snow meal swished against the onelittle window; while shivering, drifting range cattle tramped restlesslythrough the sparse willow-growth seeking comfort where was naught butcold and snow and bitter, driving wind; while the gray wolves hunted inpacks and had not long to wait for their supper, Thurston had writtenbetter than he knew. He had sent the cold of the blizzards and the howlof the wolves; he had sent bits of the wind-swept plains back to NewYork in long, white envelopes. And the editors were beginning to watchfor his white envelopes and to seize them eagerly when they came, greedyfor what was within. Not every day can they look upon a few typewrittenpages and see the range-land spread, now frowning, now smiling, beforethem. 

"Gee! they say here they want a lot the same brand, and at any old priceyuh might name. I wouldn't mind writing stories myself. " Gene kickeda log back into the flame where it would do the most good. His big, square-shouldered figure stood out sharply against the glow. 

Thurston, watching him meditatively, wanted to tell him that he wasthe sort of whom good stories are made. But for men like Gene--strong, purposeful, brave, the West would lose half its charm. He was like Bobin many ways, and for that Thurston liked him and, stayed with him inthe line-camp when he might have been taking his ease at the home ranch. 

It was wild and lonely down there between the bare hills and the frozenriver, but the wildness and the loneliness appealed to him. It wasprimitive and at times uncomfortable. He slept in a bunk built againstthe wall, with hard boards under him and a sod roof over his head. Therewere times when the wind blew its fiercest and rattled dirt down intohis face unless he covered it with a blanket. And every other day hehad to wash the dishes and cook, and when it was Gene's turn to cook, Thurston chopped great armloads of wood for the fireplace to eat o'nights. Also he must fare forth, wrapped to the eyes, and help Genedrive back the cattle which drifted into the river bottom, lest theycross the river on the ice and range where they should not. 

But in the evenings he could sit in the fire-glow and listen to the windand to the coyotes and the gray wolves, and weave stories that even themost hyper-critical of editors could not fail to find convincing. Byday he could push the coffee-box that held his typewriter over by thefrosted window--when he had an hour or two to spare--and whang away ata rate which filled Gene with wonder. Sometimes he rode over to the homeranch for a day or two, but Mona was away studying music, so he found noinducement to remain, and drifted back to the little, sod-roofed cabinby the river, and to Gene. 

The winter settled down with bared teeth like a bull-dog, and nevera chinook came to temper the cold and give respite to man or beast. Blizzards that held them, in fear of their lives, close to shelter fordays, came down from the north; and with them came the drifting herds. By hundreds they came, hurrying miserably before the storms. When thewind lashed them without mercy even in the bottom-land, they pushedreluctantly out upon the snow-covered ice of the Missouri. Then Gene andThurston watching from their cabin window would ride out and turn thempitilessly back into the teeth of the storm. 

They came by hundreds--thin, gaunt from cold and hunger. They came bythousands, lowing their misery as they wandered aimlessly, seeking thatwhich none might find: food and shelter and warmth for their chilledbodies. When the Canada herds pushed down upon them the boys gave overtrying to keep them north of the river; while they turned one bunch adozen others were straggling out from shore, the timid followingsingle file behind a leader more venturesome or more desperate than hisfellows. 

So the march went on and on: big, Southern-bred steer grappling theproblem of his first Northern winter; thin-flanked cow with shivering, rough-coated calf trailing at her heels; humpbacked yearling with littlenubs of horns telling that he was lately in his calfhood; red cattle, spotted cattle, white cattle, black cattle; white-faced Herefords, Short-horns, scrubs; Texas longhorns--of the sort invariably picturedin stampedes--still they came drifting out of the cold wilderness and oninto wilderness as cold. 

Through the shifting wall of the worst blizzard that season Thurstonwatched the weary, fruitless, endless march of the range. "Where do theyall come from?" he exclaimed once when the snow-veil lifted and showedthe river black with cattle. 

"Lord! I dunno, " Gene answered, shrugging his shoulders against thepity of it. "I seen some brands yesterday that I know belongs up in theCypress Hills country. If things don't loosen up pretty soon, the wholedarned range will be swept clean uh stock as far north as cattle run. I'm looking for reindeer next. "

"Something ought to be done, " Thurston declared uneasily, turning awayfrom the sight. "I've had the bellowing of starving cattle in my earsday and night for nearly a month. The thing's getting on my nerves. "

"It's getting on the nerves uh them that own 'em a heap worse, " Genetold him grimly, and piled more wood on the fire; for the cold bitthrough even the thick walls of the cabin when the flames in thefireplace died, and the door hinges were crusted deep with ice. "There'sgoing to be the biggest loss this range has ever known. "

"It's the owners' fault, " snapped Thurston, whose nerves were inthat irritable state which calls loudly for a vent of some sort. Evenargument with Gene, fruitless though it perforce must be, would be arelief. "It's their own fault. I don't pity them any--why don't theytake care of their stock? If I owned cattle, do you think I'd sit in thehouse and watch them starve through the winter?"

