The HEART Of
NIGHT WIND
A STORY OF THE GREAT NORTH WEST'
Gy VINGIC £. ROC
ILLUSTRATIONS by fKMy LOA(T=fc£%
CJPYft/cyr gy poop, yip ad and covpapy
SYNOPSIS.
* '
CHAPTER I—Siletz of Daily's lumber
camp watches a stranger mishandle his
horse in climbing the ridge and directs
him to the camp.
CHAPTER II—Walter Sandry Introduces
himself to John Daily, foreman, as "ilie
Dillingworth Lumber Co., or most of it."
CHAPTER III—Sandry makes acquaint
ance with the camp and the work lie lias
come from the East to superintend and
make successful.
CHAPTER IV—Sandry wisely decides to
leave immediate supervision in the hands
of Daily and writes to liis father tlint
he intends to get a handful of the wealth
in the uncut timber of tlie region.
CHAPTER V—Sandry gives Siletz per
mission to ride Hlac-k Holt, bis saddle
horse.
CHAPTER VI—Sandry In an emergency
finds himself no lumberman, hui proves
to the foreman that lie does not lack
Judgment. Siletz tells Sandry of the
Preacher. I
For a moment Sandry s head whirled
and a sort of nausea came over him.
Then he became conscious of her dark
eyes, level and calm, upon his face and
a thrill that sent the blood pounding
In his veins shot through him The |
mighty trees around them, the eternal
majesty of the hills under the Intimate
gray sky, the girl in her trim, sensible
attire of blue shirt, short skirt and
boots, with that sudden revelation of
the wild about her. combined to sug
gest the unreal, the mysterious, the
lawless; In a flash he understood her
silences, her calm, her occasional
stilted modes of speech, and her
whimsicalities.
“Why- why—S'letz!" he stammered,
following out the train of his Illumined
thought, “what are you? Who are
you? A star in the dusk! The night
wind in the pines!"
In the flush of the pregnant moment
he laid his hand on her bare arm un
der the rolled-up sleeve—her soft arm,
wot with the mist—closing his fingers
strongly upon It. For the enchanted
present she was romance and mys
tery, and Sandry was beneath its spell.
But Siletz looked from his fare
down to the hand upon her arm. The
blood rose slowly in her dusky cheeks,
and when she raised her eyes again
they were di vith the same look of
intoxication a_ ad come with the mad
ness of the rushing wind on Black
Bolt's back.
“Yes,” she said dreamily, "I am the
Night Wind. That's what they call me
—my friends the Indians. But how
did you know?”
“I didn't. 1 just heard the words in
my heart. Thoy are right.”
He did not remove his hand, Hnd
silence fell between them while they
stood gazing into each other's eves.
Sandry saw the heavy look In hers, the
dull tire that bespoke a very drunken
ness of emotion, and in another mo
ment he had lost his head. Without
thought, as simply as the first runner
of those forests took what he wanted,
he leaned forward and kissed her,
softly, lightly, on her smooth cheek.
Her eyes darkened perceptibly and
she covered her face with her hands.
In a Budden great embarrassment
Sandry stood silent beside her, his
heart pounding and his manhood al
ready upbraiding him. He searched
his clearing brain for some word of
apology, some contrite expression, but
found none, and the next moment
could not in any case have spoken it;
for Siietz lifted her face and it was
glorified. The intoxication had drifted
away from her features, leaving them
bare in the utter simplicity of the pri
meval woman, and there was in them
a white fire of self-surrender.
Without a word—and Sandry knew
instinctively that she could not speak
—she turned to Black Bolt, threw the
reins over his head, crouched beside
him on a littlo lift of moss and leaped
upward. He watched her land on the
horse’s blanketed back with that in
imitable grace of the wild, turn ami
ride swiftly down one of the mysteri
o- s paths whose nodding ferns closed
after her. Coosnah, following with a
lithe rolling of all his huge muscles,
cast a lowering glance backward at
the man.
