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Newspaper Page Text
(.- tS j(gr'''--'TW)Ml -
By Elizabeth Lillian Higgins.
That comprised the"i)eginning and
a i (he end of the waking thoughts ox
was his horse.
When the bright, earnest-faced
young fellow was not dashing over
the ranges, he was ministering to the
Watching the Picture of Grace and
needs of the splendid animal, or dis
counting upon its merits and beauty.
"Reason to brag?" he was wont to
say-'I think it! There was the
brother, 'Spitfire, dappled, but hand
some as a girl. I had to -sell him all
mischief. Yes, more than that dev
ilish, when the reckless mood came
over him. For a month Snowball
mourned. Say, it was human-like. He
used to lean over the gate looking
straight across the river, the direc
tion in which Spitfire had gone. The
hostler used to tell of howlhefgroaned
nights. Sobbing, I called it. Over it
now, and the king of the range."
This fact no rival ranchman ever
attempted or dared to combat, after
the Valley massacre during an In
That was an episode Bruce Icived to
tell about. Hemmed in, he had fought
his way through a horde of the dusky
savages. Snowball, with hoofs and
head assisting, a rescued woman and
her baby at the saddle bow, warning
word1 taken of the massacre to the
nearest agency at runaway speed.
"There was never another Snow
ball, there never will be," was the'
staunch sentiment of the proud own
er of the famous steed.
Those were bright, brisk days for
the ranch outrider. And then they
became halcyon. Una Dacre from the
East came to Station Ten. Bruce
never forgot the first day he met the
dainty, dazzling fairy who came into
his life as a vision nor she, either.
She had come West to recuperate
from an exhausting social season.
She was not an invalid, only wearied
of folly, she told her aunt, Mrs. Davis,
the wife of the clergyman at Station
Ten, longing for the inspiring air of
the mountains and the stirring and
unique scenes of the great herding
Mrs. Davis Was at the garden gate
as Bruce rode by, and had halted him
for a neighborly chat. Then as there
was a flutter of a white dress on the
porch, she called out:
"Una, my dear, you fell in love
with Snowball yesterday. Here he is
to show himself."
Pretty Miss Dacre came tripping
down the walk and was introduced to
Bruce. His bronzed cheek fired at the
touch of her dainty hand. She placed
it next across the flowing mane of
Snowball. The animal gazed at her
with his great liquid eyes, and gently
rested his head across her shoulder.
"A friend for life," spoke Bruce
Telford gravely, tenderly, his voice
tremulous with genuine emotion.
And after that,-each day whenever