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 Robert D. Farquhar 
 
 
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THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
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THE MAN 
 OF THE FOREST 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 ZANE GREY 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 
 THE DESERT OF WHEAT, 
 
 THE U. P. TRAIL, WILDFIRE, 
 
 RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE. ETC 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 
 
 By arrangement with Harper & Brothers 
 
i i 
 
 THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Copyright 1920, by Harper & Brothers 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 B-C 
 
TS 
 
 THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
MAM 2" 
 
THE MAN OF THE 
 FOREST 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 AT sunset hour the forest was still, lonely, sweet with 
 tang of fir and spruce, blazing in gold and red and 
 green; and the man who glided on under the great trees 
 seemed to blend with the colors and, disappearing, to have 
 become a part of the wild woodland. 
 
 Old Baldy, highest of the White Mountains, stood up 
 round and bare, rimmed bright gold in the last glow of 
 the setting sun. Then, as the fire dropped behind the 
 domed peak, a change, a cold and darkening blight, 
 passed down the black spear-pointed slopes over all that 
 tnountain world. 
 
 It was a wild, richly timbered, and abundantly watered 
 ?egion of dark forests and grassy parks, ten thousand feet 
 above sea-level, isolated on all sides by the southern 
 Arizona desert the virgin home of elk and deer, of bear 
 and lion, of wolf and fox, and the birthplace as well as the 
 hiding-place of the fierce Apache. 
 
 September in that latitude was marked by the sudden 
 cool night breeze following shortly after sundown. Twi- 
 light appeared to come on its wings, as did faint sounds, 
 not distinguishable before in the stillness. 
 
 Milt Dale, man of the forest, halted at the edge of a 
 timbered ridge, to listen and to watch. Beneath him 
 lay a narrow valley, open and grassy, from which rose 8 
 
 i 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 faint murmur of running water. Its music was pierced 
 by the wild staccato yelp of a hunting coyote. From 
 overhead in the giant fir came a twittering and rustling of 
 grouse settling for the night; and from across the valley 
 drifted the last low calls of wild turkeys going to roost. 
 
 To Dale's keen ear these sounds were all they should 
 have been, betokening an unchanged serenity of forest- 
 land. He was glad, for he had expected to hear the clip- 
 clop of white men's horses which to hear up in those 
 fastnesses was hateful to him. He and the Indian were 
 friends. That fierce foe had no enmity toward the lone 
 hunter. But there hid somewhere in the forest a gang 
 of bad men, sheep-thieves, whom Dale did not want to 
 meet. 
 
 As he started out upon the slope, a sudden flaring of 
 the afterglow of sunset flooded down from Old Baldy, 
 filling the valley with lights and shadows, yellow and 
 blue, like the radiance of the sky. The pools in the 
 curves of the brook shone darkly bright. Dale's gaze 
 swept up and down the valley, and then tried to pierce 
 the black shadows across the brook where the wall of 
 spruce stood up, its speared and spiked crest against the 
 pale clouds. The wind began to moan in the trees and 
 there was a feeling of rain in the air. Dale, striking a 
 trail, turned his back to the fading afterglow and strode 
 down the valley. 
 
 With night at hand and a rain-storm brewing, he did 
 not head for his own camp, some miles distant, but 
 directed his steps toward an old log cabin. When he 
 reached it darkness had almost set in. He approached 
 with caution. This cabin, like the few others scattered 
 in the valleys, might harbor Indians or a bear or a panther. 
 Nothing, however, appeared to be there. Then Dale 
 studied the clouds driving across the sky, and he felt the 
 cool dampness of a fine, misty rain on his face. It would 
 rain off and on during the night. Whereupon he entered 
 the cabin. 
 
 9 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 And the next moment he heard quick hoof-beats of 
 trotting horses. Peering out, he saw dim, moving forms 
 in the darkness, quite close at hand. They had ap- 
 proached against the wind so that sound had been dead- 
 ened. Five horses with riders, Dale made out saw them 
 loom close. Then he heard rough voices. Quickly he 
 turned to feel in the dark for a ladder he knew led to a 
 loft; and finding it, he quickly mounted, taking care not 
 to make a noise with his rifle, and lay down upon the floor 
 of brush and poles. Scarcely had he done so when heavy 
 steps, with accompaniment of clinking spurs, passed 
 through the door below into the cabin. 
 
 "Wai, Beasley, are you here ? " queried a loud voice. 
 
 There was no reply. The man below growled under 
 his breath, and again the, spurs jingled. 
 
 "Fellars, Beasley ain't here yet," he called. "Put the 
 bosses under the shed. We'll wait." 
 
 "Wait, huh!" came a harsh reply. "Mebbe all night 
 an' we got nuthin' to eat." 
 
 "Shut up, Moze. Reckon you're no good for anythin* 
 but eatin'. Put them hosses away an' some of you rustle 
 fire- wood in here." 
 
 Low, muttered curses, then mingled with dull thuds of 
 hoofs and strain of leather and heaves of tired horses. 
 
 Another shuffling, clinking footstep entered the cabin. 
 
 "Snake, it'd been sense to fetch a pack along," drawled 
 this newcomer. 
 
 "Reckon so, Jim. But we didn't, an' what's the use 
 hollerin' ? Beasley won't keep us waitin' long." 
 
 Dale, lying still and prone, felt a slow start in all his 
 blood a thrilling wave. That deep-voiced man below 
 was Snake Anson, the worst and' most dangerous char- 
 acter of the region; and the others, undoubtedly, com- 
 posed his gang, long notorious in that sparsely settled 
 country. And the Beasley mentioned he was one of 
 the two biggest ranchers and sheep-raisers of the White 
 Mountain ranges. What was the meaning of a rendez- 
 
 3 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 vous between Snake Anson and Beasley? Milt Dale 
 answered that question to Beasley's discredit; and many 
 strange matters pertaining to sheep and herders, always 
 a mystery to the little village of Pine, now became as 
 clear as daylight. 
 
 Other men entered the cabin. 
 
 "It ain't a-goin' to rain much," said one. Then came 
 a crash of wood thrown to the ground. 
 
 "Jim, hyar's a chunk of pine log, dry as punk," said 
 another. 
 
 Rustlings and slow footsteps, and then heavy thuds 
 attested to the probability that Jim was knocking the 
 end of a log upon the ground to split off a corner whereby 
 a handful of dry splinters could be procured. 
 
 "Snake, lemme your pipe, arr I'll hev a fire in a jiffy." 
 
 "Wai, I want my terbacco an' I ain't carin' about no 
 fire," replied Snake. 
 
 "Reckon you're the meanest cuss in these woods," 
 drawled Jim. 
 
 Sharp click of steel on flint many times and then a 
 sound of hard blowing and sputtering told of Jim's efforts 
 to start a fire. Presently the pitchy blackness of the 
 cabin changed; there came a little crackling of wood and 
 the rustle of flame, and then a steady growing roar. 
 
 As it chanced, Dale lay face down upon the floor of the 
 loft, and right near his eyes there were cracks between 
 the boughs. When the fire blazed up he was fairly well 
 able tc see the men below. The only one he had ever 
 seen was Jim Wilson, who had been well known at Pine 
 before Snake Anson had ever been heard of. Jim was 
 the best of a bad lot, and he had friends among honest 
 people. It was rumored that he and Snake did not pull 
 well together. 
 
 "Fire feels good," said the burly Moze, who appeared 
 as broad as he was black- visaged. "Fall's sure a-comin'. 
 . . . Now if we only had some grub!" 
 
 "Moze, there's a hunk of deer meat in my saddle-bag, 
 
 4 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 an' if you git it you can have half," spoke up another 
 voice. 
 
 Moze shuffled out with alacrity. 
 
 In the firelight Snake Anson's face looked lean and 
 serpent-like, his eyes glittered, and his long neck and all 
 of his long length carried out the analogy of his name. 
 
 "Snake, what's this here deal with Beasley?" inquired 
 Jim. 
 
 "Reckon you'll Tarn when I do," replied the leader. 
 He appeared tired and thoughtful. 
 
 " 'Ain't we done away with enough of them poor greaser 
 herders for no thin'?" queried the youngest of the gang, 
 a boy in years, whose hard, bitter lips and hungry eyes 
 somehow set him apart from his comrades. 
 
 "You're dead right, Burt an' that's my stand," re- 
 plied the man who had sent Moze out. 
 
 "Snake, snow '11 be fly in' round these woods before 
 long," said Jim Wilson. "Are we goin' to winter down 
 in the Tonto Basin or over on the Gila?" 
 
 "Reckon we'll do some tall ridin* before we strike 
 south," replied Snake, gruffly. 
 
 At this juncture Moze returned. 
 
 "Boss, I heerd a hoss comin' up the trail," he said. 
 
 Snake rose and stood at the door, listening. Outside 
 the wind moaned fitfully and scattering raindrops pat- 
 tered upon the cabin. 
 
 "A-huh!" exclaimed Snake, in relief. 
 
 Silence ensued then for a moment, at the end of which 
 interval Dale heard a rapid clip-clop on the rocky trail 
 outside. The men below shuffled uneasily, but none of 
 them spoke. The fire cracked cheerily. Snake Anson 
 stepped back from before the door with an action that 
 Expressed both doubt and caution. 
 
 The trotting horse had halted out there somewhere. 
 
 "Ho there, inside!" called a voice from the darkness. 
 
 "Ho yourself!" replied Anson. 
 
 "That you, Snake?" quickly followed the query. 
 
 5 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 'Reckon so," returned Anson, showing himself. 
 
 The newcomer entered. He was a large man, wearing 
 a slicker that shone wet in the firelight. His sombrero, 
 pulled well down, shadowed his face, so that the upper 
 half of his features might as well have been masked. He 
 had a black, drooping mustache, and a chin like a rock. 
 A potential force, matured and powerful, seemed to be 
 wrapped in his movements. 
 
 "Hullo, Snake! Hullo, Wilson!" he said. "I've 
 backed out on the other deal. Sent for you on on 
 another little matter . . . particular private." 
 
 Here he indicated with a significant gesture that Snake's 
 men were to leave the cabin. 
 
 " A-huh ! ' ' ejaculated Anson, dubiously. Then he turned 
 abruptly. "Moze, you an' Shady an' Burt go wait out- 
 side. Reckon this ain't the deal I expected. . . . An' you 
 can saddle the hosses." 
 
 The three members of the gang filed out, all glancing 
 keenly at the stranger, who had moved back into the 
 shadow. 
 
 "All right now, Beasley," said Anson, low-voiced. 
 * What's your game? Jim, here, is in on my deals." 
 
 Then Beasley came forward to the fire, stretching his 
 hands to the blaze. 
 
 "Nothin' to do with sheep," replied he. 
 
 "Wai, I reckoned not," assented the other. "An' say 
 whatever your game is, 1 ain't likin* the way you kept 
 me waitin' an' ridin' around. We waited near all day 
 at Big Spring. Then thet greaser rode up an' sent us 
 here. We're a long way from camp with no grub an* no 
 blankets." 
 
 "I won't keep you long," said Beasley. "But even if 
 I did you'd not mind when I tell you this deal concerns 
 Al Auchincloss the man who made an outlaw of you!" 
 
 Anson's sudden action then seemed a leap of his whole 
 frame. Wilson, likewise, bent forward eagerly. Beasley 
 glanced at the door then began to whisper. 
 
THE MAN OF THE^ FOREST 
 
 "Old Auchincloss is on his last legs. He's goin' to 
 croak. He's sent back to Missouri for a niece a young 
 girl an' he means to leave his ranches an' sheep all his 
 stock to her. Seems he has no one else. . . . Them ranches 
 an' all them sheep an' hosses! You know me an' Al 
 were pardners in sheep-raisin' for years. He swore I 
 cheated him an' he threw me out. An' all these years 
 I've been swearin' he did me dirt owed me sheep an*' 
 money. I've got as many friends in Pine an' all the 
 way down the trail as Auchincloss has. . . . An' Snake, 
 see here " 
 
 He paused to draw a deep breath and his big hands 
 trembled over the blaze. Anson leaned forward, like a 
 serpent ready to strike, and Jim Wilson was as tense with 
 his divination of the plot at hand. 
 
 "See here," panted Beasley. "The girl's due to arrive 
 at Magdalena on the sixteenth. That's a week from 
 to-morrow. She'll take the stage to Snowdrop, where 
 some of Auchincloss's men will meet her with a team." 
 
 ' ' A-huh ! ' ' grunted Anson as Beasley halted again. " An* 
 what of allthet?" 
 
 "She mustn't never get as far as Snowdrop!" 
 
 "You want me to hold up the stage an* get the girl?" 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 "Wai an' what then?" 
 
 "Make off with her. . . . She disappears. That's your 
 affair. . . . I'll press my claims on Auchincloss hound 
 him an' be ready when he croaks to take over his 
 property. Then the girl can come back, for all I care. 
 . . . You an' Wilson fix up the deal between you. If 
 you have to let the gang in on it don't give them 
 any huneh as to who an' what. This '11 make you 
 a rich stake. An' providin', when it's paid, you strike 
 for new territory." 
 
 " Thet might be wise," muttered Snake Anson. "Beas- 
 ley, the weak point in your game is the uncertainty of 
 life. Old Al is tough. He may fool you." 
 
 7 
 
THE MAN OF THE^ FOREST 
 
 "Auchincloss is a dyin' man," declared Beasley, with 
 such positiveness that it could not be doubted. 
 
 "Wai, he sure wasn't plumb hearty when I last seen 
 him. . . . Beasiey, in case I play your game how'm I to 
 know that girl?" 
 
 "Her name's Helen Rayner," replied Beasley, eagerly. 
 "She's twenty years old. All of them Auchinclosses was 
 handsome an' they say she's the handsomest." 
 
 " A-huh! . . . Beasley, this 's sure a bigger deal an* one 
 I ain't fancyin'. . . . But I never doubted your word. . . . 
 Come on an' talk out. What's in it for me?" 
 
 "Don't let any one in on this. You two can hold up 
 the stage. Why, it was never held up. ... But you want 
 to mask. . . . How about ten thousand sheep or what 
 they bring at Phenix in gold?" 
 
 Jim Wilson whistled low. 
 
 "An' leave for new territory?" repeated Snake Anson, 
 under his breath. 
 
 "You've said it." 
 
 "Wai, I ain't fancyin' the girl end of this deal, but you 
 can count on me. . . . September sixteenth at Magdalena 
 an 1 her name's Helen an' she's handsome?" 
 
 "Yes. My herders will begin drivin* south in about 
 two weeks. Later, if the weather holds good, send me 
 word by one of them an' I'll meet you." 
 
 Beasley spread his hands once more over the blaze, 
 pulled on his gloves and pulled down his sombrero, and 
 with an abrupt word of parting strode out into the night. 
 
 "Jim, what do you make of him? " queried Snake Anson. 
 
 "Pard, he's got us beat two ways for Sunday," replied 
 Wilson. 
 
 "A-huh! . . . Wai, let's get back to camp." And he led 
 the way out. 
 
 Low voices drifted into the cabin, then came snorts of 
 horses and striking hoofs, and after that a steady trot, 
 gradually ceasing. Once more the moan of wind and soft 
 flatter of rain filled the forest stillness. 
 
 8 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 MILT DALE quietly sat up to gaze, with thoughtful 
 eyes, into the gloom. 
 
 He was thirty years old. As a boy of fourteen he had 
 run off from his school and home in Iowa and, joining a 
 wagon-train of pioneers, he was one of the first to see log 
 cabins built on the slopes of the White Mountains. But 
 he had not taken kindly to farming or sheep-raising or 
 monotonous home toil, and for twelve years he had lived 
 in the forest, with only infrequent visits to Pine and Show 
 Down and Snowdrop. This wandering forest life of his 
 did not indicate that he did not care for the villagers, for 
 he did care, and he was welcome everywhere, but that he 
 loved wild life and solitude and beauty with the primitive 
 instinctive force of a savage. 
 
 And on this night he had stumbled upon a dark plot 
 against the only one of all the honest white people in that 
 region whom he could not call a friend. 
 
 "That man Beasley!" he soliloquized. "Beasley in 
 cahoots with Snake Anson! . . . Well, he was right. Al 
 Auchincloss is on his last legs. Poor old man! When I 
 tell him he'll never believe me, that's sure!" 
 
 Discovery of the plot meant to Dale that he must hurry 
 down to Pine. 
 
 "A girl Helen Rayner twenty years old," he mused. 
 "Beasley wants her made off with. . . ..That means 
 worse than killed!" 
 
 Dale accepted facts of life wich that equanimity and 
 fatality acquired by one long versed in the cruel annals 
 of forest lore. Bad men worked their evil just as savage 
 2 9 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 wolves relayed a deer. He had shot wolves for that 
 trick. With men, good or bad, he had not clashed. Old 
 women and children appealed to him, but he had never 
 had any interest in girls. The image, then, of this Helen 
 Rayner came strangely to Dale; and he suddenly realized 
 that he had meant somehow to circumvent Beasley, not 
 to befriend old Al Auchincloss, but for the sake of the girl. 
 Probably she was already on her way West, alone, eager, 
 hopeful of a future home. How little people guessed 
 what awaited them at a journey's end! Many trails 
 ended abruptly in the forest and only trained woodsmen 
 could read the tragedy. 
 
 "Strange how I cut across country to-day from Spruce 
 Swamp," reflected Dale. Circumstances, movements, 
 usually were not strange to him. His methods and habits 
 were seldom changed by chance. The matter, then, of 
 his turning off a course out of his way for no apparent 
 reason, and of his having overheard a plot singularly 
 involving a young girl, was indeed an adventure to pro- 
 voke thought. It provoked more, for Dale grew con- 
 scious of an unfamiliar smoldering heat along his veins. 
 He who had little to do with the strife of men, and noth- 
 ing to do with anger, felt his blood grow hot at the cowardly 
 trap teid for an innocent girl. 
 
 "Old Al won't listen to me," pondered Dale. "An' 
 even if he did, he wouldn't believe me. Maybe nobody 
 will. . . . All the same, Snake Anson won't get that girl." 
 
 With these last words Dale satisfied himself of his own 
 position, and his pondering ceased. Taking his rifle, he 
 descended from the loft and peered out of the door. The 
 night had grown darker, windier, cooler; broken clouds 
 were scudding across the sky; only a few stars showed; 
 fine rain was blowing from the northwest; and the forest 
 seemed full of a low, dull roar. 
 
 "Reckon I'd better hang up here," he said, and turned 
 to the fire. The coals were red now. From the depths 
 of his hunting-coat he procured a little bag of salt and 
 
 10 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 some strips of dried meat. These strips he laid for a 
 moment on the hot embers, until they began to sizzle and 
 curl; then with a sharpened stick he removed them and 
 ate like a hungry hunter grateful for little. 
 
 He sat on a block of wood with his palms spread to the 
 dying warmth of the fire and his eyes fixed upon the 
 changing, glowing, golden embers. Outside, the wind 
 continued to rise and the moan of the forest increased to 
 a roar. Dale felt the comfortable warmth stealing over 
 him, drowsily lulling; and he heard the storm- wind in 
 the trees, now like a waterfall, and anon like a retreating 
 army, and again low and sad ; and he saw pictures in the 
 glowing embers, strang$ as dreams. 
 
 Presently he rose and, climbing to the loft, he stretched 
 himself out, and soon fell asleep 
 
 When the gray dawn broke he was on his way, 'cross- 
 country, to the village of Pine. 
 
 During the night the wind had shifted and the rain ha 
 ceased. A suspicion of frost shone on the grass in open 
 places. All was gray the parks, the glades and deeper, 
 darker gray marked the aisles of the forest. Shadows 
 lurked under the trees and the silence seemed consistent 
 with spectral forms. Then the east kindled, the gray 
 lightened, the dreaming woodland awoke to the far-reach- 
 ing rays of a bursting red sun. 
 
 This was always the happiest moment of Dale's lonely 
 days, as sunset was his saddest. He responded, and there 
 was something in his blood that answered tne whistle of 
 a stag from a near-by ridge. His strides were long, noise- 
 less, and they left dark trace where his feet brushed the 
 dew-laden grass. 
 
 Dale pursued a zigzag course over the ridges to escape 
 the hardest climbing, but the "senacas" those parklike 
 meadows so named by Mexican sheep-herders were aa 
 round and level as if they had been made by man in beau-, 
 tiful contrast to the dark-green, rough, and rugged ridges* 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Both open senaca and dense wooded ridge showed to his 
 quick ' ye an abundance of game. The cracking of twigs 
 and disappearing flash of gray among the spruces, a round 
 black lumbering object, a twittering in the brush, and 
 stealthy steps, were all easy signs for Dale to read. Once, 
 as he noiselessly emerged into a little glade, he espied a red 
 fox stalking some quarry, which, as he advanced, proved 
 to be a flock of partridges. They whirred up, brushing 
 the branches, and the fox trotted away. In every senaca 
 Dale encountered wild turkeys feeding on the seeds of the 
 high grass. 
 
 It had always been his custom, on his visits to Pine, to 
 kill and pack fresh meat down to several old friends, who 
 were glad to give him lodging. And, hurried though he 
 was now, he did not intend to make an exception of this 
 trip. 
 
 At length he got down into the pine belt, where the 
 great, gnarled, yellow trees soared aloft, stately, and aloof 
 from one another, and the ground was a brown, odorous, 
 springy mat of pine-needles, level as a floor. Squirrels 
 watched him from all around, scurrying away at his near 
 approach tiny, brown, light-striped squirrels, and larger 
 ones, russet-colored, and the splendid dark-grays with 
 their white bushy tails and plumed ears. 
 
 This belt of pine ended abruptly upon wide, gray, rolling, 
 open land, almost like a prairie, with foot-hills lifting near 
 and far, and the red-gold blaze of aspen thickets catching 
 the morning <nm. Here Dale flushed a flock of wild tur- 
 keys, upward of forty in number, and their subdued color 
 of gray flecked with white, and graceful, sleek build, 
 showed them to be hens. There was not a gobbler in 
 the flock. They began to run pell-mell out into the grass, 
 until only their heads appeared bobbing along, and finally 
 disappeared. Dale caught a glimpse of skulking coyotes 
 that evidently had been stalking the turkeys, and as they 
 saw him and darted into the timber he took a quick shot 
 at the hindmost. His bullet struck low. as he had meant 
 
 12 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 it to, but too low, and the coyote got only a dusting of 
 earth and pine-needles thrown up into his face. This 
 frightened him so that he leaped aside blindly to butt 
 into a tree, rolled over, gained his feet, and then the cover 
 of the forest. Dale was amused at this. His hand was 
 against all the predatory beasts of the forest, though he 
 had learned that lion and bear and wolf and fox were all 
 as necessary to the great scheme of nature as were the 
 gentle, beautiful wild creatures upon which they preyed. 
 But some he loved better than others, and so he deplored 
 the inexplicable cruelty. 
 
