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the scarred hillside and pine trees clustered around it as if to pro tect the tiny home from |T^~ the cruel blasts of the ■"fi C CCT approaching winter. In summer it was very lovely there. Birds nested in the deep pine woods behind the cabin and a robin had built in the tallest pine over the roof. But now the rob/ns had fled and the woods were quiet save for the scolding chat ter of the blue jays and the occasional bark of squirrels. The grass had died under the touch of a blighting frost and the wind whistled keenly down the mountain. Hester Prentice leaned against the doorway and looked sorrowfully at the bleak hillside and the dark hole in the earth where her husband had delved for many months. A few flecks of gold had rewarded his efforts and although he still maintained an outward air of cheerfulness Hester read growing despair in his stooped shoulders and evasive eye, and only this morning she had noted with a little shock that his dark hair was silvered around the temples. “And Dick is only thirty,” she murmured to herself with a catch of the breath. “That awful rqine! With its alluring promises that are never fulfilled it is sapping his life of youth and happiness. Such a mockery to call it ‘Horn of Plenty.’ ‘The Vam pire’ would be a better name.” Tears clouded her blue eyes and for the moment she lost the cheerful ness that had sustained her ever since her marriage to Dick Prentice six months before. Family and friends had protested at her foolhardiness in risking everything upon. the mining claim staked out in distant Montana. .‘There is Dick, you know,” she had smiled confidently at them. “With Dick, I would go anywhere—take any chance in the world!” So she had married him and the summer had been an ideal one, but November was upon them and Thanksgiving only a few days away. Homesickness tugged at her heart strings. Back there in New England they were making elaborate prepara tions for the great festival. They had written and urged the young pio neers to come home for 'I hanksgiv ing. Hester smiled bitterly. Why, there was scarcely a bushel of flour in the house and the bacon was al most gone—what could one do with nothing coming in? , Dick’s hopefulness had jarred on her nerves. Only this morning she had spoken sharply to him when he had made some remark about 1. hanks giving. A pang of remorse now sent her hurrying down toward the shaft. At the very edge of the opening she hesitated and peered within the tun nel. Dick was there —sitting on a keg, his head bowed in his hands; alone with his disappointment! v y W r J'Dick, Dick!” she cried, going to him and folding his head in her arms. “Come up to the house. Leave this dreadful place!” His face was hot with fe'ver and his eyes were bright. “I believe I will come up for a while, dear,” he laughed uncertainly. “This hole in the ground has rather got on my nerves, and if I could only sleep for a while—there—there I’ve forgotten to cover that dynamite—” “I’y come down and do that, dear,” protested his MTife. “You know I’ll be just as careful. Come!” Hester supported Dick up the hill and somehow, got him into bed, and because they were, twenty miles from the nearest town and there was .no direct means of communication save through their neighbor, Lin Dowd, five miles away, she had to administer simple remedies at her command until she could devise some way of getting word to the doctor. Presently Dick was muttering rest lessly in the little bedroom while Hes ter picked up his gun and went quick ly up into the woods behind the cabim If could only make Lin Dowd hear the report of the gun he might suspect trouble and come to her aid. Once in the dim of the she started a wild turkey which flut tered up with a raucous squawk. “There is our Thanksgiving din; ner!” cried Hester. “What an idiot I am to think that one can’t b 9 happy and thankful anywhere in the world! Why, if Dick were only well again I would be the most delighted woman in the universe. But we will have a Thanksgiving dinner in spite of you!” she turned and shook her fist at the Horn of Plenty below. “I will make some mincemeat—squirrel will help some, although I hate to kill the dar lings—and those wild grape preserves I made will be delicious! Why didn’t I think of it before instead of grum bling? I’m afraid Dick has noticed my downheartedness. Well, I w’on’t give way again.” With this resolution Hester lifted the gun and fired several shots in the direction of the Dowd place. She thought she heard a signaling shot in leturn, and, satisfied that help would soon be on the way, she went back to the cabin and discovered that Dick was sleeping quietly. !