The incident had taken all the help
fulness out of the day and the wilder
ness, and Sandry wended his way slow
ly back to camp, arriving just In time
for supper. Slletz tended the table in
her usual silence, but when she
reached him she was constrainedly (
aloof, as If fearing to break a spell by
a word or touch. Once ho looked up ,
at her, striving for recognition, but
she avoided his eyes and to save his
Iffe he could not repress the wiki
thrill that had betrayed him in the
hills, though he was conscious of an
ger flushing hot upon it. He suffered
a very real humiliation in that he had
so far forgotten his training, his sense
of the fitness of things, as to kiss this
wild mountain creature. His ances
tral blood rose up in condemnation.
The next few days were crowded
full to overflowing with work and he
laid aside all personal perplexities.
The first raft of logs, a great cigar
shaped monster, laced together In all
its length and breadth with giant
chains, lay in the backwater at Toledo
ready for Its voyage into the world be
yontj. -_ - 1
A crow of river drivers was picked
from among the men arid all was in
readiness save for a draft of direc
tions which was to bo given, along
with the raft, into the custody of Cap
tain (iraftz of the long dun colored
steamer that would stand in across
the bar at Newport on tile twenty
sixth.
Sandry thrilled with contemplation
of the great, reddish-brown floor,
slightly raised in the center, sloping
gently to the sides. Its building had :
been a tiling of wonder to him. It
would in ail probability scatter to the
pnds of the earth, and its worth ran
well into five figures. He watched its j
departure, an impressive matter of
sluggish rising with tlie tide, of al
most imperceptible motion and then of
majestic speed that carried it west :
ward toward the ocean. Then lie ,
turned back to his logging camp with j
a heightened joy in the new life.
That night he wrote to the white
haired gentleman who was then going
to ' ed under silken covers with the aid
of the faithful Higgins; and his letter
was long and hrilliant. touched with
that cheer and ’lope, that light of
awakening strength and ability which
was beginning to stir his heart, to its
foundation.
“Ah!” said Mr. Wilton Sandry when
he got that letter, looking down i the
’ "'geant of Riverside drive in its win
ter livery, "what a boy he is! What a
son! The metal Is beginning to ring."
CHAPTER VIII.
A Newcomer Among the Pines.
One day soon after the men returned
with word of the raft's safe delivery
Into the hands of Captain Graftz, San
dry, working over his books in the lit
tle office, hecrd a strange voice with
out.
“Oh, no,” it was saying in fresh,
sweet accepts -and the very tone said
East—“You need not wait. I'm going
to stay. If this is the office, or head
quarters of this place. I'll find whoever
is in charge. Just put my trunk cn
that pile of timber. Be careful! Oh.
do be careful' That case contains m,
typewriter, and it's more precious than
gold! There—that's right. Now.
what do 1 owe you?”
There was an answer and the dink
of money, and Sandry rose Just as the
office door opened. It was the East
that confronted him. Fifth avenue it
self, the whole inimitable metropolis
refined into one woman. The mist of
the West was thick upon her silver
furs; it hung in diamond drops on the
waving white aigrette that stood out
from her small dark velvet turban in
airy pride; its cool freshness bloomed ■
in her cheks. She smiled, and a cos
mopoiitan goodfellowship radiated
from her frankly.
"1 must beg a thousand pardons,’ j
she said, her clear blue eyes raised to!
Ills face, “and a lot of indulgence. 1
want to be taken in. Do you think any-!
one in this delightful place will do
it?”
"The whole camp will fight for the
privilege,” promised Sandry rashly,
falling in instantly with her bantering
tone and responding to the frankness
of her smile. He watched her sit down
gracefully in the chair that he hurried
ly pulled forward. With the first
glimpse of her the old nostalgia had
returned upon him and his heart clam
ored for home.
“You are from New York,” he said
simply.