 He crossed the wide, grassy plain and struck another 
 gradual descent where aspens and pines crowded a shallow 
 ravine and warm, sun-lighted glades bordered along a 
 sparkling brook. Here he heard a turkey gobble, and 
 that was a signal for him to change his course and m?ke a 
 crouching, silent detour around a clump of aspens. In a 
 sunny patch of grass a dozen or more big gobblers stood, 
 all suspiciously facing in his direction, heads erect, with 
 that wild aspect peculiar to their species. Old wild tur- 
 key gobblers were the most difficult game to stalk. Dale 
 shot two of them. The others began to run like ostriches, 
 thudding over the ground, spreading their wings, and with 
 that running start launched their heavy bodies into whir- 
 ring flight. They flew low, at about the height of a man 
 from the grass, and vanished in the woods. 
 
 Dale threw the two turkeys over his shoulder and went 
 on his way. Soon he came to a break in the forest level, 
 from which he gazed down a league-long slope of pine and 
 cedar, out upon the bare, glistening desert, stretching 
 away, endlessly rolling out to the dim, dark horizon line. 
 
 The little hamlet of Pine lay on the last level of sparsely 
 timbered forest. A road, running parallel with a dark- 
 watered, swift-flowing stream, divided the cluster of log 
 cabins from which columns of blue smoke drifted lazily 
 aloft. Fields of corn and fields cf oats, yellow in the sun- 
 light, surrounded the village; and green pastures, dotted 
 
 13 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 with horses and cattle, reached away to the denser wood- 
 land. This site appeared to be a natural clearing, for 
 there was no evidence of cut timber. The scene was 
 rather too wild to be pastoral, but it was serene, tranquil, 
 giving the impression of a remote community, prosperous 
 and happy, drifting along the peaceful tenor of seques- 
 tered lives. 
 
 Dale halted before a neat little log cabin and a little 
 patch of garden bordered with sunflowers. His call was 
 answered by an old woman, gray and bent, but remarkably 
 Spry, who appeared at the door. 
 
 "Why, land's sakes, if it ain't Milt Dale!" she ex- 
 claimed, in welcome. 
 
 "Reckon it's me, Mrs. Cass," he replied. "An' I've 
 brought you a turkey." 
 
 "Milt, you're that good boy who never forgits old 
 Widow Cass. . . . What a gobbler! First one I've seen 
 this fall. My man Tom used to fetch home gobblers like 
 that. . . . An' mebbe he'll come home again sometime." 
 
 Her husband, Tom Cass, had gone into the forest years 
 before and had never returned. But the old woman 
 always looked for him and never gave up hope. 
 
 "Men have been lost in the forest an' yet come back," 
 replied Dale, as he had said to her many a time. 
 
 "Come right in. You air hungry, I know. Now, son, 
 when last did you eat a fresh egg or a flapjack?" 
 
 "You should remember," he answered, laughing, as he 
 followed her into a small, clean kitchen. 
 
 "Laws-a'-me! An' thet's months ago," she replied, 
 shaking her gray head. "Milt, you should give up that 
 wild life an' marry an' have a home." 
 
 "Y'n always tell me that." 
 
 " Yet,, an' I'll see you do it yet. . . . Now you set there, 
 an' pretty soon Til give you thet to eat which 11 make 
 your mouth water." 
 
 "What's the news, Auntie?" he asked. 
 
 "Nary news in this dead place. Why, nobody's been 
 
 14 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 to Snowdrop in two weeks! . . . Sary Jones died, poor old 
 soul she's better off an' one of my cows run away. 
 Milt, she's wild when she gits loose in the woods. An' 
 you'll have to track her, 'cause nobody else can. An* 
 John Dakker's heifer was killed by a lion, an' Lem Har- 
 den's fast hoss you know his favorite was stole by hoss 
 thieves. Lem is jest crazy. An' that reminds me, Milt 
 where's your big ranger, thet you'd never seL or lend?" 
 
 " My horses are up in the woods, Auntie; safe, I reckon, 
 from horse-thieves." 
 
 "Well, that's a blessin'. We've had some stock stole 
 this summer, Milt, an' no mistake." 
 
 Thus, while preparing a meal for Dale, the old woman 
 went on recounting all that had happened in the little 
 village since his last visit. Dale enjoyed her gossip and 
 quaint philosophy, and it was exceedingly good to sit at 
 her table. In his opinion, nowhere else could there have 
 been such butter and cream, such ham and eggs. Besides, 
 she always had apple pie, it seemed, at any time he hap- 
 pened in; and apple pie was one of Dale's few regrets 
 while up in the lonely forest. 
 
 "How's old Al Auchincloss?" presently inquired Dale. 
 
 "Poorly poorly," sighed Mrs. Cass. "But he tramps 
 an' rides around same as ever. Al's not long for this 
 world. . . . An', Milt, that reminds me there's the biggest 
 news you ever heard." 
 
 "You don't say so!" exclaimed Dale, to encourage 
 the excited old woman. 
 
 " Al has sent back to Saint Joe for his niece, Helen Ray^ 
 ner. She's to inherit all his property. We've heard 
 much of her a purty lass, they say. . . . Now, Milt 
 Dale, here's your chance. Stay out of the woods an* go 
 to work. . . .You can marry that girl!" 
 
 "No chance for me, Auntie," replied Dale, smiling. 
 
 The old woman snorted. "Much you know! Any girl 
 would have you, Milt Dale, if you'd only throw a kef 
 chief." 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Me! . . . An' why, Auntie?" he queried, half amused, 
 half thoughtful. When he got back to civilization he 
 always had to adjust his thoughts to the ideas of people. 
 
 "Why? I declare, Milt, you live so in the woods 
 you're like a boy of ten an' then sometimes as old as 
 the hills. . . . There's no young man to compare with you, 
 hereabouts. An' this girl she'll have all the spunk of 
 the Auchinclosses." 
 
 "Then maybe she'd not be such a catch, after all," 
 replied Dale. 
 
 "Wai, you've no cause to love them, that's sure. But, 
 Milt, the Auchincloss women are always good wives." 
 
 "Dear Auntie, you're dreamin'," said Dale, soberly. 
 "I want no wife. I'm happy in the woods." 
 
 "Air you goin' to live like an Injun all your days, Milt 
 Dale?" she queried, sharply. 
 
 "I hope so." 
 
 "You ought to be ashamed. But some lass will change 
 you, boy, an' mebbe it '11 be this Helen Rayner. I hope 
 an' pray so to thet." 
 
 "Auntie, supposin' she did change me. She'd never 
 change old Al. He hates me, you know." 
 
 "Wai, I ain't so sure, Milt. I met Al the other day. 
 He inquired for you, an' said you was wild, but he reck- 
 oned men like you was good for pioneer settlements. 
 Lord knows the good turns you've done this village! 
 Milt, old Al doesn't approve of your wild life, but he 
 never had no hard feelin's till thet tame lion of yours 
 killed so many of his sheep." 
 
 "Auntie, I don't believe Tom ever killed Al's sheep," 
 declared Dale, positively. 
 
 "Wai, Al thinks so, an* many other people," replied 
 Mrs. Cass, shaking her gray head doubtfully. "You 
 never swore he didn't. An' there was them two sheep- 
 herders who did swear they seen him." 
 
 "They only saw a cougar. An 9 they were so seated 
 
 they ran." 
 
 16 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Who wouldn't? Thet big beast is enough to scare 
 any one. For land's sakes, don't ever fetch him down 
 here again! I'll never forgit the time you did. All the 
 folks an' children an' hosses in Pine broke an' run thet 
 day." 
 
 "Yes; but Tom wasn't to blame. Auntie, he's the 
 tamest of my pets. Didn't he try to put his head on 
 your lap an' lick your hand?" 
 
 "Wai, Milt, I ain't gainsayin' your cougar pet didn't 
 act better 'n a lot of people I know, Fer he did. But the 
 looks of him an' what's been said was enough for me." 
 
 "An' what's all that, Auntie?" 
 
 "They say he's wild when out of your sight. An' thet 
 he'd trail an' kill any thin' you put him after." 
 
 "I trained him to be just that way." 
 
 "Wai, leave Tom to home up in the woods when you 
 visit us." 
 
 Dale finished his hearty meal, and listens! awhile 
 longer to the old woman's talk; then, taking his rifle and 
 the other turkey, he bade her good-by. She followed 
 him out. 
 
 "Now, Milt, you'll come soon again, won't you jest 
 to see Al's niece who'll be here in a week?" 
 
 "I reckon I'll drop in some day. . . . Auntie, have you 
 seen my friends, the Mormon boys?" 
 
 "No, I 'ain't seen them an' don't want to,' 1 she retorted. 
 " Milt Dale, if any one ever corrals you it '11 be Mormons." 
 
 " Don't worry, Auntie. I like those boys. They often 
 see me up in the woods an' ask me to help them track a 
 hoss or help kill some fresh meat." 
 
 "They're workin* for Beasley now." 
 
 " Is that so ? " rejoined Dale, with a sudden start. " An 9 
 what doin'?" 
 
 "Beasley is gettin' so rich he's buildin' a fence, an' 
 didn't have enough help, so I hear." 
 
 "Beasley gettin' rich!" repeated Dale, thoughtfully. 
 "More sheep an' horses an' cattle than ever, I reckon?' 1 
 
 17 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Laws-a'-me! Why, Milt, Beasley 'ain't any idea 
 what he owns. Yes, he's the biggest man in these parts, 
 since poor old ATs took to failin'. I reckon Al's health 
 ain't none improved by Beasley's success. They've had 
 some bitter quarrels lately so I hear. Al ain't what he 
 was." 
 
 Dale bade good-by again to his old friend and strode 
 away, thoughtful and serious. Beasley would not only 
 be difficult to circumvent, but he would be dangerous to 
 oppose. There did not appear much doubt of his driving 
 his way rough-shod to he dominance of affairs there in 
 Pine. Dale, passing down the road, began to meet ac- 
 quaintances who had hearty welcome for his presence 
 and interest in his doings, so that his pondering was 
 interrupted for the time being. He carried the turkey 
 to another old friend, and when he left her house he 
 went on to the village store. This was a large log cabin, 
 roughly covered with clapboards, with a wide plank plat- 
 form in front and a hitching-rail in the road. Several 
 horses were standing there, and a group of lazy, shirt- 
 sleeved loungers. 
 
 "Ill be doggoned if it ain't Milt Dale!" exclaimed 
 one. 
 
 "Howdy, Milt, old buckskin! Right down glad to see 
 you," greeted another. 
 
 "Hello, Dale! You air shore good for sore eyes," 
 drawled still another. 
 
 After a long period of absence Dale always experienced 
 a singular warmth of feeling when he met these acquaint- 
 ances. It faded quickly when he got back to the inti- 
 macy of his woodland, and that was because the people; of 
 Pine, with few exceptions though they liked him and 
 greatly admired his outdoor wisdom regarded him as a 
 sort of nonentity. Because he loved the wild and pre- 
 ferred it to village and range life, they had classed him as 
 not one of them. Some believed him lazy; others be- 
 lieved him shiftless; others thought him an Indian in 
 
 18 
 
THE MAN Of THE FOREST 
 
 mind and habits; and there were many who called him 
 slow-witted. Then there was another side to their regard 
 for him, which always afforded him good-natured amuse- 
 ment. Two of this group asked him to bring in some 
 turkey or venison; another wanted to hunt with him. 
 Lem Harden came out of the store and appealed to Dale 
 to recover his stolen horse. Lem's brother wanted a 
 wild-running mare tracked and brought home. Jesse 
 Lyons wanted a colt broken, and broken with patience, 
 not violence, as was the method of the hard-riding boys 
 at Pine. So one and all they besieged Dale with their 
 selfish needs, all unconscious of the flattering nature of 
 these overtures. And on the moment there happened by 
 two women whose remarks, as they entered the store, 
 bore strong testimony to Dale's personality. 
 
 "If there ain't Milt Dale!" exclaimed the older of the 
 two. "How lucky! My cow's sick, an' the men are no 
 good doctorin'. I'll jest ask Milt over." 
 
 "No one like Milt!" responded the other woman, 
 heartily. 
 
 "Good day there you Milt Dale!" called the first 
 speaker. "When you git away from these lazy men 
 come over." 
 
 Dale never refused a service, and that was why hi? 
 infrequent visits to Pine were wont to be prolonged beyond 
 his own pleasure. 
 
 Presently Beasley strode down the street, and when 
 about to enter the store he espied Dale. 
 
 "Hullo there, Milt!" he called, cordially, as he came 
 forward with extended hand. His greeting was sincere, 
 but the lightning glance he shot over Dale was not born 
 of his pleasure. Seen in daylight, Beasley was a big, bold,' 
 bluff man, with strong, dark features. His aggressive 
 presence suggested that he was a good friend and a bad 
 enemy. 
 
 Dale shook hands with him. 
 
 "How are you, Beasley?" 
 
 19 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Ain't complainin', Milt, though I got more work than 
 I can rustle. Reckon you wouldn't take a job bossin' my 
 sheep-herders?" 
 
 " Reckon I wouldn't," replied Dale. "Thanks all the 
 same." 
 
 "What's goin' on up in the woods?" 
 
 "Plenty of turkey an' deer. Lots of bear, too. The 
 Indians have worked back on the south side early this 
 fall. But I reckon winter will come late an' be mild." 
 
 "Good! An' where 're you headin' from?" 
 
 "'Cross-country from my camp," replied Dale, rather 
 evasively. 
 
 "Your camp! Nobody ever found that yet," declared 
 Beasley, gruffly. 
 
 "It's up there," said Dale. 
 
 "Reckon you've got that cougar chained in your cabin 
 door?" queried Beasley, and there was a barely distin- 
 guishable shudder of his muscular frame. Also the pupils 
 dilated in his hard brown eyes. 
 
 " Tom ain't chained. An' I haven't no cabin, Beasley." 
 
 "You mean to tell me that big brute stays in your 
 camp without bein' hog-tied or corralled!" demanded 
 Beasley. 
 
 "Sure he does." 
 
 "Beats me! But, then, I'm queer on cougars. Have 
 had many a cougar trail me at night. Ain't sayin' I was 
 scared. But I don't care for that brand of varmint. . . , 
 Milt, you goin' to stay down awhile?" 
 
 "Yes, I'll hang around some." 
 
 "Come over to the ranch. Glad to see you any time 
 Some old huntin' pards of yours are workin' for me." 
 
 "Thanks, Beasley. I reckon I'll come over." 
 
 Beasley turned away and took a step, and then, as if 
 with an after-thought, he wheeled again. 
 
 "Suppose you've heard about old Al Auchincloss bein ; 
 near petered out?" queried Beasley. A strong, ponderous 
 cast of thought seemed to emanate from his features. 
 
 20 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Dale divined that Beasley's next step would be to further 
 his advancement by some word or hint. 
 
 "Widow Cass was tellin' me all the news. Too bad 
 about old Al," replied Dale. 
 
 "Sure is. He's done for. An' I'm sorry though Al's 
 never been square " 
 
 "Beasley," interrupted Dale, quickly, "you can't say 
 that to me. Al Auchincloss always was the whitest an' 
 squarest man in this sheep country." 
 
 Beasley gave Dale a fleeting, dark glance. 
 
 " Dale, what you think ain't goin' to influence feelin' on 
 this range," returned Beasley, deliberately. "You live in 
 the woods an' " 
 
 "Reckon livin' in the woods I might think an' know a 
 whole lot," interposed Dale, just as deliberately. The 
 group of men exchanged surprised glances. This was 
 Milt Dale in different aspect. And Beasley did not con- 
 ceal a puzzled surprise. 
 
 "About what now?" he asked, bluntly. 
 
 "Why, about what's goin' on in Pine," replied Dale. 
 
 Some of the men laughed. 
 
 "Shore lots goin' on an' no mistake," put in Lem 
 Harden. 
 
 Probably the keen Beasley had never before considered 
 Milt Dale as a responsible person; certainly never one in 
 any way to cross his trail. But on the instant, perhaps, 
 some instinct was born, or he divined an antagonism in 
 Dale that was both surprising and perplexing. 
 
 " Dale, I've differences with Al Auchincloss have had 
 them for years," said Beasley. "Much of what he owns 
 is mine. An' it's goin' to come to me. Now I reckon 
 people will be takin' sides some for me an' some for Al. 
 Most are for me. . . - Where do you stand? Ai Auchin- 
 closs never had no use for you, an' besides he's a dyin* 
 man. Are you goin' on his side?" 
 
 "Yes, I reckon I am." 
 
 "Wai, I'm glad you've declared yourself," rejoined 
 
 21 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Beasley, shortly, and he strode away with the ponderous 
 gait of a man who would brush any obstacle from his 
 path. 
 
 "Milt, thet's bad makin' Beasley sore at you," said 
 Lem Harden. "He's on the way to boss this outfit." 
 
 "He's sure goin' to step into Al's boots," said another. 
 
 "Thet was white of Milt to stick up fer poor old Al," 
 declared Lem's brother. 
 
 Dale broke away from them and wended a thoughtful 
 way down the road. The burden of what he knew about 
 Beasley weighed less heavily upon him, and the close- 
 lipped course he had decided upon appeared wisest. He 
 needed to think before undertaking to call upon old Al 
 Auchincloss; and to that end he sought an hour's seclusion 
 under the pines. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 IN the afternoon, Dale, having accomplished some tasks 
 imposed upon him by his old friends at Pine, directed 
 slow steps toward the Auchincloss ranch. 
 
 The flat, square stone and log cabin of unusually large 
 size stood upon a little hill half a mile out of the village. 
 A home as well as a fort, it had been the first structure 
 erected in that region, and the process of building had 
 more than once been interrupted by Indian attacks. The 
 Apaches had for some time, however, confined their fierce 
 raids to points south of the White Mountain range. 
 Auchincloss's house looked down upon barns and sheds 
 and corrals of all sizes and shapes, and hundreds of acres 
 of well-cultivated soil. Fields of oats waved gray and 
 yellow in the afternoon sun; an immense green pasture 
 was divided by a willow-bordered brook, and here were 
 droves of horses, and out on the rolling bare flats were 
 straggling herds of cattle. 
 
 The whole ranch showed many years of toil and the 
 perseverance of man. The brook irrigated the verdant 
 valley between the ranch and the village. Water for the 
 house, however, came down from the high, wooded slope 
 of the mountain, and had been brought there by a simple 
 expedient. Pine logs of uniform size had been laid end 
 to end, with a deep trough cut in them, and they made 
 a shining line down the slope, across the valley, and up 
 the little hill to the Auchincloss home. Near the house 
 the hollowed halves of logs had been bound together, 
 making a crude pipe. Water ran uphill in this case, one 
 of the facts that made the ranch famous, as it had always 
 
 23 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 been a wonder and delight to the small boys of Pine. The 
 two good women who managed Auchincloss's large house- 
 hold were often shocked by the strange things that floated 
 into their kitchen with the ever-flowing stream of clear, 
 cold mountain water. 
 
 As it happened this day Dale encountered Al Auchin- 
 closs sitting in the shade of a porch, talking to some of 
 his sheep-herders and stockmen. Auchincloss was a 
 short man of extremely powerful build and great width 
 of shoulder. He had no gray hairs, and he did not look 
 old, yet there was in his face a certain weariness, some- 
 thing that resembled sloping lines of distress, dim and 
 pale, that told of age and the ebb-tide of vitality. His 
 features, cast in large mold, were clean-cut and comely, 
 and he had frank blue eyes, somewhat sad, yet still full 
 of spirit. 
 
 Dale had no idea how his visit would be taken, and he 
 certainly would not have been surprised to be ordered off 
 the place. He had not set foot there for years. There- 
 fore it was with surprise that he saw Auchincloss wave 
 away the herders and take his entrance without any 
 particular expression. 
 
 "Howdy, Al! How are you?" greeted Dale, easily, as 
 he leaned his rifle against the log wall. 
 
 Auchincloss did not rise, but he offered his hand. 
 
 "Wai, Milt Dale, I reckon this is the first time I ever 
 seen you that I couldn't lay you flat on your back," re- 
 plied the rancher. His tone was both testy and full of 
 pathos. 
 
 "I take it you mean you ain't very well," replied Dale. 
 " I'm sorry, Al." 
 
 "No, it ain't thet. Never was sick in my life. I'm 
 just played out, like a hoss thet had been strong an* 
 willin', an' did too much. . . . Wai, you don't look a day 
 older, Milt. Livin' in the woods rolls over a man's head." 
 
 "Yes, I'm feelin' fine, an' time never bothers me." 
 
 "Wai, mebbe you ain't such a fool, after all. I've 
 
 24 
 
THE MAN~OF THE FOREST 
 
 wondered lately since I had time to think. . . . But, 
 Milt, you don't git no richer." 
 
 "Al, I have all I want an' need." 
 
 "Wai, then, you don't support anybody; you don't do 
 any good in the world." 
 
 "We don't agree, Al," replied Dale, with his slow smile. 
 
 "Reckon we never did. . . . An' you jest come over to 
 pay your respects to me, eh?" 
 
 "Not altogether," answered Dale, ponderingly. "First 
 off, I'd like to say I'll pay back them sheep you always 
 claimed my tame cougar killed." 
 
 "You will! An' how'd you go about that?" 
 
 "Wasn't very many sheep, was there?" 
 
 "A matter of fifty head." 
 
 "So many! Al, do you still think old Tom killed them 
 sheep?" 
 
 "Humph! Milt, I know damn well he did." 
 
 "Al, now how could you know somethin' I don't? Be 
 reasonable, now. Let's don't fall out about this againj 
 I'll pay back the sheep. Work it out " 
 
 "Milt Dale, you'll come down here an' work out that 
 fifty head of sheep!" ejaculated the old rancher, incredu- 
 lously. 
 
 "Sure." 
 
 "Wai, I'll be damned!" He sat back and gazed with 
 shrewd eyes at Dale. "What's got into you, Milt? Hev 
 you heard about my niece thet's comin', an' think you'll 
 shine up to her?" 
 
 "Yes, Al, her comin' has a good deal to do with my 
 deal," replied Dale, soberly. "But I never thought to 
 shine up to her, as you hint." 
 
 "Haw! Haw! You're just like all the other colts here- 
 abouts. Reckon it's a good sign, too. It '11 take a woman 
 to fetch you out of the woods. But, boy, this niece of 
 mine, Helen Rayner, will stand you on your head. I 
 never seen her. They say she's jest like her mother. An* 
 Nell Auchincloss what a girl she was!" 
 3 2.5 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Dale felt his face grow red. Indeed, this was strango 
 conversation for him. 
 
 "Honest, Al " he began. 
 
 "Son, don't lie to an old man." 
 
 "Lie! I wouldn't lie to any one. Al, it's only men 
 who live in towns an' are always makin* deals. I live in 
 the forest, where there's nothin' to make me lie." 
 