“ HE SOUL united to God in strong bonds / of love makes every day one of thanksgiv £ M ing to God for the numberless blessings that flow uninterruptedly from Him, but jJJ! it is well to unite often in public thanksgiving that we may teach the minds of the forgetful g children .of the Father their duty of gratitude ” OUR MOTTO—“IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND” Stillwater, Minnesota, Thursday, November 24, 1921. HORN OF PLENTY By W entworth Brown It was a lovely day for her, for Dick slept far into the afternoon. She completed her plans for Thanksgiving day, and while she stood in the door yard watching the trail along fvhich she expected to see Lin Dowd’s mules come galloping at any instant, a great plan took form in her mind. “If I could only blow the old Horn of Plenty to bits, Dick would admit defeat and go home with me. There he could have some chance in father’s office and I would work, too, if neces sary. This suspense is killing him.” She bit her lip thoughtfully as she went down the hillside to the mine. She was familiar with the workings and had often helped Dick, holding the hand drill and fetching and carry ing for him faithfully. She opened the door of the tool shed and rolled a keg of gunpowder into the mouth of the tunnel. Then she inserted a fuse into the opening and carried the length to a large rock half-way up the slope. “There, you greedy , old Horn of Plenty, you’ve swallowed all our hopes and our money. When you have vanished, perhaps we can begin over again somewhere else!” Hester did not light her fuse then, nor for several days, because Dick re quired all her attention. Lin Dowd evidently had not heard her call for help and she was compelled to do the best she could alone and unaided. On Thanksgiving morning Dick was much better. He said he felt as strong as a lion and would get up and eat some of the toothsome viands whose odors filled the cabin with re minders of Thanksgiving days ih New England. Hester had actually shot and killed a wild turkey and she was jubilant over her skill. The tur key was roasting in the oven now while Hester put the finishing touches to her tinned vegetables and the pumpkin pies she had made. “I suppose you covered the dyna mite, Hester?” asked Dick suddenly. “I forgot, dear,” she replied, and she had also forgotten her intention of blowing up the mine. Thanksgiv ing preparations had driven despair and bitterness from her heart. “I will run down there in a few moments.” Vol. XXXV: No. 17 “I believe I feel able to go myself,” began Dick, who had dressed himself and was trying his strength. Hester made such protest that he compromised on walking as far as the big rock. She stood in the doorway watching him with tender eyes. He paused by the rock, waved his hand and scratched a match to light his pipe. He tossed the flaming match end aside and Hes ter, watching it, saw it flame on the ground and then a sullen streak of red ran down the hill toward the shaft. “The fuse—fuse!” she screamed, running toward her husband. But she was too late! The quick fuse had accomplished its purpose. It reached the gunpowder—there was a deafening explosion, followed by a detonation that shook* the hillside as the store of dynamite tore into the earth. She found Dick rising to his feet, white and stern-looking. “What was that, Hester?” he asked. Tearfully, Hester made her confes sion, and she had scarcely finished when they were confronted by anoth er disaster—the little cabin they called home burst into flames, ignited by the overturned cook stove. Half an Jiour later, they faced each ether amid the smoking ruins of their home. Below a jumbled heap of up turned rocks that marked the site of the illusive Horn of Plenty. Hester, wide-eyed and pale, was afraid to meet her husband’s eyes. This was indeed a cruel Thanksgiv ing—her own fault, too! A shout came up the hill, Lin Dowd had heard the roar of the ex plosion and had lashed his mules up the trail to the Prentice claim. They saw him leave the mules and come a-foot up tha slope. He stopped at the mine and studied the ground, then he came hurrying to meet them. “Anybody hurt?” he asked anxious ly, and finding that the young settlers were intact, he tossed his hat down on the ground and proceeded to execute a weird dance around the embers of their home. , “Are you crazy ?” demanded Dick at last. “Almost,” admitted Lin breathless ly, pausing to confront them. “You folks better come down to our house to dinner. Sarah’s got a wild turkey with all the trimmings. You two will want to give thanks all the rest of your lives—understand?” “We don’t understand,” replied Dick grimly. “Come with mej then.” Lin led the way down to the upheaval that marked the site of the mine. “Look at this—and this. The explosion has cut into the vein that you always be lieved was there —you wouldn’t have found it any other way, and, well, I guess you’re a millionaire for keeps! “That Horn of Plenty mine has cer tainly overflowed with gold—and I’m darned glad of it—and if you folks can stop hugging each other you better come along and get some Thanksgiv ing dinner!” — Copyright, H'. N. U.