"Yes. And I suppose I must explain
at once. You westerners are so insist
ent on reasons. My name is Poppy
Ordway—and I am of that unfortunate
and much criticized species, the wom
an with a life work.”
The smile she turned upon him was
electric, full of that heady quality
which is distinctive of the vital wom
an, the woman of strong and excitable
passions; it appealed to Sandry in
stantly, so that a thrill of gladness ran
through him to his very finger tips.
”1 have written a few short stories
which have been well received in the
eastern magazines, but they fail to sat
isfy me. 1 have my first novel drafted,
and it is over there on your lumber
pile along with my precious type
writer. It is a tale of the lumber re
gion—and I've come out to work on
the ground. Do you think I can find
sanctuary?”
‘•We’ll see that you do,” said San
dry pleasantly, 'and you couldn't have
struck a better spot for local color anv
w'here in the Northwest. We are ele
mental here, right down to the prirni
tive, and we are swamped with at
mosphere.’ You just come along to
Ma Dally,” he promised, already using
the tone of hail fellow which their
common nativity and her frank man
ner had established between them.
Hungrily be watched her gather up
her skirts ,1 precede him up the lit
tle path to the cook-shack, where Ma
Daily was already standing in the door
to take inventory. Every little move
ment was so familiar, so potent in its
suggestion of home.
Chatting lightly, the stranger step
ped up on the porch and smiled at the
white-haired old woman
"Ma Daily," said Sandry—he had
long sinc£TIost the sense oTresentmenl
at the family atmosphere of the camp
—“this is Miss Ordway of New York—
a fanfous author—and she has come
West to write a new book. Luckily
she struck us in her search for local
color Can we take her in?”
Ma Daily looked at the visitor sharp
ly and Sundry saw a scarce perceptible
change pass over her cheery features.
The vital blue eyes of the younger
woman gave back the scrutiny with
perfect openness.
"Please do, Mrs. Daily,” she said in
her sweet voice. "Please, please do.”
“Don't know,” said Ma slowly;
“there ain't any room.”
”111 abdicate,” put in Sandry quick
ly; "she may have my room and I'll
put up a cot in the office.”
Just at that moment Siletz came in
at the west door and, crossing the
big room, stood looking out upon the
group on the porch. Her dark eyes
rested first with a fleeting glance on
Sandry and then she saw the other.
For a moment Sandry forgot the
business of the present in watching
her face, as he always did when any
new emotion touched her. Now he
saw her lips part a trifle and her eyes
widen with amazement, and he knew
that for the first time she beheld and
recognized womanly beauty in its per
fection.
She did not speak but leaned against
the door-jamb drinking in this appa
rition. In the little pause that fell
presently she turned to the old lady.
“Yes. mother,” she said softly,
“please do.”
The stranger flashed a brilliant
glance at her, and with an inimitably
pretty gesture reached out a gloved
hand and patted her arm, bare under
the rolled-tip sleeve.
"Mr. Sandry.” called John Daily,
standing on the foot log, “will ye come
down here a roinnit?”
“Siletz,” said Ma, when the glitter
ing guest had been shut away in San
dry's little south room, “what for do
you wgnt we should keep her?”
“Why—I don't know, mother,” said
the girl simply, “only she’s too beau
tiful to let go. She looks like the*
sun on snow.”
"Yes. Yes, I think she does.” re
turned Ma inscrutably, “and’s about as
cold and false.”
As Sandry joined his foreman he
saw that something had ruffled the
usually placid temper of the slow
giant.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Hampden of the \rella Pines is in
the office,” said Daily sharply, “an’
from his looks he’s got somethin’
nasty up his sleeve.”
"Oh, yes—Hampden—lie’s one of the
owners, isn’t lie?”