 "Wai, no offense meant, I'm sure," responded Auchin- 
 closs. "An' mebbe there's somethin' in what you say. 
 . . . We was talkin' about them sheep your big cat killed. 
 Wai, Milt, I can't prove it, that's sure. An' mebbe 
 you'll think me doddery when I tell you my reason. It 
 wasn't what them greaser herders said about seein' a 
 cougar in the herd." 
 
 "What was it, then?" queried Dale, much interested. 
 
 "Wai, thet day a year ago I seen your pet. He was 
 lyin' in front of the store an' you was inside tradin' fer 
 supplies, I reckon. It was like meetin' an enemy face to 
 face. Because, damn me if I didn't know that cougar 
 was guilty when he looked in my eyes ! There ! " 
 
 The old rancher expected to be laughed at. But Dale 
 was grave. 
 
 "Al, I know how you felt," he replied, as if they were 
 discussing an action of a human being. "Sure I'd hate 
 to doubt old Tom. But he's a cougar. An' the ways of 
 animals are strange. . . . Anyway, Al, I'll make good the 
 loss of your sheep." 
 
 "No, you won't," rejoined Auchincloss, quickly. 
 "We'll call it off. I'm takin' it square of you to make 
 the offer. Thet's enough. So forget your worry about 
 work, if you had any." 
 
 "There's somethin' else, Al, I wanted to say," began 
 Dale, with hesitation. "An' it's about Beasley." 
 
 Auchincloss started violently, and a flame of red shot 
 into his face. Then he raised a big hand that shook. 
 Dale saw in a flash how the old man's nerves had gone. 
 
 "Don't mention thet thet greaser to met" burst 
 
 26 
 
THE MAN 'OF THE FOREST 
 
 out the rancher. "It makes me see red. . . . Dale, I 
 ain't overlookin' that you spoke up fer me to-day stood 
 fer my side. Lem Harden told me. I was glad. An' 
 thet's why to-day I forgot our old quarrel. . . . But 
 not a word about thet sheep-thief or I'll drive you off 
 the place!" 
 
 "But, Al be reasonable," remonstrated Dale. "It's 
 necessary thet I speak of of Beasley." 
 
 "It ain't. Not to me. I won't listen." 
 
 "Reckon you'll have to, Al," returned Dale. " Beas- 
 ley 's after your property. He's made a deal " 
 
 "By Heaven! I know that!" shouted Auchincloss, 
 tottering up, with his face now black-red. "Do you 
 think thet's new to me? Shut up, Dale! I can't stand 
 it." 
 
 "But Al there's worse," went on Dale, hurriedly. 
 "Worse! Your life's threatened an' your niece, Helen 
 she's to be" 
 
 "Shut up an' clear out!" roared Auchincloss, waving 
 his huge fists. 
 
 He seemed on the verge of a collapse as, shaking aft 
 over, he backed into the door. A few seconds of rage 
 had transformed him into a pitiful old man. 
 
 "But, Al I'm your friend " began Dale, appealingly. 
 
 "Friend, hey?" returned the rancher, with grim, bitter 
 passion. "Then you're the only one. . . . Milt Dale, I'm 
 rich an' I'm a dyin' man. I trust nobody. . . . But, you 
 wild hunter if you're my friend prove it! ... Go kill 
 thet greaser sheep-thief! Do somethin' an' then come 
 talk to me!" 
 
 With that he lurched, half falling, into the house, and 
 slammed the door. 
 
 Dale stood there for a blank moment, and then, taking 
 up his rifle, he strode away. 
 
 Toward sunset Dale located the camp of his four Mo*- 
 mon friends, and reached it in time for supper. 
 
 27 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 John, Roy> Joe, and Hal Beeman were sons of a pioneer 
 Mormon who had settled the little community of Snow- 
 drop. They were young men in years, but hard labor 
 and hard life in the open had made them look matured. 
 Only a year's difference in age stood between John and 
 Roy, and between Roy and Joe, and likewise Joe and Hal. 
 When it came to appearance they were difficult to dis- 
 tinguish from one another. Horsemen, sheep-herders, 
 cattle-raisers, hunters they all possessed long, wiry, 
 powerful frames, lean, bronzed, still faces, and the quiet, 
 keen eyes of men used to the open. 
 
 Their camp was situated beside a spring in a cove sur- 
 rounded by aspens, some three miles from Pine; and, 
 though working for Beasley, near the village, they had 
 ridden to and fro from camp, after the habit of seclusion 
 peculiar to their kind. 
 
 Dale and the brothers had much in common, and a 
 warm regard had sprung up. But their exchange of con- 
 fidences had wholly concerned things pertaining to the 
 forest. Dale ate supper with them, and talked as usual 
 when he met them, without giving any hint of the pur- 
 pose forming in his mind. After the meal he helped Joe 
 round up the horses, hobble them for the night, and drive 
 them into a grassy glade among the pines. Later, when 
 the shadows stole through the. forest on the cool wind, 
 and the camp-fire glowed comfortably, Dale broached the 
 subject that possessed him. 
 
 "An* so you're working for Beasley?" he queried, by 
 way of starting conversation. 
 
 "We was," drawled John. "But to-day, bein' the end 
 of our month, we got our pay an' quit. Beasley sure was 
 sore." 
 
 "Why'd you knock off?" 
 
 John essayed no reply, and his brothers all had that 
 quiet, suppressed look of knowledge under restraint. 
 
 "Listen to what I come to tell you, then you'll talk," 
 went on Dale. And hurriedly he told of Beasley's plot 
 
 28 
 
THE MAN OF THE^FOREST 
 
 fco abduct Al Auchincloss's niece and claim the dying 
 man's property. 
 
 When Dale ended, rather breathlessly, the Mormon 
 boys sat without any show of surprise or feeling. John, 
 the eldest, took up a stick and slowly poked the red 
 embers of the fire, making the white sparks fly. 
 
 "Now, Milt, why'd you tell us thet?" he asked, 
 guardedly. 
 
 "You're the only friends I've got," replied Dale. "It 
 didn't seem safe for me to talk down in the village. I 
 thought of you boys right off. I ain't goin' to let Snake 
 Anson get that girl. An' I need help, so I come to you." 
 
 "Beasley's strong around Pine, an' old Al's weakenin', 
 Beasley will git the property, girl or no girl," said John. 
 
 "Things don't always turn out as they look. But no 
 matter about that. The girl deal is what riled me. . . . 
 She's to arrive at Magdalena on the sixteenth, an' take 
 stage for Snowdrop. . . . Now what to do? If she travels 
 on that stage I'll be on it, you bet. But she oughtn't to 
 be in it at all. . . . Boys, somehow I'm goin' to save her. 
 Will you help me ? I reckon I've been in some tight corners 
 for you. Sure, this 's different. But are you my friends? 
 You know now what Beasley is. An' you're all lost at 
 the hands of Snake Anson's gang. You've got fast bosses, 
 eyes for trackin', an' you can handle a rifle. You're the 
 kind of fellows I'd want in a tight pinch with a bad gang. 
 Will you stand by me or see me go alone? " 
 
 Then John Beeman, silently, and with pale face, gave 
 Dale's hand a powerful grip, and one by one the other 
 brothers rose to do likewise. Their eyes flashed with hard 
 glint and a strange bitterness hovered around their thin lips. 
 
 "Milt, mebbe we know what Beasley is better 'n you," 
 said John, at length. "He ruined my father. He's 
 cheated other Mormons. We boys have proved to our- 
 selves thet he gets the sheep Anson's gang steals. . . . An* 
 drives the herds to Phenix! Our people won't let us 
 accuse Beasley. So we've suffered in silence. My father 
 
 29 
 
THE MAN OF TRff FOREST 
 
 always said, let some one else say the first word against 
 Beasley, an' you've come to us!" 
 
 Roy Beeman put a hand on Dale's shoulder. He, per- 
 haps, was the keenest of the brothers and the one to whom 
 adventure and peril called most. He had been oftenest 
 with Dale, on many a long trail, and he was the hardest 
 rider and the most relentless tracker in all that range 
 country. 
 
 "An* we're goin' with you," he said, in a strong and 
 rolling voice. 
 
 They resumed their seats before the fire. John threw 
 on more wood, and with a crackling and sparkling the 
 blaze curled up, fanned by the wind. As twilight deep- 
 ened into night the moan in the pines increased to a roar. 
 A pack of coyotes commenced to pierce the air in staccato 
 cries. 
 
 The five young men conversed long and earnestly, con- 
 sidering, planning, rejecting ideas advanced by each. 
 Dale and Roy Beeman suggested most of what became 
 acceptable to all. Hunters of their type resembled ex- 
 plorers in slow and deliberate attention to details. What 
 they had to deal with he.'e was a situation of unlimited 
 possibilities; the horses and outfit needed; a long detour 
 to reach Magdalena unobserved; the rescue of a strange 
 girl who would no doubt be self-willed and determined to 
 ride on the stage the rescue forcible, if necessary- the 
 fight and the inevitable pursuit ; the flight into the forest, 
 and the safe delivery of the girl to Auchincloss. 
 
 "Then, Milt, will we go after Beasley?" queried Roy 
 Beeman, significantly. 
 
 Dale was silent and thoughtful. 
 
 "Sufficient unto the day!" said John. "An', fellars, 
 let's go to bed." 
 
 They rolled out their tarpaulins, Dale sharing Roy's 
 blankets, and soon were asleep, while the red embers 
 glowly faded, and the great roar of wind died down, and 
 the forest stillness set in. 
 
 30 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 HELEN RAYNER had been on the westbound over- 
 land train fully twenty-four hours before she made 
 an alarming discovery. 
 
 Accompanied by her sister Bo, a precocious girl of six- 
 teen, Helen had left St. Joseph with a heart saddened by 
 farewells to loved ones at home, yet full of thrilling and 
 vivid anticipations of the strange life in the Far West. 
 All her people had the pioneer spirit; love of change, 
 action, adventure, was in her blood. Then duty to a 
 widowed mother with a large and growing family had 
 called to Helen to accept this rich uncle's offer. She had 
 taught school and also her little brothers and sisters; she 
 had helped along in other ways. And now, though the 
 tearing up of the roots of old loved ties was hard, this 
 opportunity was irresistible in its call. The prayer of her 
 dreams had been answered. To bring good fortune to 
 her family; to take care of this beautiful, wild little sister; 
 to leave the yellow, sordid, humdrum towns for the great, 
 rolling, boundless open; to live on a wonderful ranch that 
 was some day to be her own; to have fulfilled a deep, 
 instinctive, and undeveloped love of horses, cattle, sheep, 
 of desert and mountain, of trees and brooks and wild 
 flowers all this was the sum of her most passionate 
 longings, now in some marvelous, fairylike way to come 
 true. 
 
 A check to her happy anticipations, a blank, sickening 
 dash of cold water upon her warm and intimate dreams, 
 had been the discovery that Harve Riggs was on the train. 
 
 AI 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 His presence could mean only one thing that he had 
 followed her. Riggs had been the worst of many sore 
 trials back there in St. Joseph. He had possessed some 
 claim or influence upon her mother, who favored his offer 
 of marriage to Helen; he was neither attractive, nor good, 
 nor industrious, nor anything that interested her; he was 
 the boastful, strutting adventurer, not genuinely Western, 
 and he affected long hair and guns and notoriety. Helefl 
 had suspected the veracity of the many fights he claimed 
 had been his, and also she suspected that he was no* 
 really big enough to be bad as Western men were bad. 
 But on the train, in the station at La Junta, one glimps* 
 of him, manifestly spying upon her while trying to keejL 
 out of her sight, warned Helen that she now might hav& 
 a problem on her hands. 
 
 The recognition sobered her. All was not to be a road 
 of roses to this new home in the West. Riggs would fol- 
 low her, if he could not accompany her, and to gain his 
 Own ends he would stoop to anything. Helen felt the 
 Startling realization of being cast upon her own resources, 
 and then a numbing discouragement and loneliness and 
 helplessness. But these feelings did not long persist in 
 the quick pride and flash of her temper. Opportunity 
 knocked at her door and she meant to be at home to it, 
 She would not have been Al Auchincloss's niece if she 
 had faltered. And, when temper was succeeded by genu- 
 ine anger, she could have laughed to scorn this Harve 
 Riggs and his schemes, whatever they were. Once and 
 for all she dismissed fear of him. When she left St. 
 Joseph she had faced the West with a beating heart and 
 a high resolve to be worthy of that West. Homes had 
 to be made out there in that far country, so Uncle Al had 
 written, and women were needed to make homes. She 
 meant to be one of these women and to make of her sistef 
 another. And with the thought that she would know 
 definitely what to say to Riggs when he approached her 
 sooner or later, Helen dismissed him from mind. 
 
 32 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 While the train was in motion, enabling Helen to watch 
 the ever-changing scenery, and resting her from the strenu- 
 ous task of keeping Bo well in hand at stations, she lapsed 
 again into dreamy gaze at the pine forests and the red, 
 rocky gullies and the dim, bold mountains. 
 
 She saw the sun set over distant ranges 01 New Mexico 
 a, golden blaze of glory, as new to her as the strange 
 fancies born in her, thrilling and fleeting by. Bo's rapt* 
 ures were not silent, and the instant the sun sank and the 
 color faded she just as rapturously importuned Helen to 
 get out the huge basket of food they had brought from 
 home. 
 
 They had two seats, facing each other, at the end of 
 the coach, and piled there, with the basket on top, was 
 luggage that constituted all the girls owned in the world. 
 Indeed, it was very much more than they had ever owned 
 before, because their mother, in her care for them and 
 desire to have them look well in the eyes of this rich uncle, 
 had spent money and pains to give them pretty and ser- 
 viceable clothes. 
 
 The girls sat together, with the heavy basket on theif 
 knees, and ate while they gazed out at the cool, dark 
 ridges. The train clattered slowly on, apparently over 
 a road that was all curves. And it was supper-time for 
 everybody in that crowded coach. If Helen had not 
 been so absorbed by the great, wild mountain-land she 
 would have had more interest in the passengers. As it 
 was she saw them, and was amused and thoughtful at the 
 men and women and a few children in the car, all middle- 
 class people, poor and hopeful, traveling out there to the 
 New West to find homes. It was splendid and beautiful, 
 this fact, yet it inspired a brief and inexplicable sadness. 
 From the train window, that world of forest and crag, 
 with its long bare reaches between, seemed so lonely, so 
 wild, so unlivable. How endless the distance ! For hours 
 and miles upon miles no house, no hut, no Indian tepee! 
 It was amazing, tha length and breadth of this beautiful 
 
 33 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 land. And Helen, who loved brooks and running streams^ 
 saw no water at all. 
 
 Then darkness settled down over the slow-moving 
 panorama; a cool night wind blew in at the window; 
 white stars began to blink out of the blue. The sisters, 
 with hands clasped and heads nestled together, went to 
 deep under a heavy cloak. 
 
 Earl}* the next morning, while the girls were again 
 delving into their apparently bottomless basket, the train 
 stopped at Las Vegas. 
 
 "Look! Look!" cried Bo, in thrilling voice. "Cow- 
 boys! Oh, Nell, look!" 
 
 Helen, laughing, looked first at her sister, and thought 
 how most of all she was good to look at. Bo was little, 
 instinct with pulsating life, and she had chestnut hair and 
 dark-blue eyes. These eyes were flashing, roguish, and 
 they drew like magnets. 
 
 Outside on the rude station platform were railroad men, 
 Mexicans, and a group of lounging cowboys. Long, lean, 
 bow-legged fellows they were, with young, frank faces 
 and intent eyes. One of them seemed particularly attrac- 
 tive with his superb build, his red-bronze face and bright- 
 red scarf, his swinging gun, and the huge, long, curved 
 Spurs. Evidently he caught Bo's admiring gaze, for, with 
 a word to his companions, he sauntered toward the win- 
 dow where the girls sat. His gait was singular, almost 
 awkward, as if he was not accustomed to walking. The 
 long spurs jingled musically. He removed his sombrero 
 and stood at ease, frank, cool, smiling. Helen liked him 
 on sight, and, looking to see what effect he had upon Bo, 
 she found that young lady staring, frightened stiff. 
 
 "Good mawnin'," drawled the cowboy, with slow B 
 good-humored smile. "Now where might you-all be 
 travelin'?" 
 
 The sound of his voice, the clean-cut and droll geniality* 
 seemed new and delightful to Helen. 
 
 34 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 41 We go to Magdalena then take stage for the White 
 
 Mountains," replied Helen. 
 
 The cowboy's still, intent eyes showed surprise. 
 
 "Apache country, miss," he said. " I reckon I'm sorry. 
 Thet's shore no place for you-all. . . . Beggin' your pawdin 
 you ain't Mormons?" 
 
 "No. We're nieces of Al Auchincloss," rejoined Helen. 
 
 "Wai, you don't say! I've been down Magdalena way 
 an' heerd of Al. . . . Reckon you're goin' a-visitin' ? " 
 
 "It's to be home for us." 
 
 "Shore thet's fine. The West needs girls. . . . Yes, I've 
 heerd of Al. An old Arizona cattle-man in a sheep coun- 
 try! Thet's bad. . . . Now I'm wonderin' if I'd drift 
 down there an' ask him for a job ridin' for him would I 
 get it?" 
 
 His lazy smile was infectious and his meaning was as 
 clear as crystal water. The gaze he bent upon Bo some- 
 how pleased Helen. The last year or two, since Bo had 
 grown prettier all the time, she had been a magnet for 
 admiring glances. This one of the cowboy's inspired 
 respect and liking, as well as amusement. It certainly 
 was not lost upon Bo. 
 
 "My uncle once said in a letter that he never had 
 enough men to run his ranch," replied Helen, smiling. 
 
 "Shore I'll go. I reckon I'd jest naturally drift that 
 way now." 
 
 He seemed so laconic, so easy, so nice, that he could 
 not have been taken seriously, yet Helen's quick per- 
 ceptions registered a daring, a something that was both 
 sudden and inevitable in him. His last word was as clear 
 as the soft look he fixed upon Bo. 
 
 Helen had a mischievous trait, which, subdue it as she 
 would, occasionally cropped out; and Bo, who once in 
 her wilful life had been rendered speechless, offered such 
 a temptation. 
 
 " Maybe my little sister will put in a good word for you 
 to Uncle Al," said Helen. Just then the train jerked. 
 
 35 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 and started slowly. The cowboy took two long strides 
 beside the car, his heated boyish face almost on a level 
 with the window, his eyes, now shy and a little wistful, 
 yet bold, too, fixed upon Bo. 
 
 "Good-by - Sweetheart!" he called. 
 
 He halted was lost to view. 
 
 "Well!" ejaculated Helen, contritely, half sorry, half 
 amused. "What a sudden young gentleman!'* 
 
 Bo had blushed beautifully. 
 
 ' ' Nell, wasn't he glorious !' ' she burst out , with eyes shining, 
 
 "I'd hardly call him that, but he was nice," replied 
 Helen, much relieved that Bo had apparently not taken 
 offense at her. 
 
 It appeared plain that Bo resisted a frantic desire to 
 look out of the window and to wave her hand. But she 
 only peeped out, manifestly to her disappointment. 
 
 " Do you think he he'll come to Uncle Al's? " asked Bo. 
 
 "Child, he was only in fun." 
 
 "Nell, I'll bet you he comes. Oh, it 'd be great! I'm 
 going to love cowboys. They don't look like that Harve 
 Riggs who ran after you so." 
 
 Helen sighed, partly because of the reminder of her 
 odious suitor, and partly because Bo's future already 
 called mysteriously to the child. Helen had to be at 
 once a mother and a protector to a girl of intense and 
 wilful spirit. 
 
 One of the trainmen directed the girls' attention to a 
 green, sloping mountain rising to a bold, blunt bluff of 
 bare rock; and, calling it Starvation Peak, he told a 
 story of how Indians had once driven Spaniards up there 
 and starved them. Bo was intensely interested, and 
 thereafter she watched more keenly than ever, and always 
 had a question for a passing trainman. The adobe houses 
 of the Mexicans pleased her, and when the train got out 
 into Indian country, where pueblos appeared near the 
 track and Indians with their bright colors and shaggy 
 wild mustangs then she was enraptured, 
 
 36 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "But these Indians are peaceful!" she exclaimed once, 
 regretfully. 
 
 " Gracious, child! You don't want to see hostile Ind- 
 ians, do you?" queried Helen. 
 
 "I do, you bet," was the frank rejoinder. 
 
 "Well, /'// bet that 111 be sorry I didn't leave you with 
 mother." 
 
 "Nell you never will!" 
 
 They reached Albuquerque about noon, and this im- 
 portant station, where they had to change trains, had 
 been the first dreaded anticipation of the journey. It 
 certainly was a busy place full of jabbering Mexicans, 
 stalking, red-faced, wicked-looking cowboys, lolling Ind-| 
 ians. In the confusion Helen would have been hard put 
 to it to preserve calmness, with Bo to watch, and all that 
 baggage to carry, and the other train to find; bat the 
 kindly brakeman who had been attentive to them now 
 helped them off the train into the other a service for 
 which Helen was very grateful. 
 
 "Albuquerque's a hard place," confided the trainman. 
 "Better stay in the car and don't hang out the windows. 
 . . . Good luck to you!" 
 
 Only a few passengers were in the car and they were 
 Mexicans at the forward end. This branch train consisted 
 of one passenger-coach, with a baggage-car, attached to a 
 string of freight-cars. Helen told herself, somewhat 
 grimly, that soon she would know surely whether or not 
 her suspicions of Harve Riggs had warrant. If he was 
 going on to Magdalena on that day he must go in this 
 coach. Presently Bo, who was not obeying admonitions, 
 drew her head out of the window. Her eyes were wide in 
 amaze, her mouth open. 
 
 "Nell! I saw that man Riggs!" she whispered. "He's 
 going to get on this train." 
 
 "Bo, I saw him yesterday," replied Helen, soberly. 
 
 "He's followed you the the " 
 
 37 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Now, Bo, don't get excited," remonstrated Helen. 
 J< We've left home now. We've got to take things as 
 they come. Never mind if Riggs has followed me. I'll 
 settle him." 
 
 "Oh! Then you won't speak have anything to do 
 with him?" 
 
 "I won't if I can help it." 
 
 Other passengers boarded the train, dusty, uncouth, 
 rugged men, and some hard-featured, poorly clad women, 
 marked by toil, and several more Mexicans. With bustle 
 and loud talk they found their several seats. 
 
 Then Helen saw Harve Riggs enter, burdened with 
 much luggage. He was a man of about medium height, 
 of dark, flashy appearance, cultivating long black mus- 
 tache and hair. His apparel was striking, as it consisted 
 of black frock-coat, black trousers stuffed in high, fancy- 
 topped boots, an embroidered vest, and flowing tie, and 
 a black sombrero. His belt and gun were prominent. It 
 was sionificant that he excited comment among the other 
 passengers. 
 
