To the Last Man

t, hotly resentful of the accident that

er. The surprise of this meeting did not come to her while she was under the spell of stronger feeling. She w

s, lions, bears, the last of which were often bold and dangerous. The old grizzlies that killed the ewes to eat only the milk-bags were particularly dreaded by Ellen. She was a good shot with a rifle, but had orders from her father to let the bears alone. Fortunately, such sheep-killing bears were but few, and were left to be hunted by men from the ranch. Mexican sheep

of something else. But there was nothing that could dispel the interest of her meeting with Jean Isbel. Thereupon she impatiently surrendered to it, and recalled every word and action which she could remember. And in the process of this meditation she came to an action of hers, recollection of which brought the blood tingling to her neck and cheeks, so unusually a

and it. Disgust and disdain and scorn could not make this meeting with Jean Isbel as if it had never been. Pride could not efface it from her mind. The more she reflected, the harder she tried to forget, the stronger grew

keenly sensitive to the sputtering of the camp fire, the tinkling of bells on the rams, the bleating of lambs, the sough of wind in the pines, and the hungry sharp bark of coyotes off in the distance. Darkness was no respecter of her pr

is morning; her blood ran sluggishly; she had to fight a mournful tendency to feel sorry for herself. And at first she was not very successful. There seemed to be

Antonio comin'

he forest until she was tired. Antonio did not return. Ellen spent the day with the sheep; and in the manifold task of caring for a thousand new-born lambs she forgot herself. This day saw the end of la

of bounding life, strangely aware of the beauty and sweetness of the scen

h the fact that Jean Isbel had set to-day for his ride up to the Rim to see her. El

fully. "It's queer of me-feelin' glad aboot him-without knowin'. Lord! I

ght at her admission that Jean Isbel was different; she resented it in amaze; she ridiculed it; she laughed at her naive

ment she won a victory over, this new curious self, only to lose it the next. And at last out of her conflict there emerged a few convictions that left her with some shreds of pride. She hated all Isbels, she hated any Isbel, and particularly sh

rt vanity-thus she stifl

directed her steps through the forest to the Rim. She felt ashamed of her eagerness. She had a guilty conscience t

fore come directly to the Rim without halting to look, to wonder, to worship. This time she scarcely glanced into the blue abyss. All absorbed was she in hiding her tracks. Not one chance in a thousand would she risk. The Jorth pride burned even while the feminine side of her dominated her actions. She had some difficult rocky points to cross, then windfalls to round, and at length reached the covert she desired.

the pine thicket and to the edge of the Rim where she could watch and listen. She knew that long be

er girl," she mused. "I reckon I

side opposite her. The trees were all sharp, spear pointed. Patches of light green aspens showed strikingly against the dense black. The great slope beneath Ellen was serrated with narrow, deep gorges, almost canyons in themselves. Sha

up and down the shaggy-barked spruces, the cracking of weathered bits of rock, these caught her keen ears many times and brought her up erect and thrilling. Finally she heard a sound which resembled that of an unshod hoof on stone. Stealthily then she took her rifle and slipped back through the pine thicket to the spot she had chosen. The little pines were so close together that she h

ed feet from the promontory. It was imperative that she be absolutely silent. Her eyes searched the openings along the Rim. The gray form of a deer crossed one of these, and she concluded it had made the sound she had heard. Then she lay down more comfortably and waited. Resolutely she held, as much as possible, to her sens

ment. Unprepared for this, she was held by surprise for a moment, and then she was stunned. Her spirit, swift and rebellious, had no time to rise in her defense. She was a lonely, guilty, miserable girl, too weak for pride to uphold, too fluctuating to know her real self. She stretched there, burying

lf upon her elbows and peeped through the opening in the brush. She saw a man tying a horse to a bush somewhat back from the Rim. Drawing a rifle from its saddle sheath he threw it in the hollow of

m lip to lip-old Gass Isbel had sent for his Indian son to fight the Jorths. Jean Isbel-son of a Texan-unerring shot-peerless tracker-a bad and dangerous man! Then there flashed over Ellen a burning thought-if it were true, if he was an enemy of her father's, if a fight between Jorth and Isbel was inevitable, she ought to kill this Jean Isbel right there in hi

