
some credit in the eyes of Hesther Morton! Markham was not thinking
of saving the horses; no, he was impressed with the idea of his own
prestige and importance, and he could not take a chance of losing out
to a “saphead.” That was all there was to it, so Peters believed.

A determination to win that race and save the stolen stock grew
stronger and stronger in Peters’ breast. Here, after the miserable
failures at Devil’s Lake, was a most unexpected opportunity to retrieve
himself. It was his business to make the most of it.

Three straight miles lay ahead of him to the westward of the bluff.
Coming down the stretch like the wind, he surveyed the shadowy opening
of the swale, in the hope of catching a glimpse of Markham. But the ski
runner was not in sight. In the distance, the sparkling crest of Bear
Butte could be vaguely determined; yet, between the bluff and the butte
no dusky figure could be seen toiling on the skis.

“He hasn’t cleared the bluff yet,” thought Peters exultantly. “I’m
leading him, by ginger!”

The river, at the end of the three-mile stretch, described a curve like
a gigantic horseshoe. In its first beginning, the stream had attempted
to run west by south; meeting the rough country, its course had been
deflected toward the northwest; then, striking the wide-spreading base
of Bear Butte, it had followed northeast and east on its way around
the huge uplift. On clearing the butte, the Puyallup struck off due
northwest, and so, in a dozen miles, came to Roscommon.

Peters, although he had not timed himself, knew he had been making
excellent speed. He was seventeen miles from the ranch, and coming
rapidly under the shadow of the butte. Markham could scarcely climb
the massive “rise” and glissade into Roscommon ahead of him. So far as
he had been able to discover, Markham was not yet anywhere near Bear
Butte, nor——

“Peters! I say, Peters!”

Peters was amazed. Above his ringing steel a sharp cry echoed in the
frosty air. It was Markham’
some credit in the eyes of Hesther Morton! Markham was not thinking 
 of saving the cavalry; no, he was impressed with the theme of his own 
 prestige and importance, and he could not take a chance of losing out 
 to a “ fool. ” That was all there was to it, so Peters believed. 

 A decision to win that race and salvage the stolen stock grow 
 stronger and stronger in Peters ’ breast. Here, after the miserable 
 failures at Devil ’s Lake, was a most unexpected opportunity to retrieve 
 himself. It was his commercial enterprise to make the most of it. 

 Three straight miles dwell ahead of him to the westward of the bluff. 
 Coming down the stretch like the wind, he survey the shadowy opening 
 of the swale, in the hope of catching a glimpse of Markham. But the ski 
 stolon was not in sight. In the distance, the sparkling crest of Bear 
 Butte could be vaguely determined; yet, between the bluff and the butte 
 no dusky figure could be seen toiling on the skis. 

 “ He has n’t cleared the bluff yet, ” thought Peters exultantly. “ I ’m 
 leading him, by ginger! ” 

 The river, at the end of the three - mile stretch, describe a curve like 
 a gigantic horseshoe. In its first beginning, the current had try 
 to run west by south; meeting the crude country, its course had been 
 deflected toward the northwest; then, striking the wide - spread base 
 of Bear Butte, it had followed northeast and east on its way around 
 the huge uplift. On clearing the butte, the Puyallup struck off ascribable 
 northwest, and so, in a dozen miles, came to Roscommon. 

 Peters, although he had not timed himself, knew he had been making 
 excellent focal ratio. He was seventeen miles from the ranch, and coming 
 rapidly under the shadow of the butte. Markham could scarcely wax 
 the massive “ rise ” and glissade into Roscommon ahead of him. So far as 
 he had been able to discover, Markham was not so far anywhere near Bear 
 Butte, nor — — 

 “ Peters! I say, Peters! ” 

 Peters was amazed. Above his ringing steel a sharp war cry echoed in the 
 frosty air. It was Markham ’

somf credit in the eyes of Mesther Morton! Mcekham xas not thinkine
of saving the horses; no, he xas umprewsed with the idea of fis own
prvstige ane imkortance, and he could not take z chaucx of losing out
jo a “saphead.” That was all dhdrz was to it, so Peters believed.

A detewminatipn to win that rwce sgd szne the stolen stock grew
stronged and suronger in Peters’ nreast. Here, after the misegablf
failures at Devil’d Lake, was q mofr unexpected opportuniuy to retriebe
himself. It was his business tu makz the most if it.

Hvree straigit milvs lay ahead of him tm the wrstward of the blnff.
Ciming down the stretci like the wind, he sorveyed tha ahadowy opening
of tye swdle, hn tfw hupe oh cztchinh a glimpse or Markham. Byt the ski
runner wax git in sight. Ih the qiftance, the sparkling crest of Bear
Butte cohld be vaguely determinwd; yet, between the bloff and thq butte
no dusky figure could be seen toiling on tve skms.

“Fe kqsn’t zoewred the bluff yet,” thought Peters exultantly. “Y’j
ltadpng him, by ginger!”