 When he had deposited his pieces of baggage he seemed 
 to square himself, and, turning abruptly, approached the 
 seat occupied by the girls. When he reached it he sat 
 down upon the arm of the one opposite, took off his som- 
 brero, and deliberately looked at Helen. His eyes were 
 light, glinting, with hard, restless quiver, and his mouth 
 was coarse and arrogant. Helen had never seen him de- 
 tached from her home surroundings, and now the differ- 
 ence struck cold upon her heart. 
 
 "Hello, Nell!" he said. "Surprised to see me?" 
 
 "No," she replied, coldly. 
 
 "I'll gamble you are." 
 
 " Harve Riggs, I told you the day before I left home tha* 
 nothing you could do or say mattered to me." 
 
 "Reckon that ain't so, Nell. Any woman I keep track 
 af has reason to think. An' you know it." 
 
 "Then you followed me out here?" demanded 
 
 38 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Helen, and her voice, despite her control, quivered with 
 anger. 
 
 " I sure did," he replied, and there was as much thought 
 of himself in the act as there was of her. 
 
 "Why? Why? It's useless hopeless." 
 
 " I swore I'd have you, or nobody else would," he replied, 
 end here, in the passion of his voice there sounded egotism 
 rather than hunger for a woman's love. "But I reckon 
 I'd have struck West anyhow, sooner or later." 
 
 "You're not going to all the way to Pine?" faltered 
 Helen, momentarily weakening. 
 
 "Nell, I'll camp on your trail from now on," he de- 
 clared. 
 
 Then Bo sat bolt-upright, with pale face and flashing 
 eyes. 
 
 "Harve Riggs, you leave Nell alone," she burst out, in 
 ringing, brave young voice. "I'll tell you what I'll bet 
 5 if you follow her and nag her any more, my uncle Al or 
 some cowboy will run you out of the country." 
 
 "Hello, Pepper!" replied Riggs, coolly. "I see your 
 manners haven't improved an' you're still wild about 
 cowboys." 
 
 "People don't have good manners with with " 
 
 "Bo, hush!" admonished Helen. It was difficult to 
 reprove Bo just then, for that young lady had not the 
 slightest fear of Riggs. Indeed, she looked as if she could 
 slap his face. And Helen realized that however her in- 
 telligence had grasped the possibilities of leaving home 
 for a wild country, and whatever her determination to be 
 brave, the actual beginning of self-reliance had left her 
 spirit weak. She would rise out of that. But just now 
 this flashing-eyed little sister seemed a protector. Bo 
 would readily adapt herself to the West, Helen thought, 
 because she was so young, primitive, elemental. 
 
 Whereupon Bo turned her back to Riggs and looked out 
 of the window. The man laughed. Then he stood up 
 and leaned over Helen. 
 
 39 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Nell, I'm goin' wherever you go," he said, steadily. 
 "You can take that friendly or not, just as it pleases you. 
 But if you've got any sense you'll not give these people 
 out here a hunch against me. I might hurt somebody. 
 . . . An* wouldn't it be better to act friends? For I'm 
 goin' to look after you, whether you like it or not." 
 
 Helen had considered this man an annoyance, and later 
 a menace, and now she must declare open enmity with 
 him. However disgusting the idea that he considered 
 himself a factor in her new life, it was the truth. He 
 existed, he had control over his movements. She could 
 not change that. She hated the need of thinking so much 
 about him; and suddenly, with a hot, bursting anger, she 
 hated the man. 
 
 "You'll not look after me. I'll take care of myself," 
 she said, and she turned her back upon him. She heard 
 him mutter under his breath and slowly move away down 
 the car. Then Bo slipped a hand in hers. 
 
 " Never mind, Nell," she whispered. " You know what 
 old Sheriff Haines said about Harve Riggs. ' A four-flush 
 would-be gun-fighter! If he ever strikes a real Western 
 town he'll get run out of it.' I just wish my red-faced 
 cowboy had got on this train!" 
 
 Helen felt a rush of gladness that she had yielded to 
 Bo's wild importunities to take her West. The spirit 
 which had made Bo incorrigible at home probably would 
 Jfcake her react happily to life out in this free country. 
 Yet Helen, with all her warmth and gratefulness, had to 
 laugh at her sister. 
 
 "Your red-faced cowboy! Why, Bo, you were scared 
 stiff. And now you claim him !" 
 
 "I certainly could love that fellow," replied Bo, 
 dreamily. 
 
 "Child, you've been saying that about fellows for a 
 long time. And you've never looked twice at any of 
 them yet." 
 
 "He was different Nell, I'll bet he comes to Pine." 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "I hope he does. I wish he was on this train J liked 
 his looks, Bo." 
 
 "Well, Nell dear, he looked at me first and last so 
 don't get your hopes up. ... Oh, the tram's starting! . . . 
 Good-by, Albu-ker what's that awful name? . . . Nell, 
 let's eat dinner. I'm starved." 
 
 Then Helen forgot her troubles and the uncertain 
 future, and what with listening to Bo's chatter, and par- 
 taking again of the endless good things to eat in the huge 
 basket, and watching the noble mountains, she drew once 
 more into happy mood. 
 
 The valley of the Rio Grande opened to view, wide near 
 at hand in a great gray-green gap between the bare black 
 mountains, narrow in the distance, where the yellow river 
 wound away, glistening under a hot sun. Bo squealed in 
 glee at sight of naked little Mexican children that darted 
 into adobe huts as the train clattered by, and she exclaimed 
 her pleasure in the Indians, and the mustangs, and par- 
 ticularly in a group of cowboys riding into town on 
 spirited horses. Helen saw all Bo pointed out, but it was 
 to the wonderful rolling valley that her gaze clung longest, 
 and to the dim purple distance that seemed to hold some- 
 thing from her. She had never before experienced any 
 feeling like that; she had never seen a tenth so far. And 
 the sight awoke something strange in her. The sun was 
 burning hot, as she could tell when she put a hand outside 
 the window, and a strong wind blew sheets of dry dust at 
 the train. She gathered at once what tremendous factors 
 in the Southwest were the sun and the dust and the wind. 
 And her realization made her love them. It was there; 
 the open, the wild, the beautiful, the lonely land; and she 
 felt the poignant call of blood in her to seek, to strive, to 
 find, to live. One look down that yellow valley, endless 
 between its dark iron ramparts, had given her under- 
 standing of her uncle. She must be like him in spirit, as 
 it was claimed she resembled him otherwise. 
 
 At length Bo grew tired of watching scenery that con- 
 4 4i 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 tained no life, and, with her bright head on the faded 
 cloak, she went to sleep. But Helen kept steady, far- 
 seeing gaze out upon that land of rock and plain; and 
 during the long hours, as she watched through clouds of 
 dust and veils of heat, some strong and doubtful and 
 restless sentiment seemed to change and then to fix. It 
 was her physical acceptance her eyes and her senses 
 taking the West as she had already taken it in spirit. 
 
 A woman should love her home wherever fate placed 
 her, Helen believed, and not so much from duty as from 
 delight and romance and living. How could life ever be 
 tedious or monotonous out here in this tremendous vast- 
 ness of bare earth and open sky, where the need to achieve 
 made thinking and pondering superficial? 
 
 It was with regret that she saw the last of the valley of 
 the Rio Grande, and then of its paralleled mountain 
 ranges. But the miles brought compensation in other 
 valleys, other bold, black upheavals of rock, and then 
 again bare, boundless yellow plains, and sparsely cedared 
 ridges, and white dry washes, ghastly in the sunlight, and 
 dazzling beds of alkali, and then a desert space where 
 golden and blue flowers bloomed. 
 
 She noted, too, that the whites and yellows of earth and 
 rock had begun to shade to red and this she knew meant 
 an approach to Arizona. Arizona, the wild, the lonely, 
 the red desert, the green plateau Arizona with its thun- 
 dering rivers, its unknown spaces, its pasture-lands and 
 timber-lands, its wild horses, cowboys, outlaws, wolves 
 and lions and savages! As to a boy, that name stirred 
 and thrilled and sang to her of nameless, sweet, intangible 
 things, mysterious and all of adventure. But she, being 
 a girl of twenty, who had accepted responsibilities, must 
 conceal the depths of her heart and that which her mother 
 had complained was her misfortune in not being born a 
 boy. 
 
 Time passed, while Helen watched and learned and 
 dreamed. The train stopped, at long intervals, at way* 
 
 42 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 side stations where there seemed nothing but adobe sheds 
 and lazy Mexicans, and dust and heat. Bo awoke and 
 began to chatter, and to dig into the basket. She learned 
 from the conductor that Magdalena was only two stations 
 on. And she was full of conjectures as to who would 
 meet them, what would happen. So Helen was drawn 
 back to sober realities, in which there was considerable 
 zest. Assuredly she did not know what was going to 
 happen. Twice Riggs passed up and down the aisle, his 
 dark face and light eyes and sardonic smile deliberately 
 forced upon her sight. But again Helen fought a growing 
 dread with contemptuous scorn. This fellow was not half 
 a man. It was not conceivable what he could do, except 
 annoy her, until she arrived at Pine. Her uncle was to 
 meet her or send for her at Snowdrop, which place, Helen 
 knew, was distant a good long ride by stage from Mag- 
 dalena. This stage-ride was the climax and the dread of 
 all the long journey, in Helen's considerations. 
 
 "Oh, Nell!" cried Bo, with delight. "We're nearly 
 there! Next station, the conductor said." 
 
 "I wonder if the stage travels at night," said Helen, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "Sure it does!" replied the irrepressible Bo. 
 
 The train, though it clattered along as usual, seemed to 
 Helen to fly. There the sun was setting over bleak New 
 Mexican bluffs, Magdalena was at hand, and night, and 
 adventure. Helen's heart beat fast. She watched the 
 yellow plains where the cattle grazed; their presence, and 
 irrigation ditches and cot ton wood-trees told her that the 
 railroad part of the journey was nearly ended. Then, 
 at Bo's little scream, she looked across the car and out of 
 the window to see a line of low, flat, red-adobe houses. 
 The train began to slow down. Helen saw children run, 
 white children and Mexican together; then more houses, 
 and high upon a hill an immense adobe church, crude and 
 glaring, yet somehow beautiful. 
 
 Helen told Bo to put on her bonnet, and, performing a 
 
 43 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 like office for herself, she was ashamed of the trembling 
 of her fingers. There were bustle and talk in the car. 
 
 The train stopped. Helen peered out to see a straggling 
 crowd of Mexicans and Indians, all motionless and stolid, 
 as if trains or nothing else mattered. Next Helen saw a 
 white man, and that was a relief. He stood out in front 
 of the others. Tall and broad, somehow striking, he drew 
 a second glance that showed him to be a hunter clad in 
 gray-fringed buckskin, anH carrying a rifle. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 HERE there was no kindly brakeman to help the sisters 
 with their luggage. Helen bade Bo take her share; 
 thus burdened, they made an awkward and laborious shift 
 to get off the train. 
 
 Upon the platform of the car a strong hand seized 
 Helen's heavy bag, with which she was straining, and a 
 loud voice called out: 
 
 "Girls, we're here sure out in the wild an' woolly 
 West!" 
 
 The speaker was Riggs, and he had possessed himself 
 of part of her baggage with action and speech meant more 
 to impress the curious crowd than to be really kind. In 
 the excitement of arriving Helen had forgotten him. The 
 manner of sudden reminder the insincerity of it made 
 her temper flash. She almost fell, encumbered as she 
 was, in her hurry to descend the steps. She saw the tall 
 hunter in gray step forward close to her as she reached for 
 the bag Riggs held. 
 
 "Mr. Riggs, I'll carry my bag," she said. 
 
 "Let me lug this. You help Bo with hers," he replied, 
 familiarly. 
 
 "But I want it," she rejoined, quietly, with sharp de- 
 termination. No little force was needed to pull the bag 
 away from Riggs. 
 
 "See here, Helen, you ain't goin' any farther with that 
 joke, are you?" he queried, deprecatingly, and he still 
 spoke quite loud. 
 
 "It's no joke to me," replied Helen. "I told you I 
 didn't want your attention." 
 
 45 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Sure. But that was temper. I'm your friend from 
 your home town. An' I ain't goin' to let a quarrel 
 keep me from lookin' after you till you're safe at your 
 uncle's." 
 
 Helen turned her back upon him. The tall hunter had 
 just helped Bo off the car. Then Helen looked up into 
 a smooth bronzed face and piercing gray eyes. 
 
 "Are you Helen Rayner?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "My name's Dale. I've come to meet you." 
 
 "Ah! My uncle sent you?" added Helen, in quick 
 relief. 
 
 "No; I can't say Al sent me," began the man, "but I 
 reckon " 
 
 He was interrupted by Riggs, who, grasping Helen by 
 the arm, pulled her back a step. 
 
 "Say, mister, did Auchincloss send you to meet my 
 young friends here?" he demanded, arrogantly. 
 
 Dale's glance turned from Helen to Riggs. She could 
 not read this quiet gray gaze, but it thrilled her. 
 
 " No. I come on my own hook," he answered. 
 
 " You'll understand, then they're in my charge," added 
 Riggs. 
 
 This time the steady light-gray eyes met Helen's, and 
 if there was not a smile in them or behind them she was 
 Rtill further baffled. 
 
 "Helen, I reckon you said you didn't want this fellow's 
 attention. " 
 
 "I certainly said that," replied Helen, quickly. Just 
 then Bo slipped close to her and gave her arm a little 
 squeeze. Probably Bo's thought was like hers here was 
 a real Western man. That was her first impression, and 
 following swiftly upon it was a sensation of eased nerves. 
 
 Riggs swaggered closer to Dale. 
 
 "Say, Buckskin, I hail from Texas" 
 
 "You're wastin' our time an' we've need to hurry," 
 interrupted Dale. His tone seemed friendly. "An' if 
 
 46 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 you ever lived long in Texas you wouldn't pester a lady 
 an' you sure wouldn't talk like you do." 
 
 "What!" shouted Riggs, hotly. He dropped his right 
 hand significantly to his hip. 
 
 "Don't throw your gun. It might go off," said Dale. 
 
 Whatever Riggs's intention had been and it was prob- 
 ably just what Dale evidently had read it he now flushed 
 an angry red and jerked at his gun. 
 
 Dale's hand flashed too swiftly for Helen's eye to fol- 
 low it. But she heard the thud as it struck. The gun 
 went flving to the platform and scattered a group of 
 Indians and Mexicans. 
 
 "You'll hurt yourself some day," said Dale. 
 
 Helen had never heard a slow, cool voice like this 
 hunter's. Without excitement or emotion or hurry, it 
 yet seemed full and significant of thing the words did 
 not mean. Bo uttered a strange little exultant cry. 
 
 Riggs's arm had dropped limp. No doubt it was numb. 
 He stared, and his predominating expression was surprise. 
 As the shuffling crowd began to snicker and whisper, 
 Riggs gave Dale a malignant glance, shifted it to 
 Helen, and then lurched away in the direction of his gun. 
 
 Dale did not pay any more attention to him. Gather- 
 ing up Helen's baggage, he said, "Come on," and shoul- 
 dered a lane through the gaping crowd. The girls fol- 
 lowed close at his heels. 
 
 "Nell! what'd I tell you?" whispered Bo. "Oh, 
 you're all atremble!" 
 
 Helen was aware of her unsteadiness; anger and fear 
 and relief in quick succession had left her rather weak. 
 Once through the motley crowd of loungers, she saw an 
 old gray stage-coach and four lean horses. A grizzled, 
 sunburned man sat on the driver's seat, whip and reins in 
 hand. Beside him was a younger man with rifle across 
 his knees. Another man, young, tall, lean, dark, stood 
 holding the coach door open. He touched his sombrero 
 to the girls. His eyes were sharp as he addressed Dale. 
 
 47 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Milt, wasn't you held up?" 
 
 "No. But some long-haired galoot was tryin' to hold 
 ip the girls. Wanted to throw his gun on me. I was 
 sure scared," replied Dale, as he deposited the luggage. 
 
 Bo laughed. Her eyes, resting upon Dale, were warm 
 and bright. The young man at the coach door took a 
 second look at her, and then a smile changed the dark 
 hardness of his face. 
 
 Dale helped the girls up the high step into the stage, 
 and then, placing the lighter luggage in with them, he 
 threw the heavier pieces on top. 
 
 "Joe, climb up," he said. 
 
 "Wai, Milt," drawled the driver, "let's ooze along." 
 
 Dale hesitated, with his hand on the door. He 
 glanced at the crowd, now edging close again, and then 
 at Helen. 
 
 "I reckon I ought to tell you," he said, and indecision 
 appeared to concern him. 
 
 "What?" exclaimed Helen. 
 
 "Bad news. But talkin' takes time. An' we mustn't 
 lose any." 
 
 "There's need of hurry?" queried Helen, sitting up 
 sharply. 
 
 "I reckon." 
 
 "Is this the stage to Snowdrop?" 
 
 "No. That leaves in the mornin'. We rustled this 
 old trap to get a start to-night." 
 
 "The sooner the better. But I I don't understand," 
 said Helen, bewildered. 
 
 " It '11 not be safe for you to ride on the mornin' stage," 
 returned Dale. 
 
 "Safe! Oh, what do you mean?" exclaimed Helen. 
 Apprehensively she gazed at him and then back at Bo. 
 
 "Explainin* will take time. An* facts may change 
 your mind. But if you can't trust me " 
 
 "Trust you?" interposed Helen, blankly. "You mean 
 to take us to Snowdrop?" 
 
 48 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "I reckon we'd better go roundabout an' not hit Snow< 
 drop," he replied, shortly. 
 
 "Then to Pine to my uncle Al Auchincloss?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm goin' to try hard." 
 
 Helen caught her breath. She divined that some peril 
 menaced her. She looked steadily, with all a woman's 
 keenness, into this man's face. The moment was one of 
 the fateful decisions she knew the West had in store for 
 her. Her future and that of Bo's were now to be depend- 
 ent upon her judgments. It was a hard moment and, 
 though she shivered inwardly, she welcomed the initial 
 and inevitable step. This man Dale, by his dress 01 buck- 
 skin, must be either scout or hunter. His size, his 
 action, the tone of his voice had been reassuring. But 
 Helen must decide from what she saw in his face whether 
 or not to trust him. And that face was clear bronze, 
 unlined, unshadowed, like a tranquil mask, clean-cut, 
 strong-jawed, with eyes of wonderful transparent gray. 
 
 "Yes, I'll trust you," she said. "Get in, and let us 
 hurry. Then you can explain." 
 
 "All ready, Bill. Send 'em along," called Dale. 
 
 He had to stoop to enter the stage, and, once in, he 
 appeared to fill that side upon which he sat. Then the 
 driver cracked his whip; the stage lurched and began to 
 roll; the motley crowd was left behind. Helen awakened 
 to the reality, as she saw Bo staring with big eyes at the 
 hunter, that a stranger adventure than she had ever 
 dreamed of had begun with the rattling roll of that old 
 stage-coach. 
 
 Dale laid off his sombrero and leaned forward, holding 
 his rifle between his knees. The light shone better upon 
 his features now that he was bareheaded. Helen had 
 never seen a face like that, which at first glance appeared 
 darkly bronzed and hard, and then became clear, cold, 
 aloof, still, intense. She wished she might see a smile 
 upon it. And now that the die was cast she could not 
 tell why she had trusted it. There was singular force in 
 
 4Q 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 it, but she did not recognize what kind of force. One 
 instant she thought it was stern, and the next that it was 
 sweet, and again that it was neither. 
 
 "I'm glad you've got your sister," he said, presently. 
 
 "How did you know she's my sister?" 
 
 "I reckon she looks like you." 
 
 "No one else ever thought so," replied Hefen, trying 
 to smile. 
 
 Bo had no difficulty in smiling, as she said, "Wish I 
 was half as pretty as Nell." 
 
 "Nell. Isn't your name Helen?" queried Dale. 
 
 "Yes. But my some few call me Nell." 
 
 "I like Nell better than Helen. An' what's yours?" 
 went on Dale, looking at Bo. 
 
 "Mine's Bo. Just plain B-o. Isn't it silly? But I 
 wasn't asked when they gave it to me," she replied. 
 
 "Bo. It's nice an' short. Never heard it before. 
 But I haven't met many people for years." 
 
 "Oh! we've left the town!" cried Bo. "Look, Nell! 
 How bare! It's just like desert." 
 
 " It is desert. We've forty miles of that before we come 
 to a hill or a tree." 
 
 Helen glanced out. A flat, dull-green expanse waved 
 away from the road on and on to a bright, dark horizon- 
 line, where the sun was setting rayless in a clear sky. 
 Open, desolate, and lonely, the scene gave her a cold 
 thrill. 
 
 "Did your uncle Al ever write anythin* about a man 
 named Beasley?" asked Dale. 
 
 "Indeed he did," replied Helen, with a start of surprise. 
 "Beasley! That name is familiar to us and detestable. 
 My uncle complained of this man for years. Then he 
 grew bitter accused Beasby. But the last year or so 
 not a word!" 
 
 "Well, now," began the hunter, earnestly, "let's get 
 the bad news over. I'm sorry you must be worried. But 
 you must learn to take the West as it is. There's good 
 
 50 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 an' bad, maybe more bad. That's because the country's 
 young. ... So to come right out with it this Beasley hired 
 a gang of outlaws to meet the stage you was goin' in to 
 Snowdrop to-morrow an' to make off with you." 
 
 "Make off with me?" ejaculated Helen, bewildered. 
 
 ' 'Kidnap you! Which, in that gang, would be worse 
 than killing you!" declared Dale, grimly, and he closed 
 a huge fist on his knee. 
 
 Helen was utterly astounded. 
 
 "How hor-rible ! " she gasped out. " Make off with me! 
 . . . What in Heaven's name for?" 
 
 Bo gave vent to a fierce little utterance. 
 