Texans. This man was built differently. He had the widest shoulders of any man she had ever seen, and they made him appear rather short. But his lithe, powerful limbs proved he was not short. Whenever he moved the muscles rippled. His hands were clasped round a knee-brown, sinewy hands, very broad, and fitting the thick muscular wrists. His collar was open, and he did not wear a scarf, as did the men Ellen knew. Then her intense curiosity at last brought her steady gaze to Jean Isbel's hea

ly, I'd not admit it.... The finest-lookin' man I ever saw in

er. That had only disrupted her rather dreamy pleasure in a situation she had not experienced before. All the men she had met in this wild country were rough and bold; most of them had wanted to marry her, and, failing that, they had persisted in amorous attentions not particularly flattering or honorable. They were a bad lot. And contact with them had dulled some of her sensibilities. But this Jean Isbel had seemed a gentleman. She struggled to be fair, trying to forget her antip

he westering sun and shook his head. His confidence had gone. Then he sat and gazed down into the void. But Ellen knew he did not see anything there. He seemed an image carved in the stone of the Rim, and he gave Ellen a singular impression of loneliness and sadness. Was he thinking of the miserable battle his father had summoned him to lead-of what it would cost-of its useless pain and hatred? Ellen seemed to divine his thoughts. In that moment she softened toward him, and in her soul quivered and stirred an intangibl

attering his shrill annoyance. These two denizens of the woods could be depended upon to espy the wariest hunter and make known his presence to their kind. Ellen had a moment of more than dread. This keen-eyed, keen-eared Indian might see right through her brushy covert, might hear the throbbing of her heart. It relieved

n he came back Ellen saw that he carried a small package apparently wrapped in paper. With this

were now multiplied. Where was Jean Isbel going? Ellen sat up suddenly. "Well, shore this h

er mind over to pondering curiosity. Sooner than she expected she espied Isbel approaching through the forest, empty handed. He had not taken his rifle. Ellen averted her glance a moment and thrilled to see the rifle leaning against a rock. Verily Jean Isbel had been far removed from hostile intent that day. She watched him stride swiftly up t

nt. The sun was setting behind the Black Range, shedding a golden glory over the Basin. Westward the zigzag Rim reached like a streamer of fire into the sun. The vas

hug-a-lug from the highest ground, and the softer chick of hen turkeys answered him. Ellen was almost breathless when she arrived. Two packs and a couple of lop-eared burros attested to the fact of Antonio's return. Th

" she ejaculated. Then she kicked the package out of the tent. Words and action seemed to liberate a dammed-up hot fury. She kicked the package

it? She peeped inside the tent, devoured by curiosity. Neat, well wrapped and tied packages like that were not often seen in the Tonto Basin. Ellen decided she would wait until after supper, and at a favorable moment l

epaired to their own tents, leaving Ellen the freedom of her camp-fire. Wherewith she secured the package and brought it forth to burn. Feminine curiosity rankled strong in her breast. Yielding so far as to shake the parcel and press it, and finally tear a corner off the paper, she saw some words written in lead pencil. Bending nearer the blaze, she read, "For my sister Ann." Ellen gazed at the big, bold hand-writing, quite legible and fairly well don

corn and hate. And memory of that soft-voiced, kind-hearted, beautiful Isbel girl checked her resentment. "I wonder if he is like his sister," she said

nt. First she put it at her head beside her rifle, but when she turned over her cheek came in contact with it. Then she felt as if she had been stung. She moved it again, only to touch it presentl

inkle of a sheep bell broke the serenity. She felt very small and lonely lying there in the deep forest, and, try how she would, it was impossible to think the same then as she did in the clear light of day. Resentment, pride, anger-these seemed abated now. If the events of the day had not changed her, they had at least brought up softer and kinder memories and emotions than she had known for long. Nothing hurt and saddened

aying that she would wait until she got home and then consign it cheerfully to the flames. Antonio tied her

len felt fresh, buoyant, singularly full of, life. Her youth would not be denied. It was pulsing, yearning. She hummed an old Southern tune and every step seemed one of pleasure in action, of advance toward some intangible futur

paused to watch her pass. The vociferous little red squirrels barked and chattered at her. From every thicket sounded the gobble of turkeys.

