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son), that young Hinton, lying at full length on the grass in the old ruined garden, was watching Marion, who lingered on the veranda assisting Mrs. Mathewson as she repacked the picnic things. The rest of the party had strolled off on various exploring expeditions, but Marion, as usual, had remained to chat with the older woman and to lend her quick, cheerful assistance. She was serenely unconscious of the steady blue eyes looking from under a low-tilted hat, and noting her every movement, every smile, which flashed across her adorable mouth and sparkled in her wide, sweet eyes. When the last box of sandwiches had been neatly stowed in the wicker hamper, and Mrs. Mathewson was settling herself comfortably with cushions and magazines, Marion ran lightly across the garden in his direction.

"Oh, you lazy person-gone to sleep in the sunshine while chaperon and I were doing the heavy domestic act!"

She dropped on the grass, and, with a deft little movement, removed his sombrero.

"Wake up, little buttercup, wake up."

He laughed gleefully back at her, then sprang to his feet, a tall, straight figure, his red-brown hair glinting in the sunlight. She held his hat in her left hand, and, as he glanced down, his eyes involuntarily paused at her fourth finger, where a tiny solitaire flashed against her smooth white skin. Marion looking merrily up into his face, caught the puzzled, clouded look in his eyes, glanced down at the tell-tale diamond and flushed crimson. Had she only known it, that little ring had given him some bad moments before, and today the impulse had been strong to speak of it, but in his confusion no apt, natural comment was forthcoming. An uncomfortable moment, and both recovered their composure. For the remainder of the afternoon she found him the same friendly comrade, with no hint of the sudden feeling she had surprised in his troubled eyes.

On the following week Hinton was shipping alfalfa down to El Paso. He

had driven over from the ranch in his buckboard, and was superintending a bunch of Mexicans who were loading a car on a siding nearby. It was almost time for the train from Albuquerque to pass through, and down by the depot little groups of waiting passengers moved restlessly about. His attention was suddenly attracted by a familiar graceful figure in white, and, quite against his reason, he moved quickly across in that direction. Marion, however, had hurried into the express office, so when he arrived it happened to be Miss Mathewson who presented him to the goodlooking young man of their party.

"Mr. Manning, Mr. Hinton," and as the two men were shaking hands the train roared in, putting an end to further conversation. Mr. Manning hurried aboard, Marion accompanying him to the car steps where the young fellow stooped and kissed her an affectionate farewell. Jack Hinton saw that kiss, and his face went white beneath its tan. With a vague excuse he bade Mary Mathewson good morning and made his retreat before Marion rejoined them.

That night a most disconsolate person sat moodily smoking his pipe in the cool of the patio; and as his thoughts whirled impetuously on, his lean square jaw grew doggedly set, and he vowed some hot, fervent vows to the calm, indifferent stars.

On the following evening when all the flat, wide world was white with moonshine, a single horseman swung out the driveway of the Tres Alamos and down the road to the neighboring ranch. When he arrived, there by the gate was Marion, barehaired and exquisite, her face radiant with the glory of the night. No, by gad, he didn't care a hang about the Manning chap!

"Good evening," she cried, "and whither away on such a night! You couldn't stay indoors either ?"

"Not tonight," he answered seriously. "I was restless and thought I'd like to talk to you."

BALLADE OF LOVE TRIUMPHANT.

"I'm so glad you came. Sister was tired, and so I've been mooning out here all by myself. We were dreadfully sorry you had to hurry off the other day at the station. I wanted to tell you the news-did Phil tell you?"

"I met Mr. Manning just as the train came," he replied stiffly.

"Well, come, sit down on the veranda and let's talk"

"Thanks. You take this rocker, and I'll sit on the steps and smoke, if you don't mind."

"You know we've been so uncertain in our plans because of Sister's illness, and, now she seems so much better, Phil and I both feel she ought to stay out here for a year or two. So Phil has decided we must build a home here, temporarily at least." Her companion smoked silently on.

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"Of course it will be hard in some ways to leave our old home and friends, but then, Phil and his wife can run out occasionally for""Who is Mr. Manning, please?"

“Oh, didn't you know-how funny," she laughed. "Why Phil, Uncle Phil-you see he's so near our own age-and Clara, his wife, is Virginia's best-”

Jack Hinton threw away his cigarette, and reached for her left hand.

"Tell me about that, please," he said, pointing to the little solitaire which gleamed in the moonlight.

"Why," she faltered, flushing beautifully beneath his insistent gaze, "Daddy gave me that when I”—

"Put it on the other hand, please," he said, as he stooped to her sweet red mouth.