The two men walked back to the of
fice and found, seated in the swing
chair, with his feet on Sandrys desk,
a short, square man with a face and
manner which set Sandry on edge at
JS
rw y v
Watched Her Turn and Ride Down
One of the Mysterious Paths.
the first glance. They both bespoke a
nature self-satisfied to the point of
pride, a crafty shrewdness that had
been eminently successful and an ada
mantine hardness of purpose.
“Ah, Mr. Sundry," he said, taking
his feet from the table with insult
ing slowness, ‘Trn Hampden—of the
Yella Pines—and 1 come over on a
little matter o’ business.’’
Sandry bowed.
“Glad to know you Mr. Hampden,”
he said civilly, though the memory of
the damaged rollway came suddenly
up before him, biasing his appraise
ment of the man.
“And I might as well get it over
with, for it s bound to be against the
grain a bit.”
As he spoke, a smile that was meant
to be insolently apologetic but sue
needed only in being clumsy, creased
his weathered face, drawing his small,
sharp eyes into narrow slits.
“Yes? ’ said Sandry coldly.
“It’s about that track 0’ "stumpage
you're slash in' your log-trail aero6t.’’
“Yes?” said Sandry again. “What
about the tract? It isn't spirally
good and we’re leaving It. Intend to
cross it and cut into the East Belt."
There was a slight tone of satisfac
tion in his voice, l’or the East Belt
stumpage was a little the best thing
In all this magnilicent timber country,
&nd the eyes of the Yellow Pines
people had heen on it enviously for
years, according to John Daily.
"Jits' so. Jus’ so,” said Hampden,
“only I’m afraid we’ll have to stop
your operations, Mr._Sandry. The fact
I
Is, we’ve just 1>ought IhTS trail, aif
as it comprises two hundred and fifty
acres, an' is in the form of a narrow
Strip runnin' north an’ south, it will
effectually keep you out o’ the East
Belt—unless, o' course, you should buy
It of us.”
For a moment Sundry regarded the
speaker in mild astonishment,
i “You must be mistaken Mr. Hamp
den," he said; "all the stumpage for
, five miles north and east is our prop
1 erty, with options on every privately
owned section for another seven miles
in both directions. And this tract you j
speak of lies within a mile and a half
of camp. You are suffering under a
hallucination.”
Sandry smiled coldly.
"If you will take the trouble to look
up the records in the state land office
at Salem,” returned Hampden smooth
ly, "you'll find that I'm in rnv right
mind, all right. This here track has
been duly filed on under the home
stead law by one T. J. O’Connei, and
sold by him last week to the Yella
Pines Lumber company. Now, my
young Easterner, you can’t run yer log
trail acrost our land.”
Hampden rose, his little eyes shin
ing with savage triumph.
Sandry rose also.
"I’ll neither take the trouble to go
to Salem nor pay the least attention
to your threats,” he said, and his man
ner was coolly unconcerned, “and I
should advise that you get 'his com
pany out of your head as quickly as
possible. And now good day.”
He turned, as if the interview were
at an end, and seated himself at the
desk from which Hampden had just
risen.
“By gosh, you’d better!” said the
other with a snap of his heavy jaws as
he strode past Daily and out of the
open door.
"An', by God, we will!”
This last came in the deep boom
of the foreman, who was watching
the depart' -g lumberman with the bit
ter enmifo of years of fighting.
“Now. what do you think of that?”
asked Sandry in profound disgust.
"Just what I’ve thought of him for
years—damned spectacular bluff!"
CHAPTER IX.
Hampden and the East Belt.
In the press of business and the
pleasant moiling over the whole old
city of New York with Miss Ordway,
Sandrv forgot all about Hampden in
the next few days. Ma Daily had noth
ing to say, keeping a grim silence,
I which Sundry noticed. As for Siletz,
| she followed her with fascinated eyes
whenever she appeared. Miss Ordway
did not cat with the men. Her morn
ings were given up entirely to the in
I ccssant clicking of the typewriter in
the seclusion of the little room, and
she emerged after the noon hour, ate
with Ma Daily and Siletz, and inva
riably took a short walk in the after
noon.
