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CHAPTER I.-Edtth Maltland. a frank,
free and unspoiled younsr Piiilailelphia
fflrl, la taken to the Colorado mountains
by her uncle, Robert Maltland. James
Armstrong, Maltland's protege, falls in
love with her.
CHAPTER II. His persistent woolns
thrills the girl, but she hesitates, and
Armstrong Roes cast on business with
out a delinlte answer.
CHAPTER III. Enid hears the story
of a mining engineer. Newbold, whose
wife fell off a cliff and was so seriously
hurt that ho wan compelled to shoot her
to prevent her beiaer eaten' by wolves
while he went for help.
The Story and the Letters.
Imagine, if you please, the forest
primeval; yes, the murmuring pines
and the hemlocks of the poem as well,
, by the side of a rapidly rushing moun
tain torrent fed by the eternal snows
of the lofty peaks of the great range.
A level stretch of grassy land where
a mountain brook joined the creek
was dotted with clumps of pines and
great boulders rolled down from the
everlasting hills half an acre of open
clearing. On the opposite side of the
brook the canon wall rose almost
sheer for perhaps five hundred feet,
ending in jagged, needle-edged pin
nacles of rock, sharp, picturesque and
beautiful. A thousand feet above ran
tha timber lino, and four thousand
feet above that the crest, of tho Ereat
est pesK in the mam range.
The white tents of the little encamp
ment which had gleamed so brightly
in the clear air and radiant sunshine
of Colorado, now stood dim and ghost
li!;o in tho red reflection of a huge
caropfire. It was the evening of the
first day in tho wilderness.
For two days since leaving the
wagon, the Maitland party with its
long train of burros heavily packed,
its horsemen and the steady plodders
on foot, had advanced into unexplored
mid almost inaccessible retreats of
the mountains into the primitive in
deed! In this delightful spot they had
pitched their tents and the perma
nent camp had been made. Wood
was abundant, tha water at hand was
as cold as ice, as clear as crystal and
as soft as milk. There was pas
turage for tho horses and burros on
the other side of the mountain brook.
The whole place was a little amphi
theater which humanity occupied per
haps the first time since creation.
Unpacking the burros, setting up
the tents, making the camp, building
the. fire, had used up the late remain
der of the day which was theirs when
they had arrived. Opportunity would
come tomorrow to explore the coun
try, to climb the range, to try the
stream that tumbled down a succes
sion of waterfalls to the right of tha
camp and roared and rushed, merrily
around its feet until, swelled by the
volume of tho brook, it lost itself in
tree-clad depths far beneath. Tonight
rest after labor, tomorrow play after
The evening meal was over. Enid
could not help think with what
scorn and contempt her father would
have regarded the menu, how his gorge
would have risen hers, too, for that
matter! had it been placed before
him on the old colonial mahogany of
the dining-room in Philadelphia. But
up there in the wilds she had eaten
the coarse homely fare with the zest
and relish of the most seasoned ranger
of the hills. Anxious to be of service,
she had burned her hands and smoked
her hair and scorched her face by
usurping the functions of the young
ranchman who had been brought along
as cook, and had actually fried the
nacon herself! Imagine a goddess
with a frying pan! The black thick
coffee and the condensed milk, drunk
from the granite ware cuu. had a more
oeiicious aroma and a more delight
ful taste than the finest Mocha and
Java in the daintiest porcelain or
France. Optimum condimentum. The
girl was frankly ravenously hungry.
the air, the altitude, the exertion, the
excitement made her able to eat any-
ining ana enjoy It.
She was gloriously beautiful, too;
even her brief experience In the west
had brought back the missing roses
to her cheek, and had banished the
bistre circles from beneath her eyes.
Robert Maitland, lazily reclining
propped up against a boulder, his feet
- - iVV: - . ..
Vi '. ... v.
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to the "fire, smoking an old pipe thai,
would have given his brother the hor
rors, looked with approving com.
She Actually Fried the Bacon Herself.
placency upon her, confident and sat
isfied that his prescription was work
ing well. Nor was he the only one
who looked at her that way. Marlon
and Emma, his two daughters, wor
shipped jtheir handsome Philadelphia
cousin asd they sat one on either side
of her on the great log lying between
the tents and the fire. Even Bob
Junior condescended to give her ap
proving glances. Thp whole camp
was at her feet. Mrs. Maitland had
been greatly taken by her young
niece. Kirkby made no secret of his
devotion, Arthur Bradshaw and Henry
Philips, each a "tenderfoot" of the ex
tremist character, friends of business
connections In the east, who were
spending their vacation with Mait
land, shared In the general devotion;
to say nothing of George the cook and
Pete, the packer and horse wrangler.