ugh going and less conducive to sweet wanderings of mind. Ellen slowly lost them. And then a familiar feeling assailed her, one she never failed to have upon

a prospector, one of the many who had searched that country for the Lost Dutchman gold mine. Sprague knew more about the Basin and Rim than any of the sheepmen or ranchers. From Black Butte to the Cibique and from Chevelon Butte to Reno Pass he knew every trail, canyon, ridge, and spring, and could find his way to them on the darkest night. His fame, how

ent visits to Grass Valley. It pleased her now to see a blue column of smoke lazily lifting from the old chimney

cle John!"

y. "When I seen thet white-faced jinny I know

kindly on her over his ruddy cheeks. Ellen did not like the tobacco stain on his grizzled beard nor the dirt

Ellen. "And where have y'u been, un

stayed longer in Grass Valley than I recoll

en, bluntly, as t

h his fingers. The glance he bent on Ellen was thoughtful and earnest, and so k

' set down, won'

a seat on the chopping block. "Tell me,

xcept talk. An' the

ed Ellen, contemptuously. "A nasty, go

bloody war in the ole Tonto Bas

. Betwee

thar, an' sure all the cattlemen, air on old Gass's side.

' to fight?" queri

this war. But thar's talk not so open, an' I reckon

me anythin'," said Ellen. "I'd never give

to be fond of you as I am an' keep my mouth shet.... I'd like to know somethin'.

so far as I know,

boot f

none," she said, sad

ry. I was hopin' y

don't think I'd run off if my

e you

aid, darkly, and dro

he was perplexed and worried, and s

. "We could pack over to the Mazatzal

nd and good. But I'll stay with m

so.... Ellen, how do you stand on t

ke cattle. But that's not the point. The range is free. Suppose y'u had cattle and I

round my range an' sheeped off the grass

my sheep round y'ur rang

posin' a lot of my cattle was stolen by rustlers, but n

to steal cattle because there

ldn't you hev a qu

eer? What 're y'u dri

unch thet the rustlers was-say a l

ck. The blood rushed to her templ

ohn!" sh

n't fire up thet way

nsinuate my

you to think. Thet's all. You're 'most grown into a young woman now. An' you'v

tle country. But it's unjust. He happened to go in for sheep raising. I wish he hadn't. It was a mistake. Dad always was a cattleman till we

girl! ... Thar I go ag'in. Ellen, face your future an' fight your way. All youngsters hev to do thet. An' it's the right kind of fight thet makes the right kind of man or woman. Only you must be sure to find yourself. An' by thet I mean to find the real,

?" returned Ellen. "I know they think I'm a hus

y. "Pride an' temper! You must never let anyo

her belonged to the best blood in Texas. I am her daughter. I know WHO AND WHAT I AM. That uplifts me whenever I meet t

man, in severe tones. "Word has been passed ag'in' your goo

lade. If their meaning and the stem, just light of the old man's glance did not kill her pride and vanity they surely killed her girlishness

'm old an' blunt. I ain't used to wimmen. But I've love for you, child, an' respect, jest the same as if you

eried Ellen, bi

-lettin' men kiss you an' fondle you-wh

e," whispe

why did yo

-and I was lonely for something I-I didn't mind if one or another fooled round me. I never thought. It never looked as y'u have made it look.... Then-thos

er you hev kept yourself good. But now your eyes are open, Ellen. They're brave an' beautiful eyes, girl, an' if you stand by the light in them you will come through any trouble

make some-and never fail it, come what will. I'll remember your words. I'll believe the future holds wonderful things for me.... I'm only eighteen. Shore all my life won't be lived heah. Perhaps this threat

iddy I heerd you called thet name in a barroom. An' thar was a fellar thar who raised hell.

d laughed, beaming upon Ellen as if the mem

asked Ellen,

fellar was quick as a cat in his acti

she wh

nger jest come to these part

aimed Elle

thy with the sheep crowd-most of them on the Jorth si

ing terrible was happenin

old man, "an' it's goin' to be g