 "For reasons you ought to guess," replied Dale, and he 
 leaned forward again. Neither his voice nor face changed 
 in the least, but yet there was a something about him 
 that fascinated Helen. "I'm a hunter. I live in the 
 woods. A few nights ago I happened to be caught out 
 in a storm an' I took to an old log cabin. Soon as I got 
 there I heard horses. I hid up in the loft. Some men 
 rode up an' come in. It was dark. They couldn't see 
 me. An' they talked. It turned out they were Snake 
 Anson an' his gang of sheep-thieves. They expected to 
 meet Beasley there. Pretty soon he came. He told 
 Anson how old Al, your uncle, was on his last legs how 
 he had sent for you to have his property when he died. 
 Beasley swore he had claims on Al. An' he made a deal 
 with Anson to get you out of the way. He named the 
 day you were to reach Magdalena. With Al dead an' 
 you not there, Beasley could get the property. An' then 
 he wouldn't care if you did come to claim it. It 'd be too 
 late. . . . Well, they rode away that night. An' next day 
 I rustled down to Pine. They're all my friends at Pine 
 except old Al. But they think I'm queer. I didn't want 
 to confide in many people. Beasley is strong in Pine 
 an* for that matter I suspect Snake Anson has other 
 friends there besides Beasley. So I went to see your 
 uncle. He never had any use for me because he thought 
 
 5i 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 i was lazy like an Indian. Old Al hates lazy men. Then 
 we fell out or he fell out because he believed a tame 
 lion of mine had killed some of his sheep. An' now I 
 reckon that Tom might have done it. I tried to lead up 
 to this deal of Beasley's about you, but old Al wouldn't 
 listen. He's cross very cross. An' when I tried to tell 
 him, why, he went right out of his head. Sent me off the 
 ranch. Now I reckon you begin to see what a pickle I 
 was in. Finally I went to four friends I could trust. 
 They're Mormon boys brothers. That's Joe out on top, 
 with the driver. I told them all about Beasley's deal an' 
 asked them to help me. So we planned to beat Anson 
 an' his gang to Magdalena. It happens that Beasley is 
 as strong in Magdalena as he is in Pine. An' we had to 
 go careful. But the boys had a couple of friends here 
 Mormons, too, who agreed to help us. They had this old 
 stage. . . . An' here you are." Dale spread out his big 
 hands and looked gravely at Helen and then at Bo. 
 
 "You're perfectly splendid!" cried Bo, ringingly. She 
 was white; her fingers were clenched; her eyes blazed. 
 
 Dale appeared startled out of his gravity, and surprised, 
 then pleased. A smile made his face like a boy's. 
 
 Helen felt her body all rigid, yet slightly trembling. 
 Her hands were cold. The horror of this revelation held 
 her speechless. But in her heart she echoed Bo's excla- 
 mation of admiration and gratitude. 
 
 "So far, then," resumed Dale, with a heavy breath of 
 relief. "No wonder you're upset. I've a blunt way of 
 talkin'. . . . Now we've thirty miles to ride on this Snow- 
 drop road before we can turn off. To-day sometime the 
 rest of the boys Roy, John, an' Hal were to leave Show 
 Down, which 's a town farther on from Snowdrop. They 
 have my horses an' packs besides their own. Somewhere 
 on the road we'll meet them to-night, maybe or to- 
 morrow. I hope not to-night, because that 'd mean 
 Anson's gang was ridin' in to Magdalena." 
 
 Helen wrung her hands helplessly. 
 
 52 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Oh, have I no courage?" she whispered. 
 
 ''Nell, I'm as scared as you are," said Bo, consolingly, 
 embracing her sister. 
 
 " I reckon that's natural," said Dale, as if excusing them. 
 "But, scared or not, you both brace up. It's a bad job. 
 But I've done my best. An' you'll be safer with me an* 
 the Beeman boys than you'd be in Magdalena, or any- 
 where else, except your uncle's." 
 
 "Mr. Mr. Dale," faltered Helen, with her tears fall- 
 ing, "don't think me a coward or or ungrateful. 
 I'm neither. It's only I'm so so shocked. After all we 
 hoped and expected this this is such a a terrible 
 surprise." 
 
 "Never mind, Nell dear. Let's take what comes," 
 murmured Bo. 
 
 "That's the talk," said Dale. "You see, I've come 
 right out with the worst. Maybe we'll get through easy. 
 When we meet the boys we'll take to the horses an' the 
 trails. Can you ride?" 
 
 "Bo has been used to horses all her life and I ride fairly 
 well," responded Helen. The idea of riding quickened 
 her spirit. 
 
 "Good! We may have some hard ridin' before I get 
 you up to Pine. Hello ! What's that ? " 
 
 Above the creaking, rattling, rolling roar of the stage 
 Helen heard a rapid beat of hoofs. A horse flashed by, 
 galloping hard. 
 
 Dale opened the door and peered out. The stage rolled 
 to a halt. He stepped down and gazed ahead. 
 
 "Joe, who was that?" he queried. 
 
 "Nary me. An' Bill didn't know him, either," replied 
 Joe. "I seen him 'way back. He was ridin' some. An' 
 he slowed up goin' past us. Now he's runnin' again." 
 
 Dale shook his head as if he did not like the circum- 
 stances. 
 
 " Milt, he'll never get by Roy on this road," said Joe. 
 
 " Maybe he'll get by before Roy strikes in on the road/ 1 
 
 53 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "It ain't likely." 
 
 Helen could* not restrain her fears. 
 
 "Mr. Dale, you think he was a messenger going ahead 
 to post that that Anson gang?" 
 
 "He might be," replied Dale, simply. 
 
 Then the young man called Joe leaned out from the 
 seat above and called: "Miss Helen, don't you worry. 
 Thet fellar is more liable to stop lead than anythin' else." 
 
 His words, meant to be kind and reassuring, were 
 almost as sinister to Helen as the menace to her own life. 
 Long had she known how cheap life was held in the West, 
 but she had only known it abstractly, and she had never 
 let the fact remain before her consciousness. This cheer- 
 ful young man spoke calmly of spilling blood in her be- 
 half. The thought it roused was tragic for bloodshed 
 was insupportable to her and then the thrills which fol- 
 lowed were so new, strange, bold, and tingling that they 
 were revolting. Helen grew conscious of unplumbed 
 depths, of instincts at which she was amazed and ashamed. 
 
 "Joe, hand down that basket of grub the small one 
 with the canteen," said Dale, reaching out a long arm. 
 Presently he placed a cloth-covered basket inside the 
 stage. "Girls, eat all you want an' then some." 
 
 "We have a basket half full yet," replied Helen. 
 
 "You'll need it all before we get to Pine. . . . Now, I'll 
 ride up on top with the boys an' eat my supper. It '11 
 be dark, presently, an* we'll stop often to listen. But 
 don't be scared." 
 
 With that he took his rifle and, closing the door, clam- 
 bered up to the driver's seat. Then the stage lurched 
 again and began to roll along. 
 
 Not the least thing to wonder at of this eventful even- 
 ing was the way Bo reached for the basket of food. Helen 
 simply stared at her. 
 
 "Bo, you can't eat!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "I should smile I can," replied that practical young 
 lady. "And you're going to if I have to stuff things in 
 
 54 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 your mouth. Where's your wits, Nell? He said we must 
 eat. That means our strength is going to have some 
 pretty severe trials. . . . Gee! it's all great just like a 
 story! The unexpected why, he looks like a prince 
 turned hunter! long, dark, stage journey held up 
 fight escape wild ride on horses woods and camps 
 and wild places pursued hidden in the forest more 
 hard rides then safe at the ranch. And of course he 
 falls madly in love with me no, you, for I'll be true to 
 my Las Vegas lover " 
 
 " Hush, silly ! Bo, tell me, aren't you scared? " 
 
 "Scared! I'm scared stiff. But if Western girls stand 
 such things, we can. No Western girl is going to beat 
 me!" 
 
 That brought Helen to a realization of the brave nlace 
 she had given herself in dreams, and she was at once 
 ashamed of herself and wildly proud of this little sister. 
 
 "Bo, thank Heaven I brought you with me!" exclaimed 
 Helen, fervently. "Ill eat if it chokes me." 
 
 Whereupon she found herself actually hungry, and 
 while she ate she glanced out of the stage, first from one 
 side and then from the other. These windows had no 
 glass and they let the ccnl night air blow in. The sun 
 had long since sunk. Out to the west, where a bold, 
 black horizon-line swept away endlessly, the sky was 
 clear gold, shading to yellow and blue above. Stars were 
 out, pale and wan, but growing brighter. The earth 
 appeared bare and heaving, like a calm sea. The wind 
 bore a fragrance new to Helen, acridly sweet and uean, 
 and it was so cold it made her fingers numb. 
 
 "I heard some animal yelp," said Bo. suddenly, and she 
 listened with head poised. 
 
 But Helen heard nothing save the steady clip-clop of 
 hoofs, the clink of chains, the creak and rattle of the old 
 stage, and occasionally the low voices of the men above. 
 
 When the girls had satisfied hunger and thirst, night 
 had settled down black. They pulled the cloaks up over 
 
 55 
 
THE MAN OF THE^FOREST 
 
 them, and close together leaned back in a corner of the 
 seat and talked in whispers. Helen did not have much 
 to say, but Bo was talkative. 
 
 "This beats me!" she said once, after an interval. 
 "Where are we, Nell? Those men up there are Mormons. 
 Maybe they are abducting us!" 
 
 "Mr. Dale isn't a Mormon," replied Helen. 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "I could tell by the way he spoke of his friends. n 
 
 " Welf, I wish it wasn't so dark. I'm not afraid of men 
 in daylight. . . . Nell, did you ever see such a wonderful- 
 looking fellow? What 'd they call him? Milt Milt 
 Dale. He said he lived in the woods. If I hadn't fallen 
 in love with that cowboy who called me well, I'd be a 
 goner now." 
 
 After an interval of silence Bo whispered, startlingly, 
 "Wonder if Harve Riggs is following us now?" 
 
 "Of course he is," replied Helen, hopelessly. 
 
 "He'd better look out. Why, Nell, he never saw he 
 never what did Uncle Al used to call it ? sav savvied 
 that's it. Riggs never savvied that hunter. But I did, 
 you bet." 
 
 " Savvied ! What do you mean, Bo ? n 
 
 "I mean that long-haired galoot never saw his real 
 danger. But I felt it. Something went light inside me. 
 Dale never took him seriously at all." 
 
 "Riggs will turn up at Uncle Al's, sure as I'm born," 
 said Helen. 
 
 "Let him turn," replied Bo, contemptuously. "Nell, 
 don't you ever bother your head again about him. I'll 
 bet they're all men out here. And I wouldn't be in Harve 
 Riggs's boots for a lot." 
 
 After that Bo talked of her uncle and his fatal illness, 
 and from that she drifted back to the loved ones at home, 
 now seemingly at the other side of the world, and then she 
 broke down and cried, after which she fell asleep on Helen's 
 shoulder. 
 
 56 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 But Helen could not have fallen asleep if she had 
 wanted to. 
 
 She had always, since she could remember, longed for 
 a moving, active life; and for want of a better idea she 
 had chosen to dream of gipsies. And now it struck her 
 grimly that, if these first few hours of her advent in the 
 West were forecasts of the future, she was destined to 
 have her longings more than fulfilled. 
 
 Presently the stage rolled slower and slower, until it 
 came to a halt. Then the horses heaved, the harnesses 
 clinked, the men whispered. Otherwise there was an 
 intense quiet. She looked out, expecting to find it pitch- 
 dark. It was black, yet a transparent blackness. To 
 her surprise she could see a long way. A shooting-star 
 electrified her. The men were listening. She listened, 
 too, but beyond the slight sounds about the stage she 
 heard nothing. Presently the driver clucked to his 
 horses, and travel was resumed. 
 
 For a while the stage rolled on rapidly, evidently down- 
 hill, swaying from side to side, and rattling as if about to 
 fall to pieces. Then it slowed on a level, and again it 
 halted for a few moments, and once more in motion it 
 began a laborsome climb. Helen imagined miles had 
 been covered. The desert appeared to heave into billows, 
 growing rougher, and dark, round bushes dimly stood out. 
 The road grew uneven and rocky, and when the stage 
 began another descent its violent rocking jolted Bo out 
 of her sleep and in fact almost out of Helen's arms. 
 
 " Where am I?" asked Bo, dazedly. 
 
 "Bo, you're having your heart's desire, but I can't tell 
 you where you are," replied Helen. 
 
 Bo awakened thoroughly, which fact was now no won- 
 der, considering the jostling of the old stage. 
 
 "Hold on to me, Nell! ... Is it a runaway?" 
 
 "We've come about a thousand miles like this, I think," 
 replied Helen. " I've not a whole bone in my body. 1 ' 
 
 Bo peered out of the window. 
 5 57 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Oh, how dark and lonesome! But it 'd be nice if it 
 wasn't so cold. I'm freezing." 
 
 41 1 thought you loved cold air," taunted Helen. 
 
 "Say, Nell, you begin to talk like yourself," responded 
 Bo. 
 
 It was difficult to hold on to the stage and each other 
 and the cloak all at once, but they succeeded, except in 
 the roughest places, when from time to time they were 
 bounced around. Bo sustained a sharp rap on the head. 
 
 "Oooooo!" she moaned. "Nell Rayner, I'll never for- 
 give you for fetching me on this awful trip." 
 
 "Just think of your handsome Las Vegas cowboy," 
 replied Helen. 
 
 Either this remark subdued Bo or the suggestion suf- 
 ficed to reconcile her to the hardships of the ride. 
 
 Meanwhile, as they talked and maintained silence and 
 tried to sleep, the driver of the stage kept at his task after 
 the manner of Western men who knew how to get the 
 best out of horses and bad roads and distance. 
 
 By and by the stage halted again and remained at a 
 standstill for so long, with the men whispering on top, that 
 Helen and Bo were roused to apprehension. 
 
 Suddenly a sharp whistle came from the darkness ahead. 
 
 "Thet's Roy," said Joe Beeman, in a low voice. 
 
 "I reckon. An' meetin' us so quick looks bad," replied 
 Dale. "Drive on, Bill." 
 
 "Mebbe it seems quick to you," muttered the driver, 
 "but if we hain't come thirty mile, an' if thet ridge 
 thar hain't your turnin'-off place, why, I don't know 
 nothin'." 
 
 The stage rolled on a little farther, while Helen and Bo 
 sat clasping each other tight, wondering with bated breath 
 what was to be the next thing to happen. 
 
 Then once more they were at a standstill. Helen heard 
 the thud of boots striking the ground, and the snorts of 
 horses 
 
 " Nell, I see horses," whispered Bo, excitedly. * ' There, 
 
 58 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 to the side of the road . . . and here comes a man. . . . Oh, 
 if he shouldn't be the one they're expecting!" 
 
 Helen peered out to see a tall, dark form, moving 
 silently, and beyond it a vague outline of horses, and then 
 pale gleams of what must have been pack-loads. 
 
 Dale loomed up, and met the stranger in the road. 
 
 "Howdy, Milt? You got the girl sure, or you wouldn't 
 be here," said a low voice. 
 
 "Roy, I've got two girls sisters," replied Dale. 
 
 The man Roy whistled softly under his breath. Then 
 another lean, rangy form strode out of the darkness, and 
 was met by Dale. 
 
 "Now, boys how about Anson's gang?" queried Dale. 
 
 "At Snowdrop, drinkin* an' quarrelin'. Reckon they'll 
 leave there about daybreak," replied Roy. 
 
 "How long have you been here?" 
 
 "Mebbe a couple of hours." 
 
 "Any horse go by?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Roy, a strange rider passed us before dark. He was 
 hittin' the road. An' he's got by here before you came." 
 
 "I don't like thet news," replied Roy, tersely. "Let's 
 rustle. With girls on hossback you'll need all the start 
 you can get. Hey, John?" 
 
 "Snake Anson shore can f oiler hoss tracks," replied the 
 third man. 
 
 "Milt, say the word," went on Roy, as he looked up at 
 the stars. " Daylight not far away. Here's the forks of 
 the road, an' your hosses, an' our outfit. You can be in 
 the pines by sunup." 
 
 In the silence that ensued Helen heard the throb of her 
 heart and the panting little breaths of her sister. They 
 both peered out, hands clenched together, watching and 
 listening in strained attention. 
 
 "It's possible that rider last night wasn't a messenger 
 to Anson," said Dale. "In that case Anson won't make 
 anythin' of our wheel tracks or horse tracks. He'll go 
 
 59 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 right on to meet the regular stage. Bill, can you go back 
 an' meet the stage comin' before Anson does?" 
 
 "Wai, I reckon so an' take it easy at thet," replied 
 Bill. 
 
 "All right," continued Dale, instantly. "John, you an' 
 Joe an' Hal ride back to meet the regular stage. An* 
 when you meet it get on an' be on it when Anson holds 
 it up." 
 
 "Thet's shore agreeable to me," drawled John. 
 
 "I'd like to be on it, too," said Roy, grimly. 
 
 "No. I'll need you till I'm safe in the woods. Bill, 
 hand down the bags. An' you, Roy, help me pack them. 
 Did you get all the supplies I wanted?" 
 
 "Shore did. If the young ladies ain't powerful par- 
 ticular you can feed them well for a couple of months." 
 
 Dale wheeled and, striding to the stage, he opened the 
 door. 
 
 "Girls, you're not asleep? Come," he called. 
 
 Bo stepped down first. 
 
 "I was asleep till this this vehicle fell off the road 
 back a ways," she replied. 
 
 Roy Beeman's low laugh was significant. He took oft 
 his sombrero and stood silent. The old driver smothered 
 a loud guffaw. 
 
 "Veehicle! Wai, I'll be doggoned! Joe, did you hear 
 thet? All the spunky gurls ain't born out West." 
 
 As Helen followed with cloak and bag Roy assisted her, 
 and she encountered keen eyes upon her face. He seemed 
 both gentle and respectful, and she felt his solicitude. 
 His heavy gun, swinging low, struck her as she stepped 
 down. 
 
 Dale reached into the stage and hauled out baskets and 
 bags. These he set down on the ground. 
 
 "Turn around, Bill, an' go along with you. John an* 
 Hal will follow presently," ordered Dale. 
 
 "Wai, gurls," said Bill, looking down upon them, "I 
 was shore powerful glad to meet you-all. An' I 'm ashamed 
 
 60 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 of my country offerin' two sich purty gurls insults an' 
 low-down tricks. But shore you'll go through safe now. 
 You couldn't be in better company fer ridin' or huntin' or 
 marry in' or gittin* religion " 
 
 "Shut up, you old grizzly!" broke in Dale, sharply. 
 
 "Haw! Haw! Good-by, gurls, an' good luck!" ended 
 Bill, as he began to whip the reins. 
 
 Bo said good-by quite distinctly, but Helen could only 
 murmur hers. The old driver seemed a friend. 
 
 Then the horses wheeled and stamped, the stage ca- 
 reened and creaked, presently to roll out of sight in the 
 gloom. 
 
 "You're shiverm'," said Dale, suddenly, looking down 
 upon Helen. She felt his big, hard hand clasp hers. 
 "Cold as ice!" 
 
 "I am c-cold," replied Helen. "I guess we're not 
 warmly dressed." 
 
 "Nell, we roasted all day, and now we're freezing," 
 declared Bo. "I didn't know it was winter at night out 
 here." 
 
 "Miss, haven't you some warm gloves an' a coat?" 
 asked Roy, anxiously. "It 'ain't begun to get cold 
 yet." 
 
 "Nell, we've heavy gloves, riding-suits and boots all 
 fine and new in this black bag," said Bo, enthusiastically 
 kicking a bag at her feet. 
 
 "Yes, so we have. But a lot of good they'll do us, to- 
 night," returned Helen. 
 
 "Miss, you'd do well to change right here," said Roy, 
 earnestly. "It '11 save time in the long run an' a lot of 
 sufferin' before sunup." 
 
 Helen stared at the young man, absolutely amazed with 
 his simplicity. She was advised to change her traveling- 
 dress for a riding-suit out somewhere in a cold, windy 
 desert in the middle of the night among strange young 
 men! 
 
 "Bo, which bag is it?" asked Dale, as if she were his 
 
 61 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 sister. And when she indicated the one, he picked it up. 
 "Come off the road." 
 
 Bo followed him, and Helen found herself mechanically 
 at their heels. Dale led them a few paces off the road 
 behind some low bushes. 
 
 "Hurry an' change here," he said. "We'll make a 
 pack of your outfit an' leave room for this bag." 
 
 Then he stalked away and in a few strides disappeared. 
 
 Bo sat down to begin unlacing her shoes. Helen could 
 just see her pale, pretty face and big, gleaming eyes by 
 the light of the stars. It struck her then that Bo was 
 going to make eminently more of a success of Western life 
 than she was. 
 
 "Nell, those fellows are n-nice," said Bo, reflectively. 
 "Aren't you c-cold? Say, he said hurry!" 
 
 It was beyond Helen's comprehension how she ever 
 began to disrobe out there in that open, windy desert, but 
 after she had gotten launched on the task she found that 
 it required more fortitude than courage. The cold wind 
 pierced right through her. Almost she could have laughed 
 at the way Bo made things fly. 
 
 "G-g-g-gee!" chattered Bo. "I n-never w-was so 
 c-c-cold in all my life. Nell Rayner, m-may the g-good 
 Lord forgive y-you!" 
 
 Helen was too intent on her own troubles to take 
 breath to talk. She was a strong, healthy girl, swift 
 and efficient with her hands, yet this, the hardest 
 physical ordeal she had ever experienced, almost over- 
 came her. Bo outdistanced her by moments, helped 
 her with buttons, and laced one whole boot for her. 
 Then, with hands that stung, Helen packed the traveling- 
 suits in the bag. 
 
 "There! But what an awful mess!" exclaimed Helen. 
 "Oh, Bo, our pretty traveling-dresses!" 
 
 "We'll press them t-to-morrow on a 1-log," replied 
 Bo, and she giggled. 
 
 Thev started for the road. Bo, strange to note, did 
 
 62 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 not carry her share of the burden, and she seemed unsteady 
 on her feet. 
 
 The men were waiting beside a group of horses, one of 
 which carried a pack. 
 
 "Nothin* slow about you," said Dale, relieving Helen 
 of the grip. " Roy, put them up while I sling on this bag." 
 
 Roy led out two of the horses. 
 
 "Get up," he said, indicating Bo. "The stirrups are 
 short on this saddle." 
 
 Bo was an adept at mounting, but she made such awk- 
 ward and slow work of it in this instance that Helen could 
 not believe her eyes. 
 
 "How 're the stirrups?" asked Roy. "Stand in them. 
 Guess they're about right. . . . Careful now! Thet hoss 
 is skittish. Hold him in." 
 
 Bo was not living up to the reputation with which Helen 
 had credited her. 
 
 "Now, miss, you get up," said Roy to Helen. And in 
 another instant she found herself astride a black, spirited 
 horse. Numb with cold as she was, she yet felt the cours- 
 ing thrills along her veins. 
 
 Roy was at the stirrups with swift hands. 
 
 "You're taller 'n I guessed," he said. "Stay up, but 
 lift your foot. . . . Shore now, I'm glad you have them 
 thick, soft boots. Mebbe we'll ride all over the White 
 Mountains." 
 
 "Bo, do you hear that?" called Helen. 
 
 But Bo did not answer. She was leaning rather un- 
 naturally in her saddle. Helen became anxious. Just 
 then Dale strode back to them. 
 
 "All cinched up, Roy?" 
 
 "Jest ready," replied Roy. 
 
 Then Dale stood beside Helen. How tall he was! His 
 wide shoulders seemed on a level with the pommel of her 
 saddle. He put an affectionate hand on the horse. 
 
 "His name's Ranger an' he's the fastest an' finest horse 
 in this country." 
 
 63 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 " I reckon he shore is along with my bay," corroborated 
 Roy. 
 