Philips, who was an old acquaint
ance of Enid's, had tried his luck with
her back east and had sense enough
to accept as final his faliura. Rr&á
Buaw was a solemn young man wltn
out that keen sense oí humor which
was characteristic of the west. The
others were suitably dressed for ad
venture, for Bradshaw's Idea of an ap
propriate costume was distineuished
chiefly by long green felt puttees
which swathed his huge calves and
excited curious Inquiry and ribald
comment from the surprised denizens
of each mountain hamlet through
which they had passed, to all of which
Bradshaw remained serenely oblivious.
The young man, who does enter espe
cially into this tale, was a vestryman
of the church In his home In tho
suburbs of Philadelphia. His piety
"aa oeen put to a severe strain in the
That day everybody had to work on
the trail everybody wanted to for
that matter. The hardest labor con
sisted in the driving of the burros.
Unfortunately there was no good and
trained leader among them through
an unavoidable mistake, and the camp
ers had great difficulty in keeping the
burros on the trail. To Arthur Brad
shaw had been allotted the most ob
stinate, cross-grained and determined
of the unruly band, and old Kirkby
and George paid particular attention
to instructing him in the gentle art
of manipulating him over the rocky
"Wall," said Kirkby with his some-
wnat Janguid, drawling, nasal voice,
"tllat there burro's like a ship w'ich
I often seed 'em w'en I was a kid nWn
cast afore I come out to God's conn.
try. Nature has pervided 'em with a
kind of a helium. I remember If you
wanted the boat to go to the right
yon shoved the helium over to thn
lcft - Sta'boad an' port was the terms
as I recollects 'cm. It's lest the i-amo
with burros, you takes 'em by the
tiller, that's by the tail, git a good
tight twist on It an' ef you want him
to head to the right, Blew his stern
.sheets around to the left, an' you got
to be keerful you don't git no kick
back w'ich ef it lands on you Is worse
'n tho ree-coil of a mule."
Arthur faithfully followed dlrpc-
tions, narrowly escaping the outraged
brute's small but sharp pointed heels
or. occasion. His efforts not being
pr oductive of much success, finally in
hi:; despair ho resorted to brute
strength; he would pick the little ani
mal up bodily, pack and all he was a
man of powerful physique and swing
him arouhd until his head pointed In
the right direction; then with a prayer
that the burro would keep It there for
a few rods anyway, he would set bim
down and start him all over again.
The process oft repeated became mo
notonous after awhile. Arthur was a
slow thinking man, deliberate in ac
tion; he stood it bb long as he possibly
could. Kirkby, who rode one horse
and led two others, and thereiore v.u:i
exempt from burro driving, observed
him with great interest. He and Brad
shaw had strayed way behind the rest
of the party.
At last Arthur's resistance, patience
and piety, strained to the . breaking
point, gave way uddenly. Primitive
Instincts rose to the surface and over
whelmed him like a flood. He de
liberately sat down on a fallen tree
by the side of a trail, the burro halt
ing obediently, turned and faced him
with hanging head, apparently con
scious that he merited the disappro
bation that was being heaped upon
him, for from the desperate tender
foot there burst forth so amazing, so
fluent, so comprehensive a torrent of
assorted profanity, that even the old
past master in objuration was aston
ished and bewildered. Where did
Bradshaw, mild and Inoffensive, get
it? His proficiency would have ap
palled his rector and amazed his fel
low vestrymen. Not the Jackdaw of
Rheims himself was so cursed as that
little burro. Kirkby sat on his horse
in fits of silent laughter until the
tears ran down his cheek, the only
outward and visible expression of his
Arthur only stopped when he had
thoroughly emptied himself, possibly
of an accumulation of years of repres
sion. "Wall," said Kirkby, "you sure do
overmatch any one I ever heard w'en
it comes to cursin'; w'y, you could
gimme cards an' spades an' beat met
an' I was thought to have some gift
that-a-way in the old days."
"I didn't begin to exhaust myself,"
answered Bradshaw, shortly, "and
what I did say didn't equal the situa
tion. I'm going home."
"I wouldn't do that," urged the old
man. "Here, you take the horses an'
I'll tackle the burro."
"Gladly," said Arthur. "I would
rather ride an elephant and drive a
herd of them than waste another ruin
ute on this infernal little mule."