"What if yuh owned more than yuh could feed? It'd be a case uh have-tothen. There's fifty thousand Lazy Eight cattle walking the rangesomewhere today. How the dickens is old Hank going to feed them fiftythousand? or five thousand? It takes every spear uh hay he's got to feedhis calves. "

"He could buy hay, " Thurston persisted. 

"Buy hay for fifty thousand cattle? Where would he get it? Say, Bud, Iguess yuh don't realize that's some cattle. All ails you is, yuh don'tsavvy the size uh the thing. I'll bet yuh there won't be less than threehundred thousand head cross this river before spring. "

"Some of them belong in Canada--you said so yourself. "

"I know it, but look at all the country south of us: all the other cowStates. Why, Bud, when yuh talk about feeding every critter that runsthe range, you're plumb foolish. "

"Anyway, it's a damnable pity!" Thurston asserted petulantly. 

"Sure it is. The grass is there, but it's under fourteen inches uh snowright now, and more coming; they say it's twelve feet deep up in themountains. You'll see some great old times in the spring, Bud, if yuhstay. You will, won't yuh?"

Thurston laughed shortly. "I suppose it's safe to say I will, " heanswered. "I ought to have gone last fall, but I didn't. It willprobably be the same thing over again; I ought to go in the spring, butI won't. "

"You bet you won't. Talk about big roundups! what yuh seen last springwasn't a commencement. Every hoof that crosses this river and lives tillspring will have to be rounded up and brought back again. They'll bescattered clean down to the Yellowstone, and every Northern outfit hasgot to go down and help work the range from there back. I tell yuh, Bud, yuh want to lay in a car-load uh films and throw away all them little, jerk-water snap-shots yuh got. There's going to be roundups like theseold Panhandle rannies tell about, when the green grass comes. " Gene, thinking blissfully of the tented life, sprawled his long legs towardthe snapping blaze and crooned dreamily, while without the blizzardraged more fiercely, a verse from an old camp song:

 "Out on the roundup, boys, I tell yuh what yuh get Little chunk uh bread and a little chunk uh meat; Little black coffee, boys, chuck full uh alkali, Dust in your throat, boys, and gravel in your eye! So polish up your saddles, oil your slickers and your guns, For we're bound for Lonesome Prairie when the green grass comes. "

CHAPTER X. THE CHINOOK

One night in late March a sullen, faraway roar awakened Thurston inhis bunk. He turned over and listened, wondering what on earth was thematter. More than anything it sounded like a hurrying freight train onlythe railroad lay many miles to the north, and trains do not run at largeover the prairie. Gene snored peacefully an arm's length away. Outsidethe snow lay deep on the levels, while in the hollows were great, whitedrifts that at bedtime had glittered frostily in the moonlight. On thehill-tops the gray wolves howled across coulees to their neighbors, andslinking coyotes yapped foolishly at the moon. 

Thurston drew the blanket up over his ears, for the fire had died to aheap of whitening embers and the cold of the cabin made the nose ofhim tingle. The roar grew louder and nearer-then the cabin shivered andcreaked in the suddenness of the blast that struck it. A clod of dirtplumbed down upon his shoulder, bringing with it a shower of finerparticles. "Another blizzard!" he groaned, "and the worst we've had yet, by the sound. "

The wind shrieked down the chimney and sought the places where thechinking was loose. It howled up the coulees, putting the wolvesthemselves to shame. Gene flopped over like a newly landed fish, gruntedsome unintelligible words and slept again. 

For an hour Thurston lay and listened to the blast and selfishly thankedheaven it was his turn at the cooking. If the storm kept up like that, he told himself, he was glad he did not have to chop the wood. Helifted the blanket and sniffed tentatively, then cuddled back into coverswearing that a thermometer would register zero at that very moment onhis pillow. 

The storm came in gusts as the worst blizzards do at times. It made himthink of the nursery story about the fifth little pig who built a cabinof rocks, and how the wolf threatened: "I'll huff and I'll puff, andI'll blow your house down!" It was as if he himself were the fifthlittle pig, and as if the wind were the wolf. The wolf-wind would stopfor whole minutes, gather his great lungs full of air and then withoutwarning would "huff and puff" his hardest. But though the cabin wasnot built of rocks, it was nevertheless a staunch little shelter andsturdily withstood the shocks. 

He pitied the poor cattle still fighting famine and frost as onlyrange-bred stock can fight. He pictured them drifting miserably beforethe fury of the wind or crowding for shelter under some friendlycutback, their tails to the storm, waiting stolidly for the dawn thatwould bring no relief. Then, with the roar and rattle in his ears, hefell asleep. 