 "Roy, if you rode Ranger he'd beat your pet," said 
 Dale. "We can start now. Roy, you drive the pack- 
 horses." 
 
 He took another look at Helen's saddle and then moved 
 to do likewise with Bo's. 
 
 "Are you all right'"' he asked, quickly. 
 
 Bo reeled in her seat. 
 
 "I'm n-near froze," she replied, in a faint voice. Her 
 face shone white in the starlight. Helen recognized that 
 Bo was more than cold. 
 
 "Oh, Bo!" she called, in distress. 
 
 "Nell, don't you worry, now." 
 
 "Let me carry you," suggested Dale. 
 
 "No. I'll s-s-stick on this horse or d-die," fiercely re- 
 torted Bo. 
 
 The two men looked up at her white face and then at 
 each other. Then Roy walked away toward the dark 
 bunch of horses off the road and Dale swung astride the 
 one horse left. 
 
 "Keep close to me," he said. 
 
 Bo fell in line and Helen brought up the rear. 
 
 Helen imagined she was near the end of a dream. 
 Presently she would awaken with a start and see the pale 
 walls of her little room at home, and hear the cherry 
 branches brushing her window, and the old clarion-voiced 
 cock proclaim the hour of dawn. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE horses trotted. And the exercise soon warmed 
 Helen, until she was fairly comfortable except in her 
 fingers. In mind, however, she grew more miserable as 
 she more fully realized her situation. The night now 
 became so dark that, although the head of her horse was 
 alongside the flank of Bo's, she could scarcely see Bo. 
 From time to time Helen's anxious query brought from 
 her sister the answer that she was all right. 
 
 Helen had not ridden a horse for more than a year, and 
 /or several years she had not ridden with any regularity. 
 Despite her thrills upon mounting, she had entertained 
 misgivings. But she was agreeably surprised, for the 
 horse, Ranger, had an easy gait, and she found she had 
 not forgotten how to ride. Bo, having been used to riding 
 on a farm near home, might be expected to acquit herself 
 admirably. It occurred to Helen what a plight they 
 would have been in but for the thick, comfortable riding 
 outfits. 
 
 Dark as the night was, Helen could dimly make out 
 the road underneath. It was rocky, and apparently little 
 used. When Dale turned off the road into the low brush 
 or sage of what seemed a level plain, the traveling was 
 harder, rougher, and yet no slower. The borses kept to 
 the gait of the leaders. Helen, discovering it unneces- 
 sary, ceased attempting to guide Ranger. There were 
 dim shapes in trm gloom ahead, and always they gave 
 Helen uneasiness, until closer approach proved them to 
 be rocks or low. scrubby trees. These increased in both 
 size and number as the horses progressed. Often Helen 
 
 65 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 looked back into the gloom behind. This act was invol- 
 untary and occasioned her sensations of dread. Dale 
 expected to be pursued. And Helen experienced, along 
 with the dread, flashes of unfamiliar resentment. Not 
 only was there an attempt afoot to rob her of her heritage, 
 but even her personal liberty. Then she shuddered at 
 the significance of Dale's words regarding her possible 
 abduction by this hired gang. It seemed monstrous, im- 
 possible. Yet, manifestly it was true enough to Dale 
 and his allies. The West, then, in reality was raw, hard, 
 inevitable. 
 
 Suddenly her horse stopped. He had come up along- 
 side Bo's horse. Dale had halted ahead, and apparently 
 was listening. Roy and the pack-train were out of sight 
 in the gloom. 
 
 "What is it?" whispered Helen. 
 
 "Reckon I heard a wolf," replied Dale. 
 
 "Was that cry a wolf's?" asked Bo. "I heard. It 
 was wild." 
 
 "We're gettin' up close to the foot-hills," said Dale. 
 "Feel how much colder the air is." 
 
 "I'm warm now," replied Bo. "I guess being near 
 froze was what ailed me. . . . Nell, how 're you?" 
 
 "I'm warm, too, but " Helen answered. 
 
 "If you had your choice of being here or back home, 
 snug in bed which would you take?" asked Bo. 
 
 "Bo!" exclaimed Helen, aghast. 
 
 "Well, I'd choose to be right here on this horse, "re- 
 joined Bo. 
 
 Dale heard her, for he turned an instant, then slapped 
 his horse and started on. 
 
 Helen n )w rode beside Bo, and for a long time they 
 climbed steadily in silence. Helen knew when that dark 
 hour before dawn had passed, and she welcomed an almost 
 imperceptiole lightening in the east. Then the stars 
 paled. Gradually a grayness absorbed all but the larger 
 stars. The great white morning star, wonderful as Helen 
 
 66 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 had never seen it, lost its brilliance and life and seemed to 
 retreat into the dimming blue. 
 
 Daylight came gradually, so that the gray desert be- 
 came distinguishable by degrees. Rolling bare hills, half 
 obscured by the gray lifting mantle of night, rose in the 
 foreground, and behind was gray space, slowly taking 
 form and substance. In the east there was a kindling of 
 pale rose and silver that lengthened and brightened along 
 a horizon growing visibly rugged. 
 
 "Reckon we'd better catch up with Roy," said Dale, 
 and he spurred his horse. 
 
 Ranger and Bo's mount needed no other urging, and 
 they swung into a canter. Far ahead the pack-animals 
 showed with Roy driving them. The cold wind was so 
 keen in Helen's face that tears blurred her eyes and froze 
 her cheeks. And riding Ranger at that pace was like 
 riding in a rocking-chair. That ride, invigorating and 
 exciting, seemed all too short. 
 
 "Oh, Nell, I don't care what becomes of me!" ex- 
 claimed Bo, breathlessly. 
 
 Her face was white and red, fresh as a rose, her eyes 
 glanced darkly blue, her hair blew out in bright, unruly 
 strands. Helen knew she felt some of the physical stim- 
 ulation that had so roused Bo, and seemed so irresistible, 
 but somber thought was not deflected thereby. 
 
 It was clear daylight when Roy led off round a knoll 
 from which patches ot scrubby trees cedars, Dale called 
 them straggled up on the side of the foot-hills. 
 
 " They grow on the north slopes, where the snow stayc 
 longest," said Dale. 
 
 They descended into a valley that looked shallow, but 
 proved to be deep and wide, and then began to climb 
 another foot-hill. Upon surmounting it Helen saw the 
 rising sun, and so glorious a view confronted her that she 
 was unable to answer Bo's wild exclamations. 
 
 Bare, yellow, cedar-dotted slopes, apparently level, so 
 gradual was the ascent, stretched away to a dense ragged 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 line of forest that rose black over range after range, at 
 last to fail near the bare summit of a magnificent moun- 
 tain, sunrise-flushed against the blue sky. 
 
 "Oh, beautiful!" cried Bo. "But they ought to be 
 called Black Mountains." 
 
 "Old Baldy, there, is white half the year," replied Dale. 
 
 "Look back an' see what you say," suggested Roy. 
 
 The girls turned to gaze silently. Helen imagined she 
 looked down upon the whole wide world. How vastly 
 different was the desert! Verily it yawned away from 
 her, red and gold near at hand, growing softly flushed 
 with purple far away, a barren void, borderless and im- 
 mense, where dark-green patches and black lines and 
 upheaved ridges only served to emphasize distance and 
 space. 
 
 " See thet little green spot," said Roy, pointing. " Thet's 
 Snowdrop. An' the other one 'way to the right thetH 
 Show Down." 
 
 "Where is Pine?" queried Helen, eagerly. 
 
 " Farther still, up over the foot-hills at the edge of the 
 woods." 
 
 "Then we're riding away from it." 
 
 "Yes. If we 'd gone straight for Pine thet gang could 
 overtake us. Pine Is four days' ride. An' by takin' to 
 the mountains Milt can hide his tracks. An' when he's 
 thrown Anson off the scent, then he'll circle down to 
 Pine." 
 
 "Mr. Dale, do you think you'll get us there safely 
 and soon?" asked Helen, wistfully. 
 
 " I won't promise soon, but I promise safe. An' I don't 
 like bein' called Mister," he replied. 
 
 "Are we ever going to eat?" inquired Bo, demurely. 
 
 At this query Roy Beeman turned with a laugh to look 
 at Bo. Helen saw his face fully in the light, and it was 
 thin and hard, darkly bronzed, with eyes like those of a 
 hawk, and with square chin and lean jaws showing scant, 
 light beard. 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "We shore are," he replied. "Soon as we reach the 
 timber. Thet won't be long." 
 
 "Reckon we can rustle some an' then take a good rest," 
 said Dale, and he urged his horse into a jog-trot. 
 
 During a steady trot for a long hour, Helen's roving 
 eyes were everywhere, taking note of the things from 
 near to far the scant sage that soon gave place to as 
 scanty a grass, and the dark blots that proved to be dwarf 
 cedars, and the ravines opening out as if by magic from 
 what had appeared level ground, to wind away widening 
 between gray stone walls, and farther on, patches of 
 lonely pine-trees, two and three together, and then a 
 straggling clump of yellow aspens, and up beyond the 
 fringed border of forest, growing nearer all the while, 
 the black sweeping benches rising to the noble dome of 
 the dominant mountain of the range. 
 
 No birds or animals were seen in that long ride up 
 toward the timber, which fact seemed strange to Helen. 
 The air lost something of its cold, cutting edge as the sun 
 rose higher, and it gained sweeter tang of forest-land. The 
 first faint suggestion of that fragrance was utterly new to 
 Helen, yet it brought a vague sensation of familiarity and 
 with it an emotion as strange. It was as if she had 
 smelled that keen, pungent tang long ago, and her physi- 
 cal sense caught it before her memory. 
 
 The yellow plain had only appeared to be level. Roy 
 led down into a shallow ravine, where a tiny stream 
 meandered, and he followed this around to the left, com- 
 ing at length to a point where cedars and dwarf pines 
 formed a little grove. Here, as the others rode up, he sat 
 cross-legged in his saddle, and waited. 
 
 ' ' Well hang up awhile, ' ' he said. ' ' Reckon you're tired ?" 
 
 "I'm hungry, but not tired yet," replied Bo 
 
 Helen dismounted, to find that walking was something 
 she had apparently lost the power to do. Bo laughed at 
 her, but she, too, was awkward when once more upon 
 the ground. 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Then Roy got down. Helen was surprised to find him 
 lame. He caught her quick glance. 
 
 "A hoss threw me once an' rolled on me. Only broke 
 my collar-bone, five ribs, one arm, an' my bow-legs in 
 two places!" 
 
 Notwithstanding this evidence that he was a cripple, 
 as he stood there tall and lithe in his homespun, ragged 
 garments, he looked singularly powerful and capable. 
 
 "Reckon walkin' around would be good for you girls," 
 advised Dale. "If you ain't stiff yet, you'll be soon. 
 An' walkin' will help. Don't go far. I'll call when 
 breakfast's ready." 
 
 A little while later the girls were whistled in from their 
 walk and found camp-fire and meal awaiting them. Roy 
 was sitting cross-legged, like an Indian, in front of a tar- 
 paulin, upon which was spread a homely but substantial 
 fare. Helen's quick eye detected a cleanliness and thor- 
 oughness she had scarcely expected to find in the camp- 
 cooking of men of the wilds. Moreover, the fare was 
 good. She ate heartily, and as for Bo's appetite, she was 
 inclined to be as much ashamed of that as amused at it. 
 The young men were all eyes, assiduous in their service 
 to the girls, but speaking seldom. It was not lost upon 
 Helen how Dale's gray gaze went often down across the 
 open country. She divined apprehension from it rather 
 than saw much expression in it. 
 
 "I declare," burst out Bo, when she could not eat any 
 more, "this isn't believable. I'm dreaming. . . . Nell, the 
 black horse you rode is the prettiest I ever saw." 
 
 Ranger, with the other animals, was grazing along the 
 little brook. Packs and saddles had been removed. The 
 men ate leisurely. There was little evidence of hurried 
 flight. Yet Helen could not cast off uneasiness. Roy 
 might have been deep, and careless, with a motive to spare 
 the girls' anxiety, but Dale seemed incapable of anything 
 he did not absolutely mean. 
 
 90 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Rest or walk," he advised the girls. "We've got 
 forty miles to ride before dark." 
 
 Helen preferred to rest, but Bo walked about, petting 
 the horses and prying into the packs. She was curious 
 and eager. 
 
 Dale and Roy talked in low tones while they cleaned up 
 the utensils and packed them away in a heavy canvas bag. 
 
 "You really expect Anson '11 strike my trail this morn- 
 in'?" Dale was asking. 
 
 "I shore do," replied Roy. 
 
 "An' how do you figure that so soon?" 
 
 "How'd you figure it if you was Snake Anson?" 
 queried Roy, in reply. 
 
 "Depends on that rider from Magdalena," said Dale, 
 soberly. "Although it's likely I'd seen them wheel track? 
 an' hoss tracks made where we turned off. But supposin' 
 he does." 
 
 "Milt, listen. I told you Snake met us boys face to 
 face day before yesterday in Show Down. An' he was 
 plumb curious." 
 
 "But he missed seein* or hearin* about me," replied 
 Dale. 
 
 "Mebbe he did an' mebbe he didn't. Anyway, what's 
 the difference whether he finds out this mornin' or this 
 evenin'?" 
 
 "Then you ain't expectin' a fight if Anson holds up the 
 stage?" 
 
 "Wai, he'd have to shoot first, which ain't likely. 
 John an' Hal, since thet shootin'-scrape a year ago, have 
 been sort of gun-shy. Joe might get riled. But I reckon 
 the best we can be shore of is a delay. An' it 'd be sense 
 not to count on thet." 
 
 "Then you hang up here an' keet> watch for Anson's 
 gang say long enough so 's to be sure they'd be in sight 
 if they find our tracks this mornin'. Makin' sure one way 
 or another, you ride 'cross-country to Big Spring, where 
 I'll camp to-night." 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Roy nodded approval of that suggestion. Then with- 
 out more words both men picked up ropes and went after 
 the horses. Helen was watching Dale, so that when Bo 
 cried out in great excitement Helen turned to see a savage 
 yellow little mustang standing straight up on his hind 
 legs and pawing the air. Roy had roped him and was 
 now dragging him into camp. 
 
 "Nell, look at that for a wild pony!" exclaimed Bo. 
 
 Helen busied herself getting well out of the way of the 
 infuriated mustang. Roy dragged him to a cedar near by. 
 
 "Come now, Buckskin," said Roy, soothingly, and he 
 slowly approached the quivering animal. He went closer, 
 hand over hand, on the lasso. Buckskin showed the whites 
 of his eyes and also his white teeth. But he stood while 
 Roy loosened the loop and, slipping it down over his head, 
 fastened it in a complicated knot round his nose. 
 
 "Thet's a hackamore," he said, indicating the knot. 
 "He's never had a bridle, an' never will have one, I 
 reckon." 
 
 "You don't ride him?" queried Helen. 
 
 "Sometimes I do," replied Roy, with a smile. "Would 
 you girls like to try him?" 
 
 "Excuse me," answered Helen. 
 
 "Gee!" ejaculated Bo. "He looks like a devil. But 
 I'd tackle him if you think I could." 
 
 The wild leaven of the West had found quick root in 
 Bo Rayner. 
 
 "Wai, I'm sorry, but I reckon I'll not let you for a 
 spell," replied Roy, dryly. "He pitches somethin' power- 
 ful bad." 
 
 ' ' Pitches . You mean bucks ? ' ' 
 
 "I reckon." 
 
 In the next half-hour Helen saw more and learned more 
 about how horses of the open range were handled than 
 she had ever heard of. Excepting Ranger, and Roy's 
 bay, and the white pony Bo rode, the rest of the horses 
 had actually to be roped and hauled into camp to be 
 
 72 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 saddled and packed. It was a job for fearless, strong 
 men, and one that called for patience as well as arms of 
 iron. So that for Helen Rayner the thing succeeding the 
 confidence she had placed in these men was respect. To 
 an observing woman that half-hour told much. 
 
 When all was in readiness foi a start Dale mounted, 
 and said, significantly: "Roy, I'll look for you about 
 sundown. I hope no sooner." 
 
 "Wai, it 'd be bad if I had to rustle along soon with 
 bad news. Let's hope for the best. We've been shore 
 lucky so far. Now you take to the pine-mats in the 
 woods an' hide your trail.'* 
 
 Dale turned away. Then +he girls bade Roy good-by, 
 and followed. Soon Roy and his buckskin-colored mus- 
 tang were lost to sight round a clump of trees. 
 
 The unhampered horses led the way; the pack-animals 
 trotted after them; the riders were close behind. All 
 traveled at a jog-trot. And this gait made the packs bob 
 up and down and from side to side. The sun felt warm 
 at Helen's back and the wind lost its frosty coldness, that 
 almost appeared damp, for a dry, sweet fragrance. Dale 
 drove up the shallow valley that showed timber on the 
 levels above and a black border of timber some few miles 
 ahead. It did not take long to reach the edge of the 
 forest. 
 
 Helen wondered why the big pines grew so far on that 
 plain and no farther. Probably the growth had to do 
 with snow, but, as the ground was level, she could not see 
 why the edge of the woods should come just there. 
 
 They rode into the forest. 
 
 To Helen it seemed a strange, critical entrance into 
 another world, which she was destined to know and to 
 love. The pines were big, brown-barked, seamed, and 
 knotted, with no typical conformation except a majesty 
 and beauty. They grew far apart. Few small pines and 
 little underbrush flourished beneath them. The floor of 
 this forest appeared remarkable in that it consisted of 
 
 6 73 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 patches of high silvery grass and wide brown areas of 
 pine-needles. These manifestly were what Roy had 
 meant by pine-mats. Here and there a fallen monarch 
 lay rivsn or rotting. Helen was presently struck with 
 the silence of the forest and the strange fact that the 
 horses seldom made any sound at all, and when they did 
 it was a cracking of dead twig or thud of hoof on log. 
 Likewise she became aware of a springy nature of the 
 ground. And then she saw that the pine-mats gave like 
 rubber cushions under the hoofs of the horses, and after 
 they had passed sprang back to place again, leaving no 
 track. Helen could not see a sign of a trail they left 
 behind. Indeed, it would take a sharp eye to follow 
 Dale through that forest. This knowledge was infinitely 
 comforting to Helen, and tor the first time since the 
 flight had begun she felt a lessening of the weight upon 
 mind and heart. It left her free for some of the appre- 
 ciation she might have had in this wonderful ride under 
 happier circumstances. 
 
 Bo, however, seemed too young, too wild, too intense 
 to mind what the circumstances were. She responded to 
 reality. Helen began to suspect that the girl would wel- 
 come any adventure, and Helen knew surely now that Bo 
 was a true Auchincloss. For three long days Helen had 
 felt a constraint with which heretofore she had been un- 
 familiar; for the last hours it had been submerged under 
 dread. But it must be, she conc'uded, blood like her sis- 
 ter's, pounding at her veins to be set free to race and to 
 burn. 
 
 Bo loved action. She had an eye for beauty, but she 
 was not contemplative. She was now helping Dale drive 
 the horses and hold them in rather close formation. She 
 rode well, and as yet showed no symptoms of fatigue or 
 pain. Helen began to be aware of both, but not enough 
 yet to limit her interest. 
 
 A wonderful forest without birds did not seem real to 
 her. Of all living creatures in nature Helen liked birds 
 
 74 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 best, and she knew many and could imitate the songs of 
 a few. But here under the stately pines there were no 
 birds. Squirrels, however, began to be seen here and 
 there, and in the course of an hour's travel became abun- 
 dant. The only one with which she was familiar was the 
 chipmunk. All the others, from the slim bright blacks to 
 the striped russets and the white-tailed grays, were totally 
 new to her. They appeared tame and curious. The reds 
 barked and scolded at the passing cavalcade; the blacks 
 glided to some safe branch, there to watch; the grays 
 paid no especial heed to this invasion of their domain. 
 
 Once Dale, halting his horse, pointed with long arm, 
 and Helen, following the direction, descried several gray 
 deer standing in a glade, motionless, with long ears up. 
 They made a wild and beautiful picture. Suddenly they 
 bounded away with remarkable springy strides. 
 
 The forest on the whole held to the level, open character, 
 but there were swales and stream-beds breaking up its 
 regular conformity. Toward noon, however, it gradually 
 changed, a fact that Helen believed she might have ob- 
 served sooner had she been more keen. The general lay 
 of the land began to ascend, and the trees to grow denser. 
 
 She made another discovery. Ever since she had 
 entered the forest she had been aware of a fullness in her 
 head and a something affecting her nostrils. She imag- 
 ined, with regret, that she had taken cold. But presently 
 her head cleared somewhat and she realized that the thick 
 pine odor of the forest had clogged her nostrils as if with 
 a sweet pitch. The smell was overpowering and dis- 
 agreeable because of its strength. Also her throat and 
 lungs seemed to burn. 
 
 When she began to lose interest in the forest and her 
 surroundings it was because of aches and pains which 
 would no longer be denied recognition. Thereafter she 
 was not permitted to forget them and they grew worse. 
 One, especially, was a pain beyond all her experience. It 
 lay in the muscles of her side, above her hip, and it grew 
 
 75 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 to be a treacherous thing, for it was not persistent. It 
 came and went. After it did come, with a terrible flash, 
 it could be borne by shifting or easing the body. But it 
 gave no warning. When she expected it she was mis- 
 taken ; when she dared to breathe again, then, with pierc- 
 nig swiftness, it returned like a blade in her side. This, 
 then, was one of the riding-pains that made a v'ctim of a 
 tenderfoot on a long ride. It was almost too much to be 
 borne. The beauty of the forest, the living creatures to 
 be seen scurrying away, the time, distance everything 
 faded before that stablike pain. To her infinite relief 
 she found that it was the trot that caused this torture. 
 When Ranger walked she did not have to suffer it. There- 
 fore she held him to a walk as long as she dared or until 
 Dale and Bo were almost out of sight; then she loped him 
 ahead until he had caught up. 
 
 So the hours passed, the sun got around low, sending 
 golden shafts under the trees, and the forest gradually 
 changed to a brighter, but a thicker, color. This slowly 
 darkened. Sunset was not far away. 
 
 She heard the horses splashing in water, and soon she 
 rode up to see the tiny streams of crystal water running 
 swiftly over beds of green moss. She crossed a number 
 of these and followed along the last one into a more open 
 place in the forest where the pines were huge, towering, 
 and far apart. A low, gray bluff of stone rose to the right, 
 perhaps one-third as high as the trees. From somewhere 
 came the rushing sound of running water. 
 
 " Big Spring, ' ' announced Dale. ' ' We camp here. Xou 
 girls have done well." 
 
 Another glance proved to Helen that all those little 
 streams poured from under this gray bluff. 
 
 "I'm dying for a drink," cried Bo, with her customary 
 hyperbole. 
 
 "I reckon you'll never forget your first drink here." 
 u2arkeci Dale. 
 