BALLADE OF LOVE TRIUMPHANT

Your skin was brown-'tis just so now,
Your chestnut hair the very same
You bound with snake heads at your brow
The day we met at Pharaoh's game.

Then to my tent you softly came,

The dawn-kissed Memnon sang the while

The sun rose golden on the plain,

Because I loved you on the Nile.

Remember, dear, in rapture how

Against this beating heart you've lain,
While through the palm trees' languid bough
The nomad moons did wax and wane.
Mine own I come again to claim-
Remember, dear, my kiss, my smile,
Your heart must tremble at my name
Because I loved you on the Nile.

Your lips are hot, you know somehow
The passion now that leaps to flame
Is but the love you did allow

Unto your lord in Pharaoh's reign.
Down through the countless years I came
By northern waste and tropic isle,
Knowing my search was not in vain,
Because I loved you on the Nile.

Envoy.

Though all the worlds in heaven's main

Should in one awful chaos pile,

Such wrack to wreck our loves were vain
Because I loved you on the Nile.

RALPH BACON.

The Riderless Horse

By Arthur W. Peach

S

TETSON twirled the dough in the frying pan, and it came down with a sputter of grease, and brown enough to make any hungry man's appetite rise several notches. He reached for a dab of fat, then paused short; and right there and then, the three men watching him lost interest in the preparations for a good meal.

Out of a draw at the right came a riderless horse; the stirrups were flopping, the reins loose. After the first wondering stare Stetson dropped the pan, and caught the pony as it came up to the place where their own were grazing.

The others crowded around.

There was reason for surprise; they had been sent into the foothills to look up a choice bunch of cattle grazing there. A hard day's work had found their task finished. In that time they had seen no one, nor signs of another rider.

"This is a mighty funny thing," Stetson said, soberly. "Any of you fellows spot the saddle?"

Burton, the youngest member of the group, studied the silver mountings. "I've got it! It's old Mullen's saddle! Probably the old man sent him up with another shift in his plans."

"I guess you've got it, Sid," Stetson said, looking away from the saddle; then his face changed. "Mullen's run into something or been dumped-"

Burke, on the other side of the horse, jumped. "Dumped nothing! He's been shot! Look at this!" Burke held up a big hand red with blood.

The men stared as if fascinated. "I rubbed it off the pony's neck; an' there ain't a scratch on him. See for yourself," Burke said, grimly.

Stetson took one look. "Come on," he said shortly.

With a rush they were off. "Sandy, you trail-you've been on the job before," Stetson ordered.

The long, lanky fellow took the lead. Silently the others ranged behind him.

It was not hard to follow the pony's trail until it ran into the hard stuff, gravel, or clay; then Sandy's keen eyes were called into play, and many times the group were forced to retrace their steps.

Every delay irritated the others, for they were riding into what was unknown. They had talked over the theories; Burke thought Mullen might have accidentally shot himself, for the old fellow was getting too old to ride the ranges any more; but Stetson shook his head-the old men at the game are not the ones who send themselves over the Border accidentally; somebody usually helps them, and Mullen had made many enemies in his day.

One thing they knew, and the thought sobered them: every step was bringing them to the one answer that would settle one question-the question of life and death. Somewhere, if Sandy did not lose the trail, they would find Mullen where he had dropped.

Again and again it looked as if Mullen's pony pony would lead them astray, for it had wandered here and there when freed of its master; but

THE RIDERLESS HORSE.

finally they turned into a sort of gulch up which they suddenly saw a heap bearing some resemblance to a human figure spread out on the sand.

They surged forward at the same time, and Stetson swung off, turned over the dusty figure, and drew back with a hoarse cry that was echoed by the others. "Sid" Burton, with the gasping moan of a demented man, threw himself upon the figure until Stetson's strong hand seized him, and he jerked him back with an ugly threat.

Uplifted to the ashy faces of the men was the white, fair face of an unconscious girl; her thick dark hair I was in disorder, and neck and shoulder were splashed with significant red.

While Burton, his fingers doubling and undoubling, looked on with prayer on his lips, the lean, steady fingers of Smith tore away the cloth of the waist and neck; quickly the wound was bandaged.

Stetson bent over with his flask. "Bad, Sandy?" he asked, and Burton's face quivered near.

"No," Smith drawled; "lost blood; tried to fix it herself and then must have been trying to follow the horse. Now, we've got to get her back to the rest of my kit just as soon as we can fetch it. There, she's coming!"