In that particular line-camp on the Missouri the cook's duties beganwith building a fire in the morning. Thurston waked reluctantly, shivered in anticipation under the blankets, gathered together hisfortitude and crept out of his bunk. While he was dressing his teethchattered like castanets in a minstrel show. He lighted the firehurriedly and stood backed close before it, listening to the rage of thewind. He was growing very tired of the monotony of winter; he could nolonger see any beauty in the high-turreted, snow-clad hills, nor thebare, red faces of the cliffs frowning down upon him. 

"I don't suppose you could see to the river bank, " he mused, "and Genewill certainly tear the third commandment to shreds before he gets thewater-hole open. "

He went over to the window, meaning to scratch a peep-hole in the frost, just as he had done every day for the past three months; lifted a hand, then stopped bewildered. For instead of frost there was only steam withridges of ice yet clinging to the sash and dripping water in a tinyrivulet. He wiped the steam hastily away with his palm and looked out. 

"Good heavens, Gene!" he shouted in a voice to wake the Seven Sleepers. "The world's gone mad overnight. Are you dead, man? Get up and look out. The whole damn country is running water, and the hills are bare as thisfloor!"

"Uh-huh!" Gene knuckled his eyes and sat up. "Chinook struck us in thenight. Didn't yuh hear it?"

Thurston pulled open the door and stood face to face with the miracle ofthe West. He had seen Mother Nature in many a changeful mood, but neverlike this. The wind blew warm from the southwest and carried hints ofgreen things growing and the song of birds; he breathed it gratefullyinto his lungs and let it riot in his hair. The sky was purplish andsoft, with heavy, drifting clouds high-piled like a summer storm. Itlooked like rain, he thought. 

The bare hills were sodden with snow-water, and the drifts in thecoulees were dirt-grimed and forbidding. The great river lay, a graystretch of water-soaked snow over the ice, with little, clear poolsreflecting the drab clouds above. A crow flapped lazily across theforeground and perched like a blot of fresh-spilled ink on the top of adead cottonwood and cawed raucous greeting to the spring. 

The wonder of it dazed Thurston and made him do unusual things thatmorning. All winter he had been puffed with pride over his cooking, butnow he scorched the oatmeal, let the coffee boil over, and blackened thebacon, and committed divers other grievous sins against Gene's clamoringappetite. Nor did he feel the shame that he should have felt. He simplycould not stay in the cabin five minutes at a time, and for it he had noapology. 

After breakfast he left the dishes un-washed upon the table and went outand made merry with nature. He could scarce believe that yesterday hehad frosted his left ear while he brought a bucket of water up from theriver, and that it had made his lungs ache to breathe the chill air. Nowthe path to the river was black and dry and steamed with warmth. Acrossthe water cattle were feeding greedily upon the brown grasses that onlya few hours before had been locked away under a crust of frozen snow. 

"They won't starve now, " he exulted, pointing them out to Gene. 

"No, you bet not!" Gene answered. "If this don't freeze up on us thewagons 'll be starting in a month or so. I guess we can be thinkingabout hitting the trail for home pretty soon now. The river'll break upif this keeps going a week. Say, this is out uh sight! It's warmer outuh doors than it is in the house. Darn the old shack, anyway! I'm plumbsick uh the sight of it. It looked all right to me in a blizzard, butnow--it's me for the range, m'son. " He went off to the stable with long, swinging strides that matched all nature for gladness, singing cheerily:

 "So polish up your saddles, oil your slickers and your guns, For we're hound for Lonesome Prairie when the green grass comes. "

CHAPTER XI. FOLLOWING THE DIM TRAILS!

Thurston did not go on the horse roundup. He explained to the boys, when they clamored against his staying, that he had a host of things towrite, and it would keep him busy till they were ready to start withthe wagons for the big rendezvous on the Yellowstone, the exact point ofwhich had yet to be decided upon by the Stock Association when it met. The editors were after him, he said, and if he ever expected to getanywhere, in a literary sense, it be-hooved him to keep on the smileyside of the editors. 

That sounded all right as far as it went, but unfortunately it didnot go far. The boys winked at one another gravely behind his back andjerked their thumbs knowingly toward Milk River; by which pantomime theyreminded one another--quite unnecessarily that Mona Stevens had comehome. However, they kept their skepticism from becoming obtrusive, sothat Thurston believed his excuses passed on their face value. The boys, it would seem, realized that it is against human nature for a man todeclare openly to his fellows his intention of laying last, desperatesiege to the heart of a girl who has already refused him three times, and to ask her for the fourth time if she will reconsider her formerdecisions and marry him. 

That is really what kept Thurston at the Lazy Eight. His writing becameonce more a mere incident in his life. During the winter, when he didnot see her, he could bring himself to think occasionally of otherthings; and it is a fact that the stories he wrote with no heroine atall hit the mark the straightest. 

Now, when he was once again under the spell of big, clear, blue grayeyes and crimply brown hair, his stories lost something of theirvirility and verged upon the sentimental in tone. And since he was not afool he realized the falling off and chafed against it and wondered whyit was. Surely a man who is in love should be well qualified to writeconvincingly of the obsession but Thurston did not. He came near goingto the other extreme and refusing to write at all. 