In the ovenfngs Sandry came In, and
they sat in the empty eating room, dis
cussing with a common knowledge
that seemed to shut them apart to
gether, the things of the great out
side world. At such times Siletz lis
tened in quiet eagerness, her dark face
aglow and her eyes like mysterious
pools in the shadow of her heavy hair.
That week there were several arri ;
vals at Daily's camp—well-clad, re-1
sponsible-looking business men from
Portland; and before they left, Sandry
had landed such an order for logs as
plunged the camp into the hardest
work, longest hours and highest over- ]
time it had ever known.
Also he sent out word to Toledo that
he had use for all the men he could
lay hands on.
An extra crew was pnt to building !
the log trail up thre -h the slashed1
opening to the East belt, and activity
characterized the hills.
The incessant shrill toots of the don
key, the scream and cough of Its fussy
labors, the rumble and clatter of the
log train, began to be music in San-:
dry’s ears, and the letters he wrote'
to his father became brighter, filled
with the exhilaration of accomplish
ment.
For a day or two the work went
forward finely and the new logs of the
fresh laid trail gleamed white against
the green of the mountain. Then Col
lins. sent into the uncut timber ahead
to blaze for further operations, re
turned to the works in double-quick i
j time.
“John,’ he said to the foreman, for 1
none, of the men would award Sundry
j the right of consultation unless it was
unavoidable, even yet, so distinct atiA
deep-rooted was tlmir aversion to the
Easterner and ltis rawness; “John,
they’s a new homesteader's shack set
tin’ square aerost the trail.’’
“The hell you say! Hampden!"
The logger nodded. The purport ct
Hampden’s visit had been freely
i spread in the camp.
Daily turned to Sandry.
| “They’s a new cabin settin’ aerost
! our trail up in the track between
here'n the East Pelt, Mr. Sandry. Let's
go up an take a look at it," he said
"I guess Hampden's pusliin Ilia hiuft.”
J With a surge of anger Sandry |
turned abruptly, and the two men
1 struck up the new trail.
| “I’ll have to settle that man. Daily,"
said the owner; "has ne been doing
such things ever since the two com
panies have been rivals?"
“Pretty much. Sometimes we’ve
been doin' ’em," returned Daily grim
ly. Sandry laughed.
“Well, you Westerners believe in
fixing things first-hand, anyway, which
helps some."
Far up in the heavy timber they
came into a small natural clearing
some 200 feet In extent, set like a
hole amid the solid hulk ot the close
crowding pines. In the center was a
tiny lo$ shack, shako roofed, without
doors or windows, {lie very feast 'a
man might do In grudging compliance
with the homestead law. They looked
at It from all sides, noticed a few
blazes on the nearest trees, read a
clumsily executed trespass notice, and
returned to camp.
"And us with our big contract with
the Portland Lumber mills!” said San
dry "I begin to see. Daily, you
gather out ten men and go up and
Tu T
T
j |
With a Face and Manner Which Set
Sandry on Edge.
take that shack to pieces just as quick
as you know how. Don't leave a
trace. Bring the timbers away and
start felling from that end to meet the
tralL’
As the foreman went among the
men picking his crew, Sandry turned
down across the slough toward the of
fice. Once settled at his desk, he took
out the records of the Dillingworth
company and began a systematic
search for word of the narrow tract of
hill and timber between the camp and
the tine Hast Belt.
When Daily returned at quitting
time to report the demolition of the
cabin and the start of the new cutting,
he had found nothing.
"That s strange," he said uneasily.
“Are these all the records, Daily? Has
anything ever been destroyed? I can
find nothing bearing on this piece of
land, and yet the statement turned
over to me by Frazer distinctly says
that everything from the southwest
section corner here at the camp within
a radius of five miles north and east
belongs to us, with numbers, and all
data. What does this Hampden mean,
and what sort of a tract is this strip?