 So *sa.a?<i to dismount, and finally fell off, arid when 
 
 76 
 
OF THE FOREST 
 
 he did get to the ground her legs appeared to refuse their 
 natural function, and she fell flat. Dale helped her up. 
 
 "What's wrong with me, anyhow?" she demanded, in 
 great amaze. 
 
 "Just stiff, I reckon/' replied Dale, as he led her a few 
 awkward steps. 
 
 "Bo, have you any hurts?" queried Helen, who still sat 
 her horse, loath to try dismounting, yet wanting to beyond 
 all words. 
 
 Bo gave her an eloquent glance. 
 
 " Nell, did you have one in your side, like a wicked, long 
 darning-needle, punching deep when you weren't ready?" 
 
 "That one I'll never get over!" exclaimed Helen, softly. 
 Vhen, profiting by Bo's experience, she dismounted cau- 
 tiously, and managed to keep upright. Her legs felt like 
 wooden things. 
 
 Presently the girls went toward the spring. 
 
 "Drink slow," called out Dale. 
 
 Big Spring had its source somewhere deep under the 
 gray, weathered bluff, from which came a hollow subter- 
 ranean gurgle and roar of water. Its fountainhead must 
 have been a great well rushing up through the cold stone. 
 
 Helen and Bo lay flat on a mossy bank, seeing their 
 faces as they bent over, and they sipped a mouthful, by 
 Dale's advice, and because they were so hot and parched 
 and burning they wanted to tarry a moment with a 
 precious opportunity. 
 
 The water was so cold that it sent a shock over Helen, 
 made her teeth ache, and a singular, revivifying current 
 steal all through her, wonderful in its cool absorption of 
 that dry heat of flesh, irresistible in its appeal to thirst. 
 Helen raised her head to look at this water. It was 
 colorless as she had found it tasteless. 
 
 " Nell drink ! " panted Bo. "Think of our old spring 
 in the orchard full of pollywogs!" 
 
 And then Helen drank thirstily, with closed eyes, while a 
 memory of home stirred from Bo's gift of poignant speech. 
 
 77 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE first camp duty Dale performed was to throw a 
 pack off one of the horses, and, opening it, he took 
 out tarpaulin and blankets, which he arranged on the 
 ground under a pine-tree. 
 
 "You girls rest," he said, briefly. 
 
 "Can't we help?" asked Helen, though she could 
 scarcely stand. 
 
 "You'll be welcome to do all you like after you're broke 
 in." 
 
 "Broke in!" ejaculated Bo, with a little laugh. "I'm 
 all broke up now." 
 
 "Bo, it looks as if Mr. Dale expects us to have quite a 
 stay with him in the woods." 
 
 "It does," replied Bo, as slowly she sat down upon the 
 blankets, stretched out with a long sigh, and laid her head 
 on a saddle. " Nell, didn't he say not to call him Mister ? " 
 
 Dale was throwing the packs off the other horses. 
 
 Helen lay down beside Bo, and then for once in her life 
 she experienced the sweetness of rest. 
 
 "Well, sister, what do you intend to call him?" queried 
 Helen, curiously. 
 
 " Milt, ot course," replied Bo. 
 
 Helen had to laugh despite her weariness and aches. 
 
 "I suppose, then, when your Las Vegas cowboy comes 
 along you will call him what he called you." 
 
 Bo blushed, which was a rather unusual thing for her. 
 
 "I will if I like," she retorted. "Nell, ever since I 
 could remember you've raved about the West. Now 
 you're out West, right in it good and deep. So wake up ! " 
 
 78 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 That was Bo's blunt and characteristic way of advising 
 the elimination of Helen's superficialities. It sank deep. 
 Helen had no retort. Her ambition, as far as the West 
 was concerned, had most assuredly not been for such a 
 wild, unheard-of jaunt as this. But possibly the West 
 a living from day to day was one succession of adven- 
 tures, trials, tests, troubles, and achievements. To make 
 a place for others to live comfortably some day! That 
 might be Bo's meaning, embodied in her forceful hint. 
 But Helen was too tired to think it out then. She found 
 it interesting and vaguely pleasant to watch Dale. 
 
 He hobbled the horses and turned them loose. Then 
 with ax in hand he approached a short, dead tree, stand- 
 ing among a few white-barked aspens. Dale appeared 
 to advantage swinging the ax. With his coat off, dis- 
 playing his wide shoulders, straight back, and long, power- 
 ful arms, he looked a young giant. He was lithe and 
 supple, brawny but not bulky. The ax rang on the hard 
 wood, reverberating through the forest. A few strokes 
 sufficed to bring down the stub. Then he split it up. 
 Helen was curious to see how he kindled a fire. First he 
 ripped splinters out of the heart of the log, and laid them 
 with coarser pieces on the ground. Then from a saddle- 
 bag which hung on a near-by branch he took flint and 
 steel and a piece of what Helen supposed was rag or buck- 
 skin, upon which powder had been rubbed. At any rate, 
 the first strike of the steel brought sparks, a blaze, and 
 burning splinters. Instantly the flame leaped a foot high. 
 He put on larger pieces of wood crosswise, and the fire 
 roared. 
 
 That done, he stood erect, and, facing the north, he 
 listened. Helen remembered now that she had seen him 
 do the same thing twice before since the arrival at Big 
 Spring. It was Roy for whom he was listening and watch- 
 ing. The sun had set and across the open space the tips 
 of the pines were losing their brightness. 
 
 The camp utensils, which the hunter emptied out of a 
 
 79 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 sack, gave forth a jangle of iron and tin. Next he unrolled 
 a large pack, the contents of which appeared to be numer- 
 ous sacks of all sizes. These evidently contained food- 
 supplies. The bucket looked as if a horse had rolled over 
 it, pack and all. Dale filled it at the spring. Upon re- 
 turning to the camp-fire he poured water into a wash- 
 basin, and, getting down to his knees, proceeded to wash 
 his hands thoroughly. The act seemed a habit, for Helen 
 saw that while he was doing it he gazed off into the woods 
 and listened. Then he dried his hands over the fire, and, 
 turning to the spread-out pack, he began preparations for 
 the meal. 
 
 Suddenly Helen thought of the man and all that his 
 actions implied. At Magdalena, on the stage-ride, and 
 last night, she had trusted this stranger, a hunter of the 
 White Mountains, who appeared ready to befriend her. 
 And she had felt an exceeding gratitude. Still, she had 
 looked at him impersonally. But it began to dawn upon 
 her that chance had thrown her in the company of a re- 
 markable man. That impression baffled her. It did not 
 spring from the fact that he was brave and kind to help 
 a young woman in peril, or that he appeared deft and 
 quick at camp-fire chores. Most Western men were 
 brave, her uncle had told her, and many were roughly 
 kind, and all of them could cook. This hunter was physi- 
 cally a wonderful specimen of manhood, with something 
 leonine about his stature. But that did not give rise to 
 her impression. Helen had been a school-teacher and 
 used to boys, and she sensed a boyish simplicity or vigor 
 or freshness in this hunter. She believed, however, that 
 it was a mental and spiritual force in Dale which had 
 drawn her to think of it. 
 
 "Nell, I've spoken to you three times," protested Bo 
 petulantly. "What 're you mooning over?" 
 
 "I'm pretty tired and far away, Bo," replied Helen* 
 ''What did you say?" 
 
 " I said I had an e-normous appetite." 
 
 80 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Really. That's not remarkable for you. I'm too 
 tired to eat. And afraid to shut my eyes. They'd never 
 come open. When did we sleep last, Bo?" 
 
 "Second night before we left home," declared Bo. 
 
 "Four nights! Oh, we've slept some." 
 
 "I'll bet I make mine up in this woods. Do you sup- 
 pose we'll sleep right here under this tree with no 
 covering?" 
 
 "It looks so," replied Helen, dubiously. 
 
 "How perfectly lovely!" exclaimed Bo, in delight. 
 "We'll see the stars through the pines." 
 
 "Seems to be clouding over. Wouldn't it be awful if 
 we had a storm?" 
 
 "Why, I don't know/' answered Bo, thoughtfully. "It 
 must storm out West." 
 
 Again Helen felt a quality of inevitableness in Bo. It 
 was something that had appeared only practical in the 
 humdrum home life in St. Joseph. All of a sudden Helen 
 received a flash of wondering thought a thrilling con- 
 sciousness that she and Bo had begun to develop in a 
 new and wild environment. How strange, and fearful, 
 perhaps, to watch that growth! Bo, being younger, more 
 impressionable, with elemental rather than intellectual in- 
 stincts, would grow stronger more swiftly. Helen won- 
 dered if she could yield to her own leaning to the primitive. 
 But how could any one with a thoughtful and grasping 
 mind yield that way? It was the savage who did not 
 think. 
 
 Helen saw Dale stand erect once more and gaze into 
 the forest. 
 
 "Reckon Roy ain't comin'," he soliloquized. "An* 
 that's good." Then he turned to the girls. "Supper's 
 ready." 
 
 The girls responded with a spirit greater than their 
 activity. And they ate like famished children that had 
 been lost in the woods. Dale attended them with a 
 pleasant light upon his still face. 
 
 81 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "To-morrow night we'll have meat," he said. 
 
 "What kind?" asked Bo. 
 
 "Wild turkey or deer. Maybe both, if you like. But 
 it's well to take wild meat slow. An' turkey that '11 
 melt in your mouth." 
 
 "Uummm!" murmured Bo, greedily. "I've heard of 
 wild turkey." 
 
 When they had finished Dale ate his meal listening to 
 the talk of the girls, and occasionally replying briefly t<? 
 some query of Bo's. It was twilight when he began tG 
 wash the pots and pans, and almost dark by the time his 
 duties appeared ended. Then he replenished the camp- 
 fire and sat down on a log to gaze into the flames. The 
 girls leaned comfortably propped against the saddles. 
 
 "Nell, I'll keel over in a minute," said Bo. "And I 
 oughtn't right on such a big supper." 
 
 "I don't see how I can sleep, and I know I can't stay 
 awake," rejoined Helen. 
 
 Dale lifted his head alertly. 
 
 "Listen." 
 
 The girls grew tense and still. Helen could not hear a 
 sound, unless it was a low thud of hoof out in the gloom. 
 The forest seemed sleeping. She knew from Bo's eyes, 
 wide and shining in the camp-fire light, that she, too, had 
 failed to catch whatever it was Dale meant. 
 
 "Bunch of coyotes comin'," he explained. 
 
 Suddenly the quietness split to a chorus of snappy, 
 high-strung, strange barks. They sounded wild, yet 
 they held something of a friendly or inquisitive note. 
 Presently gray forms could be descried just at the 
 edge of the circle of light. Soft rustlings of stealthy 
 feet surrounded the camp, and then barks and yelps 
 broke out all around. It was a restless and sneaking 
 pack of animals, thought Helen; she was glad after 
 the chorus ended and with a few desultory, spiteful 
 yelps the coyotes went away. 
 
 Silence again settled down. If it had not been for the 
 
 82 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 anxiety always present in Helen's mind she would have 
 thought this silence sweet and unfamiliarly beautiful. 
 
 "Ah! Listen to that fellow," spoke up Dale. His voice 
 was thrilling. 
 
 Again the girls strained their ears. That was not nec- 
 essary, for presently, clear and cold out of the silence, 
 pealed a mournful howl, long drawn, strange and full and 
 wild. 
 
 "Oh! What's that?" whispered Bo. 
 
 "That's a big gray wolf a timber-wolf, or lofer, as 
 he's sometimes called," replied Dale. "He's high on 
 some rocky ridge back there. He scents us, an' he 
 doesn't like it. ... There he goes again. Listen! . . . 
 Ah, he's hungry." 
 
 While Helen listened to this exceedingly wild cry so 
 wild that it made her flesh creep and the most indescrib- 
 able sensations of loneliness come over her she kept her 
 glance upon Dale. 
 
 "You love him?" sne murmured involuntarily, quite 
 without understanding the motive of her query. 
 
 Assuredly Dale had never had that question asked of 
 him before, and it seemed to Helen, as he pondered, that 
 he had never even asked it of himself. 
 
 "I reckon so," he replied, presently. 
 
 "But wolves kill deer, and little fawns, and everything 
 helpless in the forest," expostulated Bo. 
 
 The hunter nodded his head. 
 
 "Why, then, can you love him?" repeated Helen. 
 
 "Come to think of it, I reckon it's because of lots of 
 reasons," returned Dale. "He kills clean. He eats no 
 carrion. He's no coward. He fights. He dies game. 
 . . . An' he likes to be alone." 
 
 "Kills clean. What do you mean by that?" 
 
 "A cougar, now, he mangles a deer. An' a silvertip, 
 when killin' a cow or colt, he makes a mess of it. But a 
 wolf kills clean, with sharp snaps." 
 
 "What are a cougar and a silvertip?" 
 
 83 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 " Cougar means mountain-lion or panther, an' a silver- 
 tip is a grizzly bear." 
 
 "Oh, they're all cruel!" exclaimed Helen, shrinking. 
 
 " I reckon. Often I've shot wolves for relayin' a deer." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "Sometimes two or more wolves will run a deer, an* 
 while one of them rests the other will drive the deer around 
 to his pardner, who'll take up the chase. That way they 
 run the deer down. Cruel it is, but nature, an' no worse 
 than snow an' ice that starve deer, or a fox that kills 
 turkey-chicks breakin' out of the egg, or ravens that pick 
 the eyes out of new-born lambs an' wait till they die. 
 An' for that matter, men are crueler than beasts of prey, 
 for men add to nature, an' have more than instincts." 
 
 Helen was silenced, as well as shocked. She had not only 
 learned a new and striking viewpoint in natural history, 
 but a clear intimation to the reason why she had vaguely 
 imagined or divined a remarkable character in this man. 
 A hunter was one who killed animals for their fur, for 
 their meat or horns, or for some lust for blood that was 
 Helen's definition of a hunter, and she believed it was 
 held by the majority of people living in settled states. 
 But the majority might be wrong. A hunter might be 
 vastly different, and vastly more than a tracker and 
 slayer of game. The mountain world of forest was a 
 mystery to almost all men. Perhaps Dale knew its 
 secrets, its life, its terror, its beauty, its sadness, and its 
 joy; and if so, how full, how wonderful must be his 
 mind ! He spoke of men as no better than wolves. Could 
 a lonely life in the wilderness teach a man that? Bitter- 
 ness, envy, jealousy, spite, greed, and hate these had no 
 place in this hunter's heart. It was not Helen's shrewd- 
 ness, but a woman's intuition, which divined that. 
 
 Dale rose to his feet and, turning his ear to the north, 
 listened once more. 
 
 "Are you expecting Roy still?" inquired Helen. 
 
 "No, it ain't likely he'll turn up to-night," replied Dale 
 
 84 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 and then he strode over to put a hand on the pine-tree 
 that soared above where the girls lay. His action, and 
 the way he looked up at the tree-top and then at adjacent 
 trees, held more of that significance which so interested 
 Helen. 
 
 " I reckon he's stood there some five hundred years an' 
 will stand through to-night," muttered Dale. 
 
 This pine was the monarch of that wide-spread group. 
 
 " Listen again," said Dale. 
 
 Bo was asleep. And Helen, listening, at once caught 
 a low, distant roar. 
 
 "Wind. It's goin' to storm," explained Dale. "You'll 
 hear somethin' worth while. But don't be scared. Reckon 
 we'll be safe. Pines blow down often. But this fellow 
 will stand any fall wind that ever was. . . . Better slip 
 under the blankets so I can pull the tarp up." 
 
 Helen slid down, just as she was, fully dressed except 
 for boots, which she and Bo had removed; and she laid 
 her head close to Bo's. Dale pulled the tarpaulin up and 
 folded it back just below their heads. 
 
 "When it rains you'll wake, an' then just pull the tarp 
 up over you," he said. 
 
 "Will it rain?" Helen asked. But she was thinking 
 that this moment was the strangest that had ever hap- 
 pened to her. By the light of the camp-fire she saw 
 Dale's face, just as usual, still, darkly serene, expressing 
 no thought. He was kind, but he was not thinking of 
 these sisters as girls, alone with him in a pitch-black 
 /forest, helpless and defenseless. He did not seem to ba 
 thinking at all. But Helen had never before in her life 
 been so keenly susceptible to experience. 
 
 "I'll be close by an' keep the fire goin' all night," he 
 said. 
 
 She heard him stride off into the darkness. Presently 
 there came a dragging, bumping sound, then a crash of a 
 log dropped upon the fire. A cloud of sparks shot up., 
 and many pattered down to hiss upon the damp ground 
 
 85 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Smoke again curled upward along the great, seamed tree- 
 trunk, and flames sputtered and crackled. 
 
 Helen listened again for the roar of wind. It seemed 
 to come on a breath of air that fanned her cheek and softly 
 blew Bo's curls, and it was stronger. But it died out 
 presently, only to come again, and still stronger. Helen 
 realized then that the sound was that of an approaching 
 storm. Her heavy eyelids almost refused to stay open, 
 and she knew if she let them close she would instantly 
 drop to sleep. And she wanted to hear the storm- wind 
 in the pines. 
 
 A few drops of cold rain fell upon her face, thrilling her 
 with the proof that no roof stood between her and the 
 elements. Then a breeze bore the smell of burnt wood 
 into her face, and somehow her quick mind flew to girl- 
 hood days when she burned brush and leaves with her 
 little brothers. The memory faded. The roar that had 
 seemed distant was now back in the forest, coming swiftly, 
 increasing in volume. Like a stream in flood it bore 
 down. Helen grew amazed, startled. How rushing, on- 
 coming, and heavy this storm-wind! She likened its ap- 
 proach to the tread of an army. Then the roar filled the 
 forest, yet it was back there behind her. Not a pine- 
 needle quivered in the light of the camp-fire. But the 
 air seemed to be oppressed with a terrible charge. The 
 roar augmented till it was no longer a roar, but an on- 
 sweeping crash, like an ocean torrent engulfing the earth. 
 Bo awoke to cling to Helen with fright. The deafening 
 storm-blast was upon them. Helen felt the saddle-pillow 
 move under her head. The giant pine nad trembled to 
 its very roots. That mighty fury of wind was all aloft, 
 in the tree-tops. And for a long moment it bowed the 
 forest under its tremendous power. Then the deafening 
 crash passed to roar, and that swept on and on, lessening 
 in volume, deepening in lew detonation, at last to die in 
 the distance. 
 
 No sooner had it died than back to the north another 
 
 86 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 low roar rose and ceased and rose again. Helen lay there, 
 whispering to Bo and heard again the great wave of wind 
 come and crash and cease. That was the way of this 
 storm-wind of the mountain forest. 
 
 A soft patter of rain on the tarpaulin warned Helen to 
 remember Dale's directions, and, pulling up the heavy 
 covering, she arranged it hoodlike over the saddle. Then, 
 with Bo close and warm beside her, she closed her eyes, 
 and the sense of the black forest and the wind and rain 
 faded. Last of all sensations was the smell of smoke that 
 blew under the tarpaulin. 
 
 When she opened her eyes she remembered everything, 
 as if only a moment had elapsed. But it was daylight, 
 though gray and cloudy. The pines were dripping mist. 
 A fire crackled cheerily and blue smoke curled upward 
 and a savory odor of hot coffee hung in the air. Horses 
 were standing near by, biting and kicking at one another. 
 Bo was sound asleep. Dale appeared busy around the 
 camp-fire. As Helen watched the hunter she saw him 
 pause in his task, turn his ear to listen, and then look 
 expectantly. And at that juncture a shout pealed from 
 the forest. Helen recognized Roy's voice. Then she 
 heard a splashing of water, and hoof-beats coming closer. 
 With that the buckskin mustang trotted into camp, 
 carrying Roy. 
 
 "Bad mornin' for ducks, but good for us," he called. 
 
 "Howdy, Roy!" greeted Dale, and his gladness was 
 unmistakable. "I was lookin' for you." 
 
 Roy appeared to slide off the mustang without effort, 
 and his swift hands slapped the straps as he unsaddled. 
 Buckskin was wet with sweat and foam mixed with rain. 
 He heaved. And steam rose from him. 
 
 "Must have rode hard," observed Dale. 
 
 "I shore did," replied Roy. Then he espied Helen, 
 who had sat up, with hands to her hair, and eyes staring 
 at him. "Mornin', miss. It's good news." 
 
 87 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Thank Heaven!" murmured Helen, and then she 
 shook Bo. That young lady awoke, but was loath to 
 give up slumber. "Bo! Bo! Wake up! Mr. Roy is 
 back." 
 
 Whereupon Bo sat up, disheveled and sleepy-eyed. 
 
 "Oh-h, but I ache!" she moaned. But her eyes took 
 in the camp scene to the effect that she added, "Is break- 
 fast ready?" 
 
 "Almost. An' flapjacks this mornin'," replied Dale. 
 
 Bo manifested active symptoms of health in the man- 
 ner with which she laced her boots. Helen got their 
 traveling-bag, and with this they repaired to a flat stone 
 beside the spring, not, however, out of earshot of the 
 paen. 
 
 "How long are you goin' to hang around camp before 
 tellin' me?" inquired Dale. 
 
 "Jest as I figgered, Milt," replied Roy. "Thet rider 
 who passed you was a messenger to Anson. He an* his 
 gang got on our trail quick. About ten o'clock I seen 
 them comin'. Then I lit out for the woods. I stayed 
 off in the woods close enough to see where they come in. 
 An* shore they lost your trail. Then they spread through 
 the woods, workin* off to the south, thinkin', of course, 
 thet you would circle round to Pine on the south side of 
 Old Baldy. There ain't a hoss-tracker in Snake Anson's 
 gang, thet's shore. Wai, I follered them for an hour till 
 they'd rustled some miles off our trail. Then I went back 
 to where you struck into the woods. An' I waited there 
 all afternoon till dark, expectin' mebbe they'd back-trail. 
 But they didn't. I rode on a ways an' camped in the 
 woods till jest before daylight." 
 
 "So far so good," declared Dale. 
 
 "Shore. There's rough country south of Baldy an' 
 along the two or three trails Anson an' his outfit will 
 camp, you bet." 
 
 "It ain't to be thought of," muttered Dale, at some 
 idea that had struck him. 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "What ain't?" 
 
 "Coin' round the north side of Baldy." 
 
 "It shore ain't," rejoined Roy, bluntly. 
 
 "Then I've got to hide tracks certain rustle to my 
 camp an' stay there till you say it's safe to risk takin' 
 the girls to Pine." 
 
 "Milt, you're talkin' the wisdom of the prophets." 
 
 " I ain't so sure we can hide tracks altogether. If Anson 
 had any eyes for the woods he'd not have lost me so soon." 
 
 "No. But, you see, he's figgerin' to cross your trail." 
 
 "If I could get fifteen or twenty mile farther on an' 
 hide tracks certain, I'd feel safe from pursuit, anyway," 
 said the hunter, reflectively. 
 