The wagons were out two weeks--which is quite long enough for a crisisto arise in the love affair of any man. By the time the horse roundupwas over, one Philip Thurston was in pessimistic mood and quite readyto follow the wagons, the farther the better. Also, they could not starttoo soon to please him. His thoughts still ran to blue-gray eyes andripply hair, but he made no attempt to put them into a story. 

He packed his trunk carefully with everything he would not need onthe roundup, and his typewriter he put in the middle. He told himselfbitterly that he had done with crimply haired girls, and with everyother sort of girl. If he could figure in something heroic--only hesaid melodramatic--he might possibly force her to think well of him. But heroic situations and opportunities come not every day to a man, andgirls who demand that their knights shall be brave in face of death neednot complain if they are left knightless at the last. 

He wrote to Reeve-Howard, the night before they were to start, andapologized gracefully for having neglected him during the past threeweeks and told him he would certainly be home in another month. He saidthat he was "in danger of being satiated with the Western tone" andwould be glad to shake the hand of civilized man once more. This wasdistinctly unfair, because he had no quarrel with the masculine portionof the West. If he had said civilized woman it would have been more justand more illuminating to Reeve-Howard who wondered what scrape Phil hadgotten himself into with those savages. 

For the first few days of the trip Thurston was in that frame of mindwhich makes a man want to ride by himself, with shoulders hunchedmoodily and eyes staring straight before the nose of his horse. 

But the sky was soft and seemed to smile down at him, and the cloudsloitered in the blue of it and drifted aimlessly with no thought ofreaching harbor on the sky-line. From under his horse's feet the prairiesod sent up sweet, earthy odors into his nostrils and the tinkle of thebells in the saddle-bunch behind him made music in his ears--the sort ofmusic a true cowboy loves. Yellow-throated meadow larks perched swayingin the top of gray sage bushes and sang to him that the world was good. Sober gray curlews circled over his head, their long, funny bills thrustout straight as if to point the way for their bodies to follow andcried, "Kor-r-eck, kor-r-eck!"--which means just what the meadow larkssang. So Thurston, hearing it all about him, seeing it and smelling itand feeling the riot of Spring in his blood, straightened the hunch outof his shoulders and admitted that it was all true: that the world wasgood. 

At Miles City he found himself in the midst of a small army, theregulars of the range---which grew hourly larger as the outfits rolledin. The rattle of mess-wagons, driven by the camp cook and followed bythe bed-wagon, was heard from all directions. Jingling cavvies (herds ofsaddle horses they were, driven and watched over by the horse wrangler)came out of the wilderness in the wake of the wagons. Thurston got outhis camera and took pictures of the scene. In the first, ten differentcamps appeared; he mourned because two others were perforced omitted. Two hours later he snapped the Kodak upon fifteen, and there were fourbeyond range of the lens. 

Park came along, saw what he was doing and laughed. "Yuh better waittill they commence to come, " he said. "When yuh can stand on this littlehill and count fifty or sixty outfits camped within two or three milesuh here, yuh might begin taking pictures. "

"I think you're loading me, " Thurston retorted calmly, winding up theroll for another exposure. 

"All right--suit yourself about it. " Park walked off and left himpeering into the view-finder. 

Still they came. From Swift Current to the Cypress Hills the Canadiancattlemen sent their wagons to join the big meet. From the Sweet GrassHills to the mouth of Milk River not a stock-grower but was represented. From the upper Musselshell they came, and from out the Judith Basin;from Shellanne east to Fort Buford. Truly it was a gathering of theclans such as eastern Montana had never before seen. 

For a day and a night the cowboys made merry in town while their foremenconsulted and the captains appointed by the Association mapped out thedifferent routes. At times like these, foremen such as Park and DeaconSmith were shorn of their accustomed power, and worked under orders asstrict as those they gave their men. 

Their future movements thoroughly understood, the army moved down uponthe range in companies of five and six crews, and the long summer's workbegan; each rider a unit in the war against the chaos which the winterhad wrought; in the fight of the stockmen to wrest back their fortunesfrom the wilderness, and to hold once more their sway over therange-land. 

Their method called for concerted action, although it was simple enough. Two of the Lazy Eight wagons, under Park and Gene Wasson (for Hank thatspring was running four crews and had promoted Gene wagon-boss of one), joined forces with the Circle-Bar, the Flying U, and a Yellowstoneoutfit whose wagon-boss, knowing best the range, was captain of the fivecrews; and drove north, gathering and holding all stock which properlyranged beyond the Missouri. 

That meant day after day of "riding circle"--which is, beinginterpreted, riding out ten or twelve miles from camp, then turning anddriving everything before them to a point near the center of the circlethus formed. When they met the cattle were bunched, and all stock whichbelonged on that range was cut out, leaving only those which had crossedthe river during the storms of winter. These were driven on to thenext camping place and held, which meant constant day-herding andnight-guarding work which cowboys hate more than anything else. 