I see no mention made of it."
! “No—that strip was part of the Baal
• Belt. The company Sought it tod'
j year ago from a busted speculator
who sold ’em first the north atumpagt
an’ then this at a sacrifice price.
That’s why Hampden’s always ben so
sore over it. He wanted it himself.
Stafford, the speculator's name was.
A smooth man from the Fast. There
was some hitch about iltlcs—specially
about this here strip, an' the deal hung
fire for some time an' Hampden danced
a war dance, lie was so blame anxious
to knock it. but old Fraser beat him
to it an won out. Finally it was
settled an’ the strip come under the
Fast Belt deed.”
“Oh 1 see!" said Sandry. shifting a
sheaf of papers "Here it is. Well,
that’s a relief. And now for this Mis
ter Hampden.”
But Hampden was for himself and
with a vengeance.
That evening Sandry met Siletz
across the little meadow back of the
camp, where he had gone for the mail
sack, left swinging on the forked stick
set tip beside the county road. It had
been a very wet day, with heavier
showers than usual, and the veils of
fog clung low along the hills. The
little drops of mist were thick on her
flannel shirt and on the two braids
which hung down across her breast,
round and girlish under the clinging
woolen garment. As she came up to
him he noticed the look of her eyes,
and knew that something had stirred
the emotions beneath that quiet ex
terior.
“Been up on the ridge?” he asked,
vexed that it should take a slight ef
fort to keep liis voice to the common
place. This girl in her natural setting
always took him out of the everyday,
affected him like a play with lowered
lights, soft music and alien scenes.
“Yea." she said dreamily, falling in
to the whimsical speech that only es
caped her when she stood apart on the
■lilts, or listened to the pities, 'It came
tonight.”
lt?”
Sandrv had gone a little way to meet
her and the camp was shut troni sight
by a clump or spruce new growth and
iow branched i
Yes—the light Oh. the great lights
red and gold and purple. When the
sun breaks through just at the last.
And 1 know the ocean is under it
blue and purple, too, like the hills.
Borne day i'll see it. ’
“You picture these things, don’t
you?" he said, “the things vou have
never seen the sea aud the cities and
the outside world?"
“Yes-1 know them all—my way.
Sometimes 1 don't think I want to see
them in their way—the real way They
might not lie so beautiful. The Preach
er says the glories of the world are a
lure of the Devil. But 1 don't think so.
It don’t seem as if (<od would make
tilings beautiful and let the Devil have
them to ruin people with and (lod
made all things And we bvo His hest
tilings."
“You believe that.’" asked Sandry,
: with an otic! noteln KIs voice.
[ “Relieve It?’’ said the girl wonder
: lngly. “Of course. Don’t you?’’
"Well—it's been a long while since
I’ve believed anything.’’
The girl was near to him now, the
dreamy look of her eyes dissipated in
amazement.
“You’re lost!” she said simply. “The
Preacher would say so—even Wahloo
wah would say so, and old Kolawmie!”
“Wahloowah—Kolawmie? Who are
they?”
“The Indian woman you saw me
talking to in the glade and an old, old
man of the Siletz. He who believes
nothing will be punished by the Great
Spirit—even as the preacher says in
his way. And the Bible."
That sudden mist in her eyes
touched Sandry.
“And so you would have me believe,
little S’letz?” he asked gently. The
mist had thickened tinder the heavy
lashes, and a look of distress was on
her face where every emotion bared
Itself in unguarded innocence to the
observer.
“Oh, dear heaven!” she breathed,
l “yes—oh, yes, you must! Why you
would—you would—” out she could get
no further with the appalling thought.
“And you?” probed Sandry curious
ly. “Have you visions of the soul's re
ward and punishment? Are you bound
for celestial peace?”
“Yes,” site said solemnly, "I must
save my soul, though I lose the whole
world.”