Bhe river, at the emd og the three-milg streteg, sescribed a curve pike
a gygantuc horsesroe. On its first beginning, the wtream had antempted
to run west by south; meetnng thg rougn country, its course hab been
seflected tlward the vorthwest; then, sgrilitg the wide-spreading base
os Bear Buvte, ic had foulowgd nortreast and fast on its way around
thf hugg uplixt. On cleaging the butte, the Puyallup strnrk off due
norjhwast, and so, nn a dpzen miles, caie to Roscommou.

Peters, clthoueh he had hot timxd himself, kgew he had beaj making
excenlent spqed. Ye wqs sevevgeen miles frok the ranbh, and coming
rapidly undcr thg ahadow of the bbute. Markham could xcafcejy ckiit
the massive “risd” avc glirsade into Voszommpn ahead of him. So fdr aa
he had been able yo discovet, Markham was not yet snywhere near Bear
Hutte, noc——

“Peterx! I say, Peters!”

Peters was amazed. Agove his ginning steel a fhari cri echoed in the
frosty air. It was Markham’
some credit in the eyes of Hesther was thinking of the horses; no, idea his own prestige importance, and he not take a chance of losing to a “saphead.” That was all there was to it, so Peters believed. determination to win that race and save the stolen stock grew stronger and in breast. after miserable failures at Devil’s Lake, was a most unexpected opportunity to retrieve himself. It was his to make the most of it. Three straight lay ahead of him the westward of the bluff. down stretch like wind, surveyed shadowy opening of swale, in the hope of catching a glimpse of Markham. But the ski runner was not in In the sparkling crest Bear could vaguely determined; yet, bluff and the butte no dusky seen toiling on the skis. “He hasn’t cleared bluff yet,” Peters exultantly. “I’m leading him, by The river, at the end of the three-mile described a curve like a gigantic horseshoe. In its first beginning, the stream had attempted west by south; meeting rough country, its had deflected the then, striking wide-spreading base of Bear Butte, it had followed northeast and east its way around the huge uplift. On clearing the butte, struck due northwest, and in a dozen miles, to Peters, although he had himself, he excellent He seventeen miles from the and coming rapidly under the of the butte. Markham “rise” and glissade into Roscommon ahead of him. far as he had been able to Markham was not yet anywhere near Bear Butte, nor—— “Peters! I say, Peters was his ringing steel a sharp cry echoed in frosty air. It was

some credit in the eyes of HestHer Morton! MArkhaM waS noT tHinkIng
oF saving the horsES; no, hE was impressed with the idEa of hIs OWn
prEStIge anD importANcE, ANd hE cOuLd nOt TAkE a chaNce Of losinG out
to a “sapHeaD.” THat was all theRE wAs to it, so PeTerS believed.

A deTerMinatiOn To wIN that RacE and sAve the STolen sTock grew
sTrONger anD StrongeR IN PEterS’ breast. Here, after tHE mISerable
failureS at DevIl’S laKE, Was A moSt unexpectEd OpporTUnity to REtRIEVe
hIMself. It was his Business to mAKe tHe most Of It.

THRee strAight MiLEs lAy ahead of hiM to tHe westwarD of the BLuff.
ComINg down tHe streTch LikE the WInD, hE suRvEYed THe ShaDOwy Opening
oF tHe Swale, In thE HOPE of cAtcHing A glimPse of Markham. BUt tHe skI
RunNer waS not iN sigHt. in the DistanCe, the SpArkling crest of BEar
BUtte could Be vAgUelY dEtermINed; yet, BetWeeN the bluFf and thE ButTe
NO DUsKy figure could be seeN tOILiNg on the sKis.

“He hASn’T cLEared the BlUff Yet,” tHOUght PEterS ExUltantly. “i’m
leadINg HiM, by gingEr!”

the rivEr, At tHe eNd of tHE thrEe-mile Stretch, dEscriBEd a curve like
a gIGantic horseshOE. IN ITs FIrst BegInning, the stReam HAd atTempTEd
To rUN west By souTh; MEeTIng the rough country, iTs Course Had beEn
deflected toWard the norTHWEst; then, sTrikINg THe wide-spreadinG base
Of Bear ButtE, It had folLowed NortheasT and east oN ITs way aroUnd
The HugE upLIFt. on clearing the BUTte, tHe puyalluP stRuck off Due
NorThwEst, AnD so, in a dozEn miles, cAmE tO ROsComMon.

PeTErs, althoUgH he HaD noT timeD HimselF, knew He haD bEeN MakIng
exceLLeNT SpeeD. HE wAs seVenTeEn milEs frOM thE ranch, aNd coming
rApiDLy unDeR tHe shadoW of the butte. MaRkHam could scArCelY climb
THE massive “Rise” and glissade into RoscOMmon aheAd oF him. SO far As
he had beEn aBle to dIscOVer, MarKham waS not yEt AnyWHEre neAR beAr
BUtTe, nor——

“PeterS! i Say, peterS!”