There would be no calf roundup proper that spring, for all calves werebranded as they were gathered. Many there were among the she-stock thatwould not cross the river again; their carcasses made unsightly blots inthe coulee-bottoms and on the wind-swept levels. Of the calves that hadfollowed their mothers on the long trail, hundreds had dropped out ofthe march and been left behind for the wolves. But not all. Range-bredcattle are blessed with rugged constitutions and can bear much of coldand hunger. The cow that can turn tail to a biting wind the while sheploughs to the eyes in snow and roots out a very satisfactory livingfor herself breeds calves that will in time do likewise and grow fat andstrong in the doing. He is a sturdy, self-reliant little rascal, is therange-bred calf. 

When fifteen hundred head of mixed stock, bearing Northern brands, werein the hands of the day-herders, Park and his crew were detailed to takethem on and turn them loose upon their own range north of Milk River. Thurston felt that he had gleaned about all the experience he needed, and more than enough hard riding and short sleeping and hurried eating. He announced that he was ready to bid good-by to the range. He wouldhelp take the herd home, he told Park, and then he intended to hit thetrail for little, old New York. 

He still agreed with the meadow larks that the world was good, but hehad made himself believe that he really thought the civilized portionof it was better, especially when the uncivilized part holds a girl whopersists in saying no when she should undoubtedly say yes, and insiststhat a man must be a hero, else she will have none of him. 

CHAPTER XII. HIGH WATER

It was nearing the middle of June, and it was getting to be a very hotJune at that. For two days the trail-herd had toiled wearily over thehills and across the coulees between the Missouri and Milk River. Thenthe sky threatened for a day, and after that they plodded in the rain. 

"Thank the Lord that's done with, " sighed Park when he saw the lastof the herd climb, all dripping, up the north bank of the Milk River. "To-morrow we can turn 'em loose. And I tell yuh, Bud, we didn't getacross none too soon. Yuh notice how the river's coming up? A day laterand we'd have had to hold the herd on the other side, no telling howlong. "

"It is higher than usual; I noticed that, " Thurston agreed absently. Hewas thinking more of Mona just then than of the river. He wondered ifshe would be at home. He could easily ride down there and find out. It wasn't far; not a quarter of a mile, but he assured himself that hewasn't going, and that he was not quite a fool, he hoped Even if shewere at home, what good could that possibly do him? Just give himseveral bad nights, when he would lie in his corner of the tent andlisten to the boys snoring with a different key for every man. Suchnights were not pleasant, nor were the thoughts that caused them. 

From where they were camped upon a ridge which bounded a broad couleeon the east, he could look down upon the Stevens ranch nestling in thebottomland, the house half hidden among the cottonwoods. Through thelast hours of the afternoon he watched it hungrily. The big corral randown to the water's edge, and he noted idly that three panels of thefence extended out into the river, and that the muddy water was creepingsteadily up until at sundown the posts of the first panel barely showedabove the water. 

Park came up to him and looked down upon the little valley. "I neverdid see any sense in Jack Stevens building where he did, " he remarked. "There ain't a June flood that don't put his corral under water, andsome uh these days it's going to get the house. He was too lazy to diga well back on high ground; he'd rather take chances on having the wholebusiness washed off the face uh the earth. "

"There must be danger of it this year if ever, " Thurston observeduneasily. "The river is coming up pretty fast, it seems to me. It musthave raised three feet since we crossed this afternoon. "

"I'll course there's danger, with all that snow coming out uh themountains. And like as not Jack's in Shellanne roosting on somebody'spool table and telling it scary, instead uh staying at home lookingafter his stuff. Where yuh going, Bud?"

"I'm going to ride down there, " Thurston answered constrainedly. "Thewomen may be all alone. "

"Well, I'll go along, if you'll hold on a minute. Jack ain't got a lickuh sense. I don't care if he is Mona's brother. "

"Half brother, " corrected Thurston, as he swung up into the saddle. Hehad a poor opinion of Jack and resented even that slight relation toMona. 

The road was soggy with the rain which fell steadily; down in thebottom, the low places in the road were already under water, and theriver, widening almost perceptibly in its headlong rush down the narrowvalley, crept inch by inch up its low banks. When they galloped into theyard which sloped from the house gently down to the river fifty yardsaway, Mona's face appeared for a moment in the window. Evidently she hadbeen watching for some one, and Thurston's heart flopped in his chestas he wondered, fleetingly, if it could be himself. When she opened thedoor her eyes greeted him with a certain wistful expression that he hadnever seen in them before. He was guilty of wishing that Park had stayedin camp. 

"Oh, I'm glad you rode over, " she welcomed--but she was careful, afterthat first swift glance, to look at Park. "Jack wasn't at camp, was he?He went to town this morning, and I looked for hi back long before now. But it's a mistake ever to look for Jack until he's actually in sight. "

Park smiled vaguely. He was afraid it would not be polite to agree withher as emphatically as he would like to have done. But Thurston had nosmile ready, polite or otherwise. Instead he drew down his brows in away not complimentary to Jack. 

