Justin Wingate, Ranchman

Newcome's romances; but so it was. She was in love with Ben, and expected to

before, Sibyl had marked the rare dark beauty of Mary Jasper. Mary was now a fair flower bursting i

n the road, curiosity and vanity had drawn her again and again to the little railroad town at the base of the flat-topped mountain. There in the home of an acquaintanc

left arm swinging as he walked. On the second occasion they had met face to face in the trail, while he was on his way to the town to inspect some books he had ordered conditionally. Sibyl was on a mettlesome ba

rect, that he was still a handsome, pleasant-eyed man, whom any woman might admire. "And really

you say. Love is a bright little humming-bird of a boy, who never dies. Truly, it must be lonesome down here, in this poky place. I can't understand why you stay here. You might come to Denver!" She looked at him archly, half

is voice showed pain it showed resolution. "I

ou're studying or writing! You'll be a great

not a

e any horns or cloven hoof about me, do you?" She waved her hand. "And I

cut with her riding w

Curtis Clayton did not know, and never sought to discover; but one day he was almost startled, when Jus

er. There had been heavy August rains and a cloud-burst. The sluggish stream had overleaped its banks, smearing the alfalfa fields with sticky yellow mud and a tangle of weedy drift, in addition to softening the soil until it was a s

lime!" Arkwrig

er was not gifted with keen discernment he felt the attitude to be that of the Pharisee proclaiming his own excellence rather than that of his Maker. Arkwr

storm had hung white draperies about the wide shoulders of the mountain. Into these the descending sun had hurled a sheaf of fire-tipped ar

blime!" Arkwr

ice-of-the-peace, and I reckon a lawyer, or a half of a one. We can have a herd law passed, can't we? And what's to keep me from shootin' them steers when I catch 'em in here? Powder and lead air cheap, and that'

hopeless

im, A yellow primrose was to h

up. "But see the fading light on those clouds! Was ther

I wouldn't send all the rain in a bunch and jump the river out of its banks and roll it

rned his pud

town oftener. You wouldn't care to ride up this evening,

en Arkwright was gone he questioned Jasp

re in the town with him, but I don't know; and I don't care. I'd be glad to have both of 'em keep away from me. Look at that millet, Doctor; just look at it! Ruined by Davison's c

of it. Other settlers had raved in the same manner, and then realized their

aughter has gone to

the moment of his millet. A look of pr

ut she'll be happier up there, I reckon. Mrs. Dudley took a likin' to Mary, and wants to give her a better chance fer an ejication

the yellow mane of the broncho and with the reins that swung against its

woma

Mrs. Dudley is

solution fai

ould have seen her with some of her new fixin's on, which Mrs. Dudley bought fer her. She was certainly handsome. And she's goin' to enjoy herself there, I don't doubt. I've already had a letter from her, tellin' me how happy she is. I reckon I ought to be wi

ly lonely, now that his daughter was gone; yet it was plain that he would not call her back, and equally plain that he knew she would not return if he called never so loudly. And he was trusting that th

dge Sibyl, and possibly, very probably, misjudge her, he thought; yet he had a fear, amounting almost to conviction, that she was not a woman to w

o pretty much as she pleased. Her head was filled with romantic ideas, garnered from Pearl Newcome's much-read novels. In this matter, as in all others, she had taken her own way, like a high-headed young horse clamping the bit tightly between its teeth and choosing its road in defiance of the guiding rein. And her father had submitted, when he could do nothing else, had admired and praised her in the wonderful

ree life Denver led, as viewed by her through the eyes of Mrs. Dudley! This was Vanity Fair, though Mary had never even heard that name. Mrs. Dudley kept a carriage, which rolled with shining wheels through the Denver streets to

age, at the beautiful clothing, and the two bright faces. Mary wore jewels now, and Sibyl had roped her slender neck with a heavy gold thread which bore a neat little locket at its end. Into that l

debonair men and handsomely dressed women attended these dances and parties and made life one never-ending round of merriment. Mary thought she had never known what

ed almost as a sacred duty, so that Sunday seemed the appropriate day for it. She wrote also to Ben Davison, more fully than to her father, descri

reads, for sometimes when she thinks I'm busy she sits for a long time perfectly silent, as if thinking of something serious. But in spite of that she is as gay and happy as can be. Yes, she is a darling; and so are you, you old grumpy, grizzly bear! I wish you could send me a pony-not a broncho! It would be such fun to go galloping o

te as much comfort as the penning of that Sunday letter to her father. Her father had lived a saving and scrimping life and had never given anything to anybody, so that to Mary this was an entirely new and pleasing phase

e plays which she sometimes witnessed from a box in the opera house, or after the fashion of the rollicking fanfare of the romances in Pearl Newcome's wond