The girl opened wide, unseeing eyes into which recognition slowly

came.

"Hello, Sandy," her lips parted in a half smile,-"why, Sid," she raised one small hand and touched his cheek, "I'm all right, honey, don't worry."

"How'd this happen?" Stetson's even voice asked.

A little light burned in the girl's eyes. "I begged Dad to let me ride up with your orders in place of Mullen, who's sick. Gleeber

"Gleeber!!" Burton said, getting to his feet suddenly.

"-rode with me, and asked mewhen I refused, he rode back, and shot-at me."

Stetson ran his tongue over his lips. "Did he get away?" he asked. He

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had taught her to shoot when she was a mere bit of girl about the big ranch.

"I got his horse-I guess-I feel so tired," her dark head swayed against Burton's shoulder.

Stetson started to take her. "I guess it's your right, lad," he said to Burton. "You and Sandy ride back with her, and I'll follow after Burke."

She roused enough to look at him sharply. "Don't you shoot Gleeber," she ordered. "Promise"

Stetson shifted his weight uneasily. She spoke again, and much against his will he promised.

Slowly they commenced the trip back to the camp, while Stetson started off to follow Burke's trail, for the latter, immediately on seeing what had been wrong, had started to follow the trail of the pony still further back.

With all the strength of his strong, young body called into play, Burton carried the girl he loved in his arms back to the place where the halfcooked flap-jack lay cold in the pan. There Sandy drew from his pack his medicine kit; the girl's firm, white neck was bared and bandaged with all the skill that some way or other had been given to Sandy's big hands. He made a shelter for her lest the coolness of the upper lands stiffen the wound; then drew off to leaving Burton with her.

one side,

Dusk was.coming rapidly over the hills a dusk that would offer protection to Gleeber, and perhaps he might get away; but Sandy smiled at the thought of the perhaps. Every man on the big Bar X ranch loved the darkhaired girl who had grown up among them, but none loved her more than sour Jim Burke, or the grey-haired Stetson. Gleeber would be in bad hands if they should run him down. The men had disliked Gleeber from the moment of his coming to the ranch; they had grown to hate him when they learned of his attentions to the daughter of the boss; but she, out of the kindness of her heart, had saved him from discharge or injury. Stetson knew, and Burke knew; and Sandy wondered if Gleeber would

ever appear again. Then he remembered Stetson's unwilling promise not to shoot Gleeber, and that promise would be kept.

Out of the night a tall figure came, and Sandy recognized Stetson. He came up softly.

"We've got him. She plugged his horse, and we tracked him up into a hole in the rocks. Burke wanted to finish him, but I had my promise to keep to the girl, and I did. But such a beast ought not to live-shoot a girl the way he did and Jim said he'd take care of him while I went up to see how things are." The grim voice stopped.

Sandy saw through the move. The slow, smouldering hate in Stetson's heart had burned up hotter as they neared the camp with their captive; and at the last he had ridden on alone, knowing that Jim Burke would direct events so that Gleeber would never appear again.

up

A soft wailing sound drifted from the night-hidden rocks far beyond them.

"He's slipped the gag," Stetson muttered.

With the cry there was a sudden sound from the girl's shelter, and in spite of Burton's imploring, she ran to them, stopping suddenly as she recognized Stetson.

"Stet, what does that mean?" she demanded.

Hard on her words, a human cry of fear swept up, and across the flat in front of them a figure came running, plainly seen in the starlight. On the ridge behind it another figure appeared that sent streaks of flame after the running figure; but Burke was no shot in the dusk.

The reeling form of Gleeber staggered up to the group, and begged to be saved.

Stetson was in no mood for mercy; his big gun swept to a line-but the trigger was never pressed.

Gleeber, recognizing him, turned and threw himself at the feet of the girl; and she bent and covered him with her body.

Her voice was sharp, yet full of hurt: "Stetson, I trusted you," she said, simply.

"He ain't fit to live," Stetson growled.

"But I wish him to," she said, quietly.

Stetson dug his gun back into the holster. "We will, little girl," he answered. "Burke, keep an eye on him; we'll turn him over to Mac when we get back."

Sandy poked at the remnants of the camp-fire. "How about a little grub, Stet?"

THE WIND OF THE DUSK

The wind of the dusk comes over the hill,
Over the hill with a trill of song,

And the word of the wind sets my heart athrill"Though life is brief, yet love is long!"

I seek my sweet where the roses stir,

And the stars overhead are a marching throng, And this is the tale that I tell to her

"Though life is brief, yet love is long!"

CLINTON SCOLLARD.

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