"Where is your mother?" he asked, almost peremptorily. 

"Mamma went to Great Falls last week, " she told him primly, justgrazing him with one of her impersonal glances which nearly drove him todesperation. "Aunt Mary has typhoid fever--there seems to be so much ofthat this spring and they sent for mamma. She's such a splendid nurse, you know. "

Thurston did know, but he passed over the subject. "And you're alone?"he demanded. 

"Certainly not; aren't you two here?" Mona could be very pert when shetried. "Jack and I are holding down the ranch just now; the boys are allon roundup, of course. Jack went to town today to see some one. 

"Um-m-yes, of course. " It was Park, still trying to be polite and notcommit himself on the subject of Jack. The "some one" whom Jack wentoftenest to see was the bartender in the Palace saloon, but it was notnecessary to tell her that. 

"The river's coming up pretty fast, Mona, " he ventured. "Don't yuh thinkyuh ought to pull out and go visiting?"

"No, I don't. " Mona's tone was very decided. "I wouldn't drop down on aneighbor without warning just because the river happens to be coming up. It has 'come up' every June since we've been living here, and there havebeen several of them. At the worst it never came inside the gate. "

"You can never tell what it might do, " Park argued. "Yuh know yourselfthere's never been so much snow in the mountains. This hot weather we'vebeen having lately, and then the rain, will bring it a-whooping. Can'tyuh ride over to the Jonses? One of us'll go with yuh. "

"No, I can't. " Mona's chin went up perversely. "I'm no coward, I hope, even if there was any danger which there isn't. "

Thurston's chin went up also, and he sat a bit straighter. Whether shemeant it or not, he took her words as a covert stab at himself. Probablyshe did not mean it; at any rate the blood flew consciously to hercheeks after she had spoken, and she caught her under lip sharplybetween her teeth. And that did not help matters or make her temper moreyielding. 

"Anyway, " she added hurriedly, "Jack will be here; he's likely to comeany minute now. "

"Uh course, if Jack's got some new kind of half-hitch he can put onthe river and hold it back yuh'll be all right, " fleered Park, with thefreedom of an old friend. He had known Mona when she wore dresses to hershoe-tops and her hair in long, brown curls down her back. 

She wrinkled her nose at him also with the freedom of an old friend andThurston stirred restlessly in his chair. He did not like even Park tobe too familiar with Mona, though he knew there was a girl in Shellannewhose name Park sometimes spoke in his sleep. 

She lifted the big glass lamp down from its place on the clock shelfand lighted it with fingers not quite steady. "You men, " she remarked, "think women ought to be wrapped in pink cotton and put in a glasscabinet. If, by any miracle, the river should come up around the house, I flatter myself I should be able to cope with the situation. I'd justsaddle my horse and ride out to high ground!"

"Would yuh?" Park grinned skeptically. "The road from here to the hillis half under water right now; the river's got over the bank above, andis flooding down through the horse pasture. By the time the water got uphere the river'd be as wide and deep one side uh yuh as the other. Thenwhere'd yuh be at?"

"It won't get up here, though, " Mona asserted coolly. "It never has. "

"No, and the Lazy Eight never had to work the Yellowstone range onspring roundup before either, " Park told her meaningly. 

Whereupon Mona got upon her pedestal and smiled her unpleasant smile, against which even Park had no argument ready. 

They lingered till long after all good cowpunchers are supposed to bein their beds--unless they are standing night-guard--but Jack failed toappear. The rain drummed upon the roof and the river swished and gurgledagainst the crumbling banks, and grumbled audibly to itself because thehills stood immovably in their places and set bounds which it could notpass, however much it might rage against their base. 

When the clock struck a wheezy nine Mona glanced at it significantlyand smothered a yawn more than half affected. It was a hint which no manwith an atom of self-respect could overlook. With mutual understandingthe two rose. 

"I guess we'll have to be going, " Park said with some ceremony. "I keptthink ing maybe Jack would show up; it ain't right to leave yuh herealone like this. "

"I don't see why not; I'm not the least bit afraid, " Mona said. Her tonewas impersonal and had in it a note of dismissal. 

So, there being nothing else that they could do, they said good-nightand took themselves off. 

"This is sure fierce, " Park grumbled when they struck the lower ground. "Darn a man like Jack Stevens! He'll hang out there in town and bowl upon other men's money till plumb daylight. It's a wonder Mona didn't gowith her mother. But no--it'd be awful if Jack had to cook his own grubfor a week. Say, the water has come up a lot, don't yuh think, Bud?If it raises much more Mona'll sure have a chance to 'cope with thesituation. It'd just about serve her right, too. "

Thurston did not think so, but he was in too dispirited a mood to arguethe point. It had not been good for his peace of mind to sit andwatch the color come and go in Mona's cheeks, and the laughter springunheralded into her dear, big eyes, and the light tangle itself in thewaves of her hair. 