The story was . too good to keep,
and around the camp fire that night
Kirkby drawled it forth. There was a
freedom and easiness of Intercourse in
the camp, which was natural enough.
Cook, teamster, driver, host, guest,
men, women, children, and I had al
most said burros, stood on the same
level. They all ate and lived together.
The higher up the mountain range you
go, the deeper into the wilderness you
plunsre. too "further away ,froni the
"It Was in These Very Mountains,"
Said Robert Maitland.
conventional you draw, the more
homogeneous becomes society and the
less obvious are the Irrational and un
scientific distinctions Of tha lnwlnnrta
The guinea stamp fades and the man
and the woman are pure gold or base
metal Inherently and not by any ar
George, the cattle man, who cooked,
and Pete, the horse wrangler, who as
sisted Kirkby In looking after the
stock, enjoyed the episode uproarious
ly, and would fain hare had the exact
language repeated to them, but here
Robert Maitland demurred, much to
Arthur's relief, for he was thoroughly
humiliated by the whole performance.
It was very nleasant Innncrin
around tho camp fire and one good
story easily led to another.
"It was In these very mountains,"
said Robert Maitland, at last, when his
turn came, "that there happened one
of tho strane.andmosttflrrlbIeadr
ventures that I ever heard of. f have
pretty much forgotten the lay of the
land, but I think it wasn't very far
from here that there Is one of the
most stupendous canons through the
range; nobody ever goes there; I don't
suppose anybody has ever been there
since. It must have been at least
five years ago that It all happened."
"It was four years an nine months
exactly, Bob," drawled old Kirkby,
who well knew what was coming.
"Yes, I dare say you are right. . I
was up at Evergreen at the time look
ing after timber interests, when a
mule came wandering Into the camp,
saddle and pack still on his back."
"I knowed that there mule," said
Kirkby, "I'd sold It to a feller named,
Newbold, that had come out yere an'
married Louise Rosser, old man Ros
ser's daughter, an' him dead, an' bein'
an' orphan an' this feller bein' a fine
young man from the east, not a bit of
a tenderfoot nuther, a minin' engi
neer he called hlsself."
"Well, I happened to be there, too,
you remember," continued Maltland,
"and they made up a party to go and
hunt up the man, thinking something
might have happened."
"You see," explained Kirkby, "we
was all mighty fond of Louise Rosser,
the hull camp was actin' like a father
to her at the time, so long 's she
hadn't nobody else; we was all at the
weddln', too, some six months afore.
The gal married him on her own
hook, of course nobody makin' her,
but somehow she didn't seem none
too happy, although Newbold, who
was a perfect gent, treated her white
as far as we knowed."
The old man stopped again and re
sumed his pipe.
"Kirkby, you tell the story," said
"Not me," said Kirkby. "I have
seen men shot afore for takin' words
out 'n other men's mouths an' I ain't
never done that ylt."
"You always were one of the most
silent men I ever saw," laughed
George. "Why, that day Pete yere got
shot accidental an' had his whole
breast tore out w'en we was lumber
ing over on Black mountain, all you
said was, "Wash him off, put some
axle grease on him an' tie him up.'"
"That's so," answered Pete, "an'
there must have been somethin' pow
erful soothin' in that axle grease, for
here I am safe an' sound to this day."
"It takes an old man," assented
Kirkby, "to know when to keep his
mouth shet I learned It at the muz
zle of a gun."
"I never knew before," laughed
Maitland, "how still a man you can
be. Well, to resume the storyi having
nothing to do I went out with the
posse the sheriff gathered up "
"Him not thinkin' there had been
any foul play," ejaculated the old man.
"No, certainly not."
"Well, what happened, Uncle Bob?"
"Just you wait," said young Bob,
who had heard the story. "This 18
an awful good story, Cousin Enid."
"I can't wait much longer," returned,
the clrl. "Plecsc go op."
"Two days alter we left the camp,
we came across an awful figure,
rngged, blood stained, wasted to a
skeleton, starved "
"I have seed men In extreme cases
afore," Interposed Kirkby, "but never
none like him."
"Nor I," continued Maltland.
"Was it Newbold?" asked Enid.
"And what had happened to him?"
"He and his wife had been prospect
ing in these very mountains; she had
fallen over a cliff and broken herself
so terribly that Newbold had to shoot
"What!" exclaimed Bradshaw. "You
don't mean that he actually killed
"That's what he done," answered
"Poor man," murmured Enid.