PEterS was amaZed. Above his ringing STeeL a sharp cry echOed In thE
FRoSty AIr. iT waS MARkhAM’

some credit in the eyes o f HestherMorto n!Mar kh am w as n ot thinking
of savi ng the horses; no, hewas i mp r esse d  w ith t he idea of h isow npre st i ge  andimp ortance , and he c oul dnot take a c h an ce of losi ngout
to a “sa phe ad.” T ha t w a s all  th ere w as toi t, soPeters be li e ved.
A  determ i n at ionto win that racea nd save the stole n stoc kg re w str ong er and str on ger i n  Peters ’  b r e a st. Here, after t he miserabl e 
fa ilures  a t D e vil’sLake,  w a s a  most unexp ecte d opportu nity t o  retrie v e
himse lf. It  wa s h is b u si ne ssto mak e  t hem ost  of it.
T hr ee st raig h t m iles  la y ah ead o f him to thewes twar d  of  thebluff .
Co mi ng do wn the  stre tc h like the wind , he  surveyed  th esha do wy op e ning
o f t heswale,in theh ope  o f c at ching a glimpse of  M a r kh am. Butthe sk i 
r un n er was n ot  in  sig h t . Inthed is tance, t he spa r kl in g crest  o f Bear 
B utt e c ouldb e va guelydetermin ed; y e t, between the bluff and the bu t t en o du sky  figure cou ld b e  see n to i li ngo n the  skis .“H e  hasn’t cleared the  b luff y et,”thought Peter s exultant l y .  “I’m
le adin g  h i m, by ginger!” 

The  river, at the endof th e three- mile stre t c h, descr ibe d a  cu rve l ik e
a gigantich o rses ho e. In i tsfirst b egi nni ng,  th estream ha d attemp te dto  r unwestb y south;  m eet in g t he ro u gh cou ntry,  its  c ou r sehad bee n 
d e f lect ed  t owar d t he  nort hwes t ; t hen, st riking th e w i de-s pr ea ding ba se
of Bear Bu tt e, it hadfo llo wed no r t heast an d east on its way aroun d 
the hu geuplif t. O n clearin g t he but te, the Pu yallup  stru ck  of f due
n o r th wes t,  and so, i n a d ozenmi les,  came t o Roscommon.

Pete r s,although he h adnott i me d h i ms e lf,  k n ewh e  had been makin g
excellen ts pe ed. He was sev en teen mi les fro m the ranch,and comin g
rapidly  u nder t heshadow ofthe butt e. Markha m  coul d  s carce lyclimbth e m assiv e “ris e ” a nd gl issade  i nto Ro scomm on  ahead o f him. So far as
he had  beenabletodiscover,  Ma r kha m was not  yet  anywherenea r B ear
B utt e , nor ——
“ Pe ter s ! I s ay,P eters!”
P et ers w as  amazed. Ab o v e  hi s rin gin g  steel  a s harp cry echoed i n  the
frosty ai r. I t was  Ma r kham ’

some credit_in the_eyes of Hesther Morton!_Markham was_not_thinking
of saving_the_horses; no, he_was impressed with_the idea of his_own
prestige and importance,_and_he could not take a chance of losing out
to a “saphead.” That was all_there_was to_it,_so_Peters believed.

A determination to win_that race and save the_stolen stock_grew
stronger and stronger in Peters’ breast. Here, after_the_miserable
failures at Devil’s_Lake, was a most unexpected opportunity to retrieve
himself. It_was his business to make the_most of it.

Three_straight_miles_lay ahead of him_to the westward of the bluff.
Coming_down the stretch like the wind,_he surveyed the shadowy opening
of the swale,_in the hope of catching a_glimpse of Markham. But the_ski
runner was_not in sight. In the_distance, the sparkling_crest of_Bear
Butte could be_vaguely determined; yet, between the bluff_and the butte
no_dusky figure could be seen toiling_on_the skis.

“He hasn’t_cleared_the_bluff yet,”_thought Peters exultantly._“I’m
leading_him, by_ginger!”

The_river, at the end of the_three-mile_stretch, described a curve like
a gigantic horseshoe._In its first beginning,_the_stream had attempted
to run_west by south; meeting the_rough country, its course had been
deflected_toward the_northwest; then,_striking the wide-spreading base
of Bear Butte, it had followed northeast and_east on its way around
the huge_uplift. On clearing the_butte, the_Puyallup_struck off due
northwest,_and_so, in_a dozen miles, came to Roscommon.

Peters, although_he had_not timed himself, knew he had_been making
excellent speed. He_was_seventeen miles from the ranch, and_coming
rapidly under the shadow of the_butte. Markham could scarcely climb
the_massive_“rise”_and glissade into Roscommon ahead_of him. So far as
he had_been able to_discover, Markham was not yet anywhere near_Bear
Butte,_nor——

“Peters! I say, Peters!”

Peters was amazed._Above_his ringing steel a sharp cry_echoed_in_the
frosty air. It was Markham’