He guided his horse carefully through the deep places, and noteduneasily how much deeper it was than when they had crossed before. Hecursed the conventions which forbade his staying and watching over thegirl back there in the house which already stood upon an island, cut offfrom the safe, high land by a strip of backwater that was widening anddeepening every minute, and, when it rose high enough to flow into theriver below, would have a current that would make a nasty crossing. 

On the first rise he stopped and looked back at the light which shoneout from among the dripping cottonwoods. Even then he was tempted to goback and brave her anger that he might feel assured of her safety. 

"Oh, come on, " Park cried impatiently. "We can't do any good sittingout here in the rain. I don't suppose the water will get clear up tothe house; it'll likely do things to the sheds and corrals, though, andserve Jack right. Come on, Bud. Mona won't have us around, so the soonerwe get under cover the better for us. She's got lots uh nerve; I guessshe'll make out all right. "

There was common sense in the argument, and Thurston recognized it androde on to camp. But instead of unsaddling, as he would naturally havedone, he tied Sunfish to the bed-wagon and threw his slicker over hisback to protect him from the rain. And though Park said nothing, hefollowed Thurston's example. 

CHAPTER XIII. "I'll STAY--ALWAYS"

For a long time Thurston lay with wide-open eyes staring up at nothing, listening to the rain and thinking. By and by the rain ceased and hecould tell by the dim whiteness of the tent roof that the clouds musthave been swept away from before the moon, then just past the full. 

He got up carefully so as not to disturb the others, and crept over twoor three sleeping forms on his way to the opening, untied the flap andwent out. The whole hilltop and the valley below were bathed in mellowradiance. He studied critically the wide sweep of the river. He mightalmost have thought it the Missouri itself, it stretched so farfrom bank to bank; indeed, it seemed to know no banks but the hillsthemselves. He turned toward where the light had shone among thecottonwoods below; there was nothing but a great blot of shade that toldhim nothing. 

A step sounded just behind. A hand, the hand of Park, rested upon hisshoulder. "Looks kinda dubious, don't it, kid? Was yuh thinking aboutriding down there?"

"Yes, " Thurston answered simply. "Are you coming?"

"Sure, " Park assented. 

They got upon their horses and headed down the trail to the Stevensplace. Thurston would have put Sunfish to a run, but Park checked him. 

"Go easy, " he admonished. "If there's swimming to be done and it's acinch there will be, he's going to need all the wind he's got. "

Down the hill they stopped at the edge of a raging torrent and strainedtheir eyes to see what lay on the other side. While they looked, alight twinkled out from among the tree-tops. Thurston caught his breathsharply. 

"She's upstairs, " he said, and his voice sounded strained and unnatural. "It's just a loft where they store stuff. " He started to ride into theflood. 

"Come on back here, yuh chump!" Park roared. "Get off and loosen thecinch before yuh go in there, or yuh won't get far. Sunfish'll needroom to breathe, once he gets to bucking that current. He's a good waterhorse, just give him his head and don't get rattled and interfere withhim. And we've got to go up a ways before we start in. "

He led the way upstream, skirting under the bluff, and Thurston, chafingagainst the delay, followed obediently. Trees were racing down, theirclean-washed roots reaching up in a tangle from the water, theirbranches waving like imploring arms. A black, tar-papered shack wentscudding past, lodged upon a ridge where the water was shallower, andsat there swaying drunkenly. Upon it a great yellow cat clung and yowledhis fear. 

"That's old Dutch Henry's house, " Park shouted above the roar. "I'll bethe's cussing things blue on some pinnacle up there. " He laughed at thepicture his imagination conjured, and rode out into the swirl. 

Thurston kept close behind, mindful of Park's command to give Sunfishhis head. Sunfish had carried him safely out of the stampede and he hadno fear of him now. 

His chief thought was a wish that he might do this thing quite alone. He was jealous of Park's leading, and thought bitterly that Mona wouldthank Park alone and pass him by with scant praise and he did so wantto vindicate himself. The next minute he was cursing his damnableselfishness. A tree had swept down just before him, caught Park and hishorse in its branches and hurried on as if ashamed of what it had done. Thurston, in that instant, came near jerking Sunfish around to follow;but he checked the impulse as it was formed and left the reins alonewhich was wise. He could not have helped Park, and he could very easilyhave drowned himself. Though it was not thought of himself but of Monathat stayed his hand. 

They landed at the gate. Sunfish scrambled with his feet for securefooting, found it and waded up to the front door. The water was a footdeep on the porch. Thurston beat an imperative tattoo upon the doorwith the butt of his quirt, and shouted. And Mona's voice, shorn of itscustomary assurance, answered faintly from the loft. 