"But why?" asked Philips.
"They were five days away from a
settlement, there wasn't a human be
ing within a hundred and fifty miles
of them, not even an Indian," contin
ued Maltland. "She was so frightfully
broken and mangled that he couldn't
carry her away."
"But why couldn't he leave her and
go for help?" asked Bradshaw.
'The wolves, the bears, or the vul
tures would have got her. These
woods and mountains were full of
them then and there are some of them
left now I guess."
The two little girls crept closer to
their big cousin, each casting anxious
giances Deyono tne nre ngnt.
Oh, you're all right, little gals,"
said Kirkby reassuringly, "they
wouldn't come nigh us while this fire
is burnln' an' they 've been pretty
well hunted out I guess; 'sides there's
men yere who'd like nothln' better'n
drawin' a bead on a big b'ar."
"And so," continued Maltland, "when
she begged him to shoot her, to put
her out of her misery, he did so and
then he started back to the settlement
to tell his story and stumbled on us
looking after him."
"What happened then?"
JTwent back. to th4m4lsald
Maltland". "V7e loaded" Newbold on "a
mule and took him with us; he was
so crazy he didn't know what was
happening; he went over the shooting
again and again in his delirium. It
"Did he die?"
"I don't think so," was the answer,
"but really I know nothing further
about him. There were some good
women In that camp; we put him In
their hands and 1 left shortly after
wards." "I kin tell the rest," said old Kirk
by. "Knowin' more about the moun
tains than most people hereabouts I
led the men that didn't go back with
Bob an' Newbold to the place w'ere
he said his woman fell, an' there we
found her, her body leastways."
"But the wolves?" queried the girl.
"He'd drug her Into a kind of a
holler and piled rocks over her. He'd
gone down into the canon, w'ich was
something frightful, an' then climbed
up to w'ere she'd lodged. We had
plenty of rope, havin' brought It along
a purpose, an' wo let ourselves down
to the shelf where she was a lyin.
We wrapped her body up In blankets
an' roped It an' finally drug her up
on the old Injun trail, leastways I sup
pose it was made afore there was any
Injuns, an' brought her back to Ever
green camp, w'ich the only thing about
it that was green was the swing doors
on the saloon. We got a parson out
from Denver an' give her a Christian
"Is that all?" asked Enid as the old
man paused again."
"Oh, the man?" exclaimed the worn,
an with quick Intuition.
"He recovered his senses so they
told us, an' we'en we got back he'd
"Where?" was the instant question
Old Kirkby stretched out his hands
"Don't ax me," he said, "he'd Jest
gone. I ain't never seed or heerd of
him sence. Poor little Louise Rosser,1
she did have a hard time."
"Yes," said Enid, "but I think the
man had a harder time than she. He
"It looked like it," answered Kirkby.
"If you had seen him, his remorse,
his anguish, his horror," said Malt
land, . "you wouldn't have had any
doubt about It. But it is getting late.
In the mountains everybody gets up
at daybreak. Your sleeping bags are
in the tents, ladies; time to go to
As the party broke up, old Kirkby'
rose slowly to his feet; he looked
meaningly toward the young woman,
upon whom the spell of the tragedy
still lingered, he nodded toward the
young brook, and then repeated his
speaking glance at her. His meaning
was patent, although no one else had
seen the covert invitation.
"Come .Kirkby," said the girl In
quick response, "you shall be my est
cort. I want a drink before I turn In.
No, never mind," she said, as Bradi
shaw and Philips both volunteered,
"not this time."
The old frontiersman and the young
girl strolled off together. They stop
ped by the brink of the rushing toN
reDt a few yards away. The noise
tnat it maae arownea the low tones ot
their voices and kept the others, busy
preparing to retire, from hearing what
"That ain't quite all the story, Miss
Enid," said the old trapper meaningly.
"There was another man." ,
"What!" exclaimed the girl.
"Oh, there wasn't nothln' wrong
"Read the Letters," He Said.
with Tunica TinRRpr. w'lnh RhA WflA
Loulse Newboia, but there wag an-
other man. r 8USpected It afore, that's
,h. wna n:.d Wnn w fnnnd har
body I knowed It." ,
To be continued.
Modern Workers' Work,
la a word, we are doing vt
amount of work. In 60 years, through
labor-saving devices and other thingf,
we do 200 years ot work, measured by.
the old standard. We have to live
fast and In this we find the cost ot
living high, according to old stand-