The majestic Bible language cast
over the man a feeling of smallness
and he dropped his eyes.
“All right, S letz,” he said, smooth
ing the braid in his fingers, “I’ll be
lieve anything you say—set roe up a
totem pole or attend Sunday school at
Toledo. Only forget it. By George,
what a nead of hair! If I were a wom
an I’d give a thousand dollars for it!”
He lifted the rope and weighed it
critically.
“Why, what for?” asked Siletz, her
eyes still solemn.
“To have it, of course. You’re dread
fully unsophisticated. Come along.’
And swinging the mail sack ne
turned toward camp. Siletz came si
lently iK his heels, falling in behtnd
with a certain instinct, and Sandry
had an unpleasant suggestion of wil
lernees processions he had seen enter
ing Toledo, enlivened by brilliant hues
and canine adjuncts. He turned
whimsically for a look at the rear.
”oosnah brought it up with a faithful
ness to detail that was convincing.
At the western door of the cook
ihack they were met by Miss Ordway,
nlooming like a hothouse plant behind
olate glass, an incongruous element in
aer belted dress of light broadcloth.
3he leaned in the doorway with inimi
’.at’e grace, an immaculate hand on
iither side.
"The wild huntress!” she smiled at
Siletz.
“No.” Will the *VrV. “V mwvmr taw*.
t love tne deer best In the fern.”
“Yea?” said Alisa Ordway curiously,
and Sandry, kicking the clinging
sartb from his caulked boots, saw the
Jivining spirit of the writer piobing
:his elemental nature. "Why? Wouldn't
you be proud of an antlored head with
:he mark of your skill between the
3yes?”
Siletz flung out a hand In a quick
gesture.
“Oh, no, no—I could never do ft.
Cnless,” she finished, still in that
iarnest manner, “someone i loved
were starving Then I could.”
Sandry looked at the two sweet
'aces, one so lovely in its smiling,
imused alertness, the other so ahan
loned to the feeling her own words
lad stirred, and a deep admiration for
both filled him.
"Wild to the wild,” he said under his
breath. ‘What sre you, little S’let*? I
wonder if I’ll ever know?”
"S’letz,” broke in the foreman, pass
ing in his lumbering fashitm, "the.
Preacher's cornin'. I heard today he's
Deen seen a couple times—once cross
ln’ the Big Slough below the bridge,
an’ once in the hills."
For the first time since he had
known this girl with her varied nature,
Sandry saw the swift lighting of girl
ish excitement in her face »s she
flashed around at Daily.
“Oh!” she cried gladly, “how soon
will he be here. I wonder?"
“Don’t know."
.
CHAPTER X.
The Fight In the Timber.
When Sundry awoke next morning
the gray day was alight outside his
pane and he could hear the rumble of
(he dinkey as it rocked up from the
lower rollway. By this he knew (bat
oreakfast was over and the crows out,
in the hills. Therefore he got mto hia
clothes In double-quick time, swung up
to the cook-shack, washed in the porch
and presented himself with apologies
to .Mr Daily
Siiets? came in In the dusk of the
long room and set the cup beside uim,
quiet, soft-footed, sliin and straight
in her plain garments. She seemed
made for service, the unquestioning
service of woman, as she waited upon
his needs after the fashion of the prim
itive mate of man. She placed a last
toucn here and there smiled at him
and crossing to the west door, snapped
her fingers to the big mongrel and
stepped out.
Sundry, his hand unconsciously
poised with raised spoon, watched her.
He saw her hasten as she neared the
i edge of the level, and finally, as if she
* could ho longer hold herself to the
decorum of her pace, break into flight,
running like a deer up among the ptiien
with long bounding leaps. As she dis
appeared he dropped his baud and be
came aware of ^la Dally in the door
to the kitchen She, too, was watching
l her.
TO BE CONTINUED NEXT ibSUE,