He shouted again, giving directions in a tone of authority which musthave sounded strange to her, but which she did not seem to resent andobeyed without protest. She had to wade from the stairs to the door andwhen Thurston stooped and lifted her up in front of him, she looked asif she were very glad to have him there. 

"You didn't 'cope with the situation, ' after all, " he remarked while shewas settling herself firmly in the saddle. 

"I went to sleep and didn't notice the water till it was coming in atthe door, " she explained. "And then--" She stopped abruptly. 

"Then what?" he demanded maliciously. "Were you afraid?"

"A little, " she confessed reluctantly. 

Thurston gloated over it in silence--until he remembered Park. Afterthat he could think of little else. As before, now Sunfish battled asseemed to him best, for Thurston, astride behind the saddle, held Monasomewhat tighter than he need to have done, and let the horse go. 

So long as Sunfish had footing he braced himself against the mad rush ofwaters and forged ahead. But out where the current ran swimming deephe floundered desperately under his double burden. While his strengthlasted he kept his head above water, struggling gamely against the floodthat lapped over his back and bubbled in his nostrils. Thurston felt hislaboring and clutched Mona still tighter. Of a sudden the horse's headwent under; the black water came up around Thurston's throat with ahungry swish, and Sunfish went out from under him like an eel. 

There was a confused roaring in his ears, a horrid sense of suffocationfor a moment. But he had learned to swim when he was a boy at school, and he freed one hand from its grip on Mona and set to paddling withmuch vigor and considerably less skill. And though the under-currentclutched him and the weight of Mona taxed his strength, he managed tokeep them both afloat and to make a little headway until the deepestpart lay behind them. 

How thankful he was when his feet touched bottom, no one but himselfever knew! His ears hummed from the water in them, and the roar ofthe river was to him as the roar of the sea; his eyes smarted from theclammy touch of the dingy froth that went hurrying by in monster flakes;his lungs ached and his heart pounded heavily against his ribs when hestopped, gasping, beyond reach of the water-devils that lapped viciouslybehind. 

He stood a minute with his arm still around her, and coughed his voiceclear. "Park went down, " he began, hardly knowing what it was he wassaying. "Park--" He stopped, then shouted the name aloud. "Park! Oh-h, Park!"

And from somewhere down the river came a faint reassuring whoop. 

"Thank the Lord!" gasped Thurston, and leaned against her for a second. Then he straightened. "Are you all right?" he asked, and drew her towarda rock near at hand--for in truth, the knees of him were shaking. Theysat down, and he looked more closely at her face and discovered thatit was wet with something more than river water. Mona the self-assured, Mona the strong-hearted, was crying. And instinctively he knew that notthe chill alone made her shiver. He was keeping his arm around her waistdeliberately, and it pleased him that she let it stay. After a minuteshe did something which surprised him mightily--and pleased him more:she dropped her face down against the soaked lapels of his coat, andleft it there. He laid a hand tenderly against her cheek and wondered ifhe dared feel so happy. 

"Little girl--oh, little girl, " he said softly, and stopped. For thecrowding emotions in his heart and brain the English language has nowords. 

Mona lifted her face and looked into his eyes. Her own were soft andshining in the moonlight, and she was smiling a little--the roguishlittle smile of the imitation pastel portrait. "You--you'll unpack yourtypewriter, won't you please, and--and stay?"

Thurston crushed her close. "Stay? The range-land will never get ridof me now, " he cried jubilantly. "Hank wanted to take me into the LazyEight, so now I'll buy an interest, and stay--always. "

"You dear!" Mona snuggled close and learned how it feels to be kissed, if she had never known before. 

Sunfish, having scrambled ashore a few yards farther down, came up tothem and stood waiting, as if to be forgiven for his failure to carrythem safe to land, but Thurston, after the first inattentive glance, ungratefully took no heed of him. 

There was a sound of scrambling foot-steps and Park came dripping up tothem. "Well, say!" he greeted. "Ain't yuh got anything to do but set hereand er--look at the moon? Break away and come up to camp. I'll rout outthe cook and make him boil us some coffee. "

Thurston turned joyfully toward him. "Park, old fellow, I was afraid. "

"Yuh better reform and quit being afraid, " Park bantered. "I got out uhthe mix-up fine, but I guess my horse went on down--poor devil. I waspoking around below there looking for him. "

"Well, Mona, I see yuh was able to 'cope with the situation, ' allright--but yuh needed Bud mighty bad, I reckon. The chances is yuh won'thave no house in the morning, so Bud'll have to get busy and rustle onefor yuh. I guess you'll own up, now, that the water can get through thegate. " He laughed in his teasing way. 

Mona stood up, and her shining eyes were turned to Thurston. "I don'tcare, " she asserted with reddened cheeks. "I'm just glad it did getthrough. "

"Same here, " said Thurston with much emphasis. 

Then, with Mona once more in the saddle, and with Thurston leadingSunfish by the bridle-rein, they trailed damply and happily up the longridge to where the white tents of the roundup gleamed sharply againstthe sky-line.