 "Shore an' easy," responded Roy, quickly. "I jest 
 met up with some greaser sheep-herders drivin' a big 
 flock. They've come up from the south an' are goin' to 
 fatten up at Turkey Senacas. Then they'll drive back 
 south an' go on to Phenix. Wai, it's muddy weather. 
 Now you break camp quick an' make a plain trail out to 
 thet sheep trail, as if you was travelin' south. But, in- 
 stead, you ride round ahead of thet flock of sheep. They'll 
 keep to the open parks an' the trails through them necks 
 of woods out here. An', passin' over your tracks, they'll 
 hide 'em." 
 
 "But supposin' Anson circles an' hits this camp? He'll 
 track me easy out to that sheep trail. What then?" 
 
 "Jest what you want. Goin' south thet sheep trail is 
 downhill an' muddy. It's goin' to rain hard. Your 
 tracks would get washed out even if you did go south. 
 An' Anson would keep on thet way till he was clear off 
 the scent. Leave it to me, Milt. You're a hunter. But 
 I'm a hoss-tracker." 
 
 "All right. We'll rustle." 
 
 Then he called the girls to hurry. 
 
 7 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ONCE astride the horse again, Helen had to congratu- 
 late herself upon not being so crippled as she had 
 imagined. Indeed, Bo made all the audible complaints. 
 
 Both girls had long water-proof coats, brand-new, and 
 of which they were considerably proud. New clothes had 
 not been a common event in their lives. 
 
 "Reckon I'll have to slit these," Dale had said, whipping 
 out a huge knife. 
 
 "What for?" had been Bo's feeble protest. 
 
 * ' They wasn't made for ridin' . An' you'll get wet enough 
 even if I do cut them. An' if I don't, you'll get soaked." 
 
 "Go ahead," had been Helen's reluctant permission. 
 
 So their long new coats were slit half-way up the back. 
 The exigency of the case was manifest to Helen, when she 
 saw how they came down over the cantles of the saddles 
 and to their boot-tops. 
 
 The morning was gray and cold. A fine, misty rain 
 fell and the trees dripped steadily. Helen was surprised 
 to see the open country again and that apparently they 
 were to leave the forest behind for a while. The country 
 was wide and flat on the right, and to the left it rolled and 
 heaved along a black, scalloped timber-line. Above this 
 bordering of the forest low, drifting clouds obscured the 
 mountains. The wind was at Helen's back and seemed 
 to be growing stronger. Dale and Roy were ahead, travel- 
 ing at a good trot, with the pack-animals bunched before 
 them. Helen and Bo had enough to do to keep up. 
 
 The first hour's ride brought little change in weather or 
 scenery, but it gave Helen an inkling of what she must 
 
 90 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 endure if they kept that up all day. She began to wel- 
 come the places where the horses walked, but she disliked 
 the levels. As for the descents, she hated those. Ranger 
 would not go down slowly and the shake-up she received 
 was unpleasant. Moreover, the spirited black horse in- 
 sisted on jumping the ditches and washes. He sailed over 
 them like a bird. Helen could not acquire the knack of 
 sitting the saddle properly, and so, not only was her per- 
 son bruised on these occasions, but her feelings were hurt. 
 Helen had never before been conscious of vanity. Still, 
 she had never rejoiced in looking at a disadvantage, and 
 her exhibitions here must have been frightful. Bo always 
 would forge to the front, and she seldom looked back, for 
 which Helen was grateful. 
 
 Before long they struck into a broad, muddy belt, full 
 of innumerable small hoof tracks. This, then, was the 
 sheep trail Roy had advised following. They rode on it 
 for three or four miles, and at length, coming to a gray- 
 green valley, they saw a huge flock of sheep. Soon the 
 air was full of bleats and baas as well as the odor of sneep, 
 and a low, soft roar of pattering hoofs. The flock held a 
 compact formation, covering several acres, and grazed 
 along rapidly. There were three herders on horses and 
 several pack-burros. Dale engaged one of the Mexicans 
 in conversation, and passed something to him, then 
 pointed northward and down along the trail. The Mexi- 
 can grinned from ear to ear, and Helen caught the quick 
 "St, senor! Gracias, scnor!" It was a pretty sight, that 
 flock of sheep, as it rolled along like a rounded woolly 
 stream of grays and browns and here and there a black. 
 They were keeping to a trail over the flats. Dale headed 
 into this trail and, if anything, trotted a little faster. 
 
 Presently the clouds lifted and broke, showing blue 
 sky and one streak of sunshine. But the augury was 
 without warrant. The wind increased. A huge black 
 pall bore down from the mountains and it brought rain 
 that could be seen falling in sheets from above and aj> 
 
 91 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 preaching like a swiftly moving wall. Soon it enveloped 
 the fugitives. 
 
 With head bowed, Helen rode along for what seemed 
 ages in a cold, gray rain that blew almost on a level. 
 Finally the heavy downpour passed, leaving a fine mist. 
 The clouds scurried low and dark, hiding the mountains 
 altogether and making the gray, wet plain a dreary sight. 
 Helen's feet and knees were as wet as if she had waded in 
 water. And they were cold. Her gloves, too, had not 
 been intended for rain, and they were wet through. The 
 cold bit at her fingers so that she had to beat her hands 
 together. Ranger misunderstood this to mean that he 
 was to trot faster, which event was worse for Helen than 
 freezing. 
 
 She saw another black, scudding mass of clouds bearing 
 down with its trailing sheets of rain, and this one appeared 
 streaked with white. Snow! The wind was now pierc- 
 ingly cold. Helen's body kept warm, but her extremities 
 and ears began to suffer exceedingly. She gazed ahead 
 grimly. There was no help; she had to go on. Dale 
 and Roy were hunched down in their saddles, probably 
 wet through, for they wore no rain-proof coats. Bo kept 
 close behind them, and plain it was that she felt the cold. 
 
 This second storm was not so bad as the first, because 
 there was less rain. Still, the icy keenness of the wind 
 bit into the marrow. It lasted for an hour, during which 
 the horses trotted on, trotted on. Again the gray torrent 
 roared away, the fine mist blew, the clouds lifted and 
 separated, and, closing again, darkened for another on- 
 slaught. This one brought sleet. The driving pellets 
 stung Helen's neck and cheeks, and for a while they fell 
 so thick and so hard upon her back that she was afraid 
 she could not hold up under them. The bare places on 
 the ground showed a sparkling coverlet of marbles of ice. 
 
 Thus, storm after storm rolled over Helen's head. Her 
 feet grew numb and ceased to hurt. But her fingers, be- 
 cause of her ceaseless efforts to keep up the circulation^ 
 
 92 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 retained the stinging pain. And now the wind pierced 
 right through her. She marveled at her endurance, and 
 there were many times that she believed she could not 
 ride farther. Yet she kept on. All the winters she had 
 ever lived had not brought such a day as this. Hard 
 and cold, wet and windy, at an increasing elevation that 
 was the explanation. The air did not have sufficient oxy- 
 gen for her blood. 
 
 Still, during all those interminable hours, Helen watched 
 where she was traveling, and if she ever returned over 
 that trail she would recognize it. The afternoon ap- 
 peared far advanced when Dale and Roy led down into 
 an immense basin where a reedy lake spread over the 
 flats. They rode along its margin, splashing up to the 
 knees of the horses. Cranes and herons flew on with 
 lumbering motion; flocks of ducks winged swift flight 
 from one side to the other. Beyond this depression the 
 land sloped rather abruptly; outcroppings of rock circled 
 along the edge of the highest ground, and again a dark 
 fringe of trees appeared. 
 
 How many miles! wondered Helen. They seemed as 
 many and as long as the hours. But at last, just as 
 another hard rain came, the pines were reached. They 
 proved to be widely scattered and afforded little protec- 
 tion from the storm. 
 
 Helen sat her saddle, a dead weight. Whenever Ranger 
 quickened his gait or crossed a ditch she held on to the 
 pommel to keep from falling off. Her mind harbored only 
 sensations of misery, and a persistent thought why did 
 she ever leave home for the West ? Her solicitude for Bo 
 had been forgotten. Nevertheless, any marked change 
 in the topography of the country was registered, perhaps 
 photographed on her memory by the torturing vividness 
 of her experience. 
 
 The forest grew more level and denser. Shadows of 
 twilight or gloom lay under the trees. Presently Dale 
 and Roy disappeared, going downhill, and likewise Bo* 
 
 03 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST. 
 
 Then Helen's ears suddenly filled with a roar of rapid 
 water. Ranger trotted faster. Soon Helen came to the 
 edge of a great valley, black and gray, so full of obscurity 
 that she could not see across or down into it. But she 
 knew there was a rushing river at the bottom. The 
 sound was deep, continuous, a heavy, murmuring roar, 
 singularly musical. The trail was steep. Helen had not 
 lost all feeling, as she had believed and hoped. Her poor, 
 mistreated body still responded excruciatingly to concus- 
 sions, jars, wrenches, and all the other horrible move- 
 ments making up a horse-trot. 
 
 For long Helen did not look up. When she did so there 
 lay a green, willow-bordered, treeless space at the bottom 
 of the valley, through which a brown-white stream rushed 
 with steady, ear-filling roar. 
 
 Dale and Roy drove the pack-animals across the stream, 
 and followed, going deep to the flanks of their horses. Bo 
 rode into the foaming water as if she had been used to it 
 all her days. A slip, a fall, would have meant that Bo 
 must drown in that mountain torrent. 
 
 Ranger trotted straight to the edge, and there, obedient 
 to Helen's clutch on the bridle, he halted. The stream 
 was fifty feet wide, shallow on the near side, deep on the 
 opposite, with fast current and big waves. Helen was 
 simply too frightened to follow. 
 
 "Let him come!" yelled Dale. "Stick on now! . . . 
 Ranger!" 
 
 The big black plunged in, making the water fly. That 
 stream was nothing for him, though it seemed impassable 
 to Helen. She had not the strength left to lift her stirrups 
 and the water surged over them. Ranger, in two more 
 plunges, surmounted the bank, and then, trotting across 
 the green to where the other horses stood steaming under 
 some pines, he gave a great heave and halted. 
 
 Roy reached up Co help her off. 
 
 "Thirty miles, Miss Helen/' he said, and the way he 
 spoke was a compliment, 
 
 94 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 He had to lift her off and help her to the tree where Bo 
 leaned. Dale had ripped off a saddle and was spreading 
 saddle-blankets on the ground under the pine. 
 
 "Nell you swore you loved me!" was Bo's mourn- 
 ful greeting. The girl was pale, drawn, blue-lipped, and 
 she could not stand up. 
 
 "Bo, I never did or I'd never have brought you to 
 this wretch that I am!' 1 cried Helen. "Oh, what a 
 horrible ride!" 
 
 Rain was falling, the trees were dripping, the sky was 
 lowering. All the ground was soaking wet, with pools 
 and puddles everywhere. Helen could imagine nothing 
 but a heartless, dreary, cold prospect. Just then home 
 was vivid and poignant in her thoughts. Indeed, so utterly 
 miserable was she that the exquisite relief of sitting down, 
 of a cessation of movement, of a release from that infernal 
 perpetual-trotting horse, seemed only a mockery. It could 
 not be true that the time had come for rest. 
 
 Evidently this place had been a camp site for hunters 
 or sheep-herders, for there were remains of a fire. Dale 
 lifted the burnt end of a log and brought it down hard 
 upon the ground, splitting off pieces. Several times he 
 did this. It was amazing to see his strength, his facility, 
 as he split off handfuls of splinters. He collected a 
 bundle of them, and, laying them down, he bent over 
 them. Roy wielded the ax on another log, and each 
 stroke split off a long strip. Then a tiny column of smoke 
 drifted up over Dale's shoulder as he leaned, bareheaded, 
 sheltering the splinters with his hat. A blaze leaped up. 
 Roy came with an armful of strips all white and dry, out 
 of the inside of a log. Crosswise these were laid over the 
 blaze, and it began to roar. Then piece by piece the 
 men built up a frame upon which they added heavier 
 woods, branches and stumps and logs, erecting a pyramid 
 through which flames and smoke roared upward. It had 
 not taken two minutes. Already Helen felt the warmth 
 on her icy face. She held up her bare, numb hands. 
 
 95 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Both Dale and Roy were wet through to the skin, yet 
 they did not tarry beside the fire. They relieved the 
 horses. A lasso went up between two pines, and a tar- 
 paulin over it, V-shaped and pegged down at the four 
 ends. The packs containing the baggage of the girls and 
 the supplies and bedding were placed under this shelter. 
 
 Helen thought this might have taken five minutes more. 
 In this short space of time the fire had leaped and flamed 
 until it was huge and hot. Rain was falling steadily all 
 around, but over and near that roaring blaze, ten feet 
 high, no water fell. It evaporated. The ground began to 
 steam and to dry. Helen suffered at first while the heat 
 was driving out the cold. But presently the pain ceased. 
 
 "Nell, I never knew before how good a fire could feel," 
 declared Bo. 
 
 And therein lay more food for Helen's reflection. 
 
 In ten minutes Helen was dry and hot. Darkness came 
 down upon the dreary, sodden forest, but that great 
 camp-fire made it a different world from the one Helen 
 had anticipated. It blazed and roared, cracked like a 
 pistol, hissed and sputtered, shot sparks everywhere, and 
 sent aloft a dense, yellow, whirling column of smoke. It 
 began to have a heart of gold. 
 
 Dale took a long pole and raked out a pile of red embers 
 upon which the coffee-pot and oven soon began to steam. 
 
 "Roy, I promised the girls turkey to-night," said Llie 
 hunter. 
 
 " Mebbe to-morrow, if the wind shifts. This 's turkey 
 country." 
 
 "Roy, a potato will do me!" exclaimed Bo. "Never 
 again will I ask for cake and pie! I never appreciated 
 good things to eat. And I've been a little pig, always. I 
 never never knew what it was to be hungry until now." 
 
 Dale glanced up quickly. 
 
 "Lass, it's worth learnin'," he said. 
 
 Helen's thought was too deep for words. In such brief 
 space had she been transformed from misery to comfort I 
 
 96 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 The rain kept on falling, though it appeared to grow 
 softer as night settled down black. The wind died away 
 and the forest was still, except for the steady roar of the 
 stream. A folded tarpaulin was laid between the pine 
 and the fire, well in the light and warmth, and upon it 
 the men set steaming pots and plates and cups, the fra- 
 grance from which was strong and inviting. 
 
 "Fetch the saddle-blanket an' set with your backs to 
 the fire," said Roy. 
 
 Later, when the girls were tucked away snugly in their 
 blankets and sheltered from the rain, Helen remained 
 awake after Bo had fallen asleep. The big blaze made 
 the improvised tent as bright as day. She could see the 
 smoke, the trunk of the big pine towering aloft, and a 
 blank space of sky. The stream hummed a song, seem- 
 ingly musical at times, and then discordant and dull, now 
 low, now roaring, and always rushing, gurgling, babbling, 
 flowing, chafing in its hurry. 
 
 Presently the hunter and his friend returned from hob- 
 bling the horses, and beside the fire they conversed in low 
 tones. 
 
 "Wai, thet trail we made to-day will be hid, I reckon," 
 said Roy, with satisfaction. 
 
 "What wasn't sheeped over would be washed out. 
 We've had luck. An' now I ain't worryin'," returned 
 Dale. 
 
 "Worryin'? Then it's the first I ever knowed you 
 to do." 
 
 "Man, I never had a job like this," protested the 
 hunter. 
 
 "Wai, thet'sso." 
 
 "Now, Roy, when old Al Auchincloss finds out about 
 this deal, as he's bound to when you or the boys get back 
 to Pine, he's goin' to roar." 
 
 "Do you reckon folks will side with him against 
 Beasley?" 
 
 97 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Some of them. But Al, like as not, will tell folks to 
 go where it's hot. He'll bunch his men an' strike for the 
 mountains to find his nieces." 
 
 "Wai, all you've got to do is to keep the girls hid till I 
 can guide him up to your camp. Or, failin' thet, till you 
 can slip the girls down to Pine." 
 
 "No one but you an* your brothers ever seen my 
 senaca. But it could be found easy enough." 
 
 " Anson might blunder on it. But thet ain't likely." 
 
 "Why ain't it?" 
 
 "Because I'll stick to thet sheep-thief's tracks like a 
 wolf after a bleedin' deer. An' if he ever gets near your 
 camp I'll ride in ahead of him." 
 
 "Good!" declared Dale. "I was calculatin' you'd go 
 down to Pine, sooner or later." 
 
 " Not unless Anson goes. I told John thet in case there 
 was no fight on the stage to make a bee-line back to Pine. 
 He was to tell Al an' offer his services along with Joe an* 
 Hal." 
 
 "One way or another, then, there s bound to be blood 
 spilled over this." 
 
 "Shore! An' high time. I jest hope I get a look down 
 my old 'forty-four' at thet Beasley." 
 
 "In that case I hope you hold straighter than times 
 I've seen you." 
 
 "Milt Dale, I'm a good shot," declared Roy, stoutly. 
 
 "You're no good on movin' targets." 
 
 "Wai, mebbe so. But I'm not lookin' for a movin' tar- 
 get when I meet up with Beasley. I'm a hossman, not a 
 hunter. You're used to shootin' flies off deer's horns, 
 jest for practice." 
 
 "Roy, can we make my camp by to-morrow night?" 
 queried Dale, more seriously. 
 
 "We will, if each of us has to carry one of the girls. 
 But they'll do it or die. Dale, did you ever see a gamer 
 girl than thet kid Bo?" 
 
 "Me! Where'd I ever see any girls?" ejaculated Dale. 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 " I remember some when I was a boy, but I was only four- 
 teen then. Never had much use for girls." 
 
 "I'd like to have a wife like that Bo," declared Roy, 
 fervidly. 
 
 There ensued a moment's silence. 
 
 "Roy, you're a Mormon an' you already got a wife," 
 was Dale's reply. 
 
 "Now, Milt, have you lived so long in the woods thet 
 you never heard of a Mormon with two wives?" returned 
 Roy, and then he laughed heartily. 
 
 "I never could stomach what I did hear pertainin' to 
 more than one wife for a man." 
 
 "Wai, my friend, you go an' get yourself one. An' see 
 then if you wouldn't like to have two." 
 
 "I reckon one 'd be more than enough for Milt Dale." 
 
 " Milt, old man, let me tell you thet I always envied you 
 your freedom," said Roy, earnestly. "But it ain't life." 
 
 "You mean life is love of a woman?" 
 
 "No. Thet's only part. I mean a son a boy thef's 
 like you thet you feel will go on with your life after, 
 you're gone." 
 
 "I've thought of that thought it all out, watchin' the 
 birds an' animals mate in the woods. ... If I have no son 
 I'll never live hereafter." ^ 
 
 "Wai," replied Roy, hesitatingly, "I don't go in so 
 'deep as thet. I mean a son goes on with your blood an' 
 your work." 
 
 "Exactly. . . . An', Roy, I envy you what you've got, 
 because it's out of all bounds for Milt Dale." 
 
 Those words, sad and deep, ended the conversation. 
 Again the rumbling, rushing stream dominated the forest. 
 An owl hooted dismally. A horse trod thuddingly near by 
 and from that direction came a cutting tear of teeth on 
 grass. 
 
 A voice pierced Helen's deep dreams and, awaking r 
 found Bo shaking and calling her. 
 
 99 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Are you dead?" came the gay voice. 
 
 " Almost. Oh, my back's broken," replied Helen. The 
 desire to move seemed clamped in a vise, and even if that 
 came she believed the effort would be impossible. 
 
 " Roy called us," said Bo. " He said hurry. I thought 
 I'd die just sitting up, and I'd give you a million dollars 
 to lace my boots. Wait, sister, till you try to pull on one 
 of those stiff boots!" 
 
 With heroic and violent spirit Helen sat up to find that 
 in the act her aches and pains appeared beyond number. 
 Reaching for her boots, she found them cold and stiff. 
 Helen unlaced one and, opening it wide, essayed to get 
 her sore foot down into it. But her foot appeared swollen 
 and the boot appeared shrunken. She could not get it 
 half on, though she expended what little strength seemed 
 left in her aching arms. She groaned. 
 
 Bo laughed wickedly. Her hair was tousled, her eyes 
 dancing, her cheeks red. 
 
 "Be game!" she said. "Stand up like a real Western 
 girl and pull your boot on." 
 
 Whether Bo's scorn or advice made the task easier did 
 not occur to Helen, but the fact was that she got into 
 her boots. Walking and moving a little appeared to 
 loosen the stiff joints and ease that tired feeling. The 
 water of the stream where the girls washed was colder 
 than any ice Helen had ever felt. It almost paralyzed 
 her hands. Bo mumbled, and blew like a porpoise. They 
 had to ran to the fire before being able to comb their hair. 
 The air was wonderfully keen. The dawn was clear, 
 bright, with a red glow in the east where the sun was 
 about to rise. 
 
 "All ready, girls," called Roy. "Reckon you can help 
 yourselves. Milt ain't comin' in very fast with the hosses. 
 I'll rustle off to help him. We've got a hard day before 
 us. Yesterday wasn't nowhere to what to-day '11 be." 
 
 "But the sun's going to shine?" implored Bo. 
 
 "Wai, you bet," rejoined Roy, as he strode off. 
 
 100 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Helen and Bo ate breakfast and had the camp to them- 
 selves for perhaps half an hour; then the horses came 
 thudding down, with Dale and Roy riding bareback. 
 
 By the time all was in readiness to start the sun was up, 
 melting the frost and ice, so that a dazzling, bright mist, 
 full of rainbows, shone under the trees. 
 
 Dale looked Ranger over, and tried the cinches of Bo's 
 horse. 
 
 "What's your choice a long ride behind the packs 
 with me or a short cut over the hills with Roy ? " he asked. 
 
 "I choose the lesser of two rides," replied Helen, 
 smiling. 
 
 "Reckon that '11 be easier, but you'll know you've had 
 a ride," said Dale, significantly. 
 
 "What was that we had yesterday?" asked Bo, archly. 
 
 "Only thirty miles, but cold an' wet. To-day will be 
 fine for ridin'." 
 
 "Milt, I'll take a blanket an* some grub in case you 
 don't meet us to-night," said Roy. "An' I reckon we'll 
 split up here where I'll have to strike out on thet short 
 cut." 
 
 Bo mounted without a helping hand, but Helen's limbs 
 were so stiff that she could not get astride the high Ranger 
 without assistance. The hunter headed up the slope of 
 the canon, which on that side was not steep. It was 
 brown pine forest, with here and there a clump of dark, 
 silver-pointed evergreens that Roy called spruce. By the 
 time this slope was surmounted Helen's aches were not 
 so bad. The saddle appeared to fit her better, and the 
 gait of the horse was not so unfamiliar. She reflected, 
 however, that she always had done pretty well uphill. 
 Here it was beautiful forest-land, uneven and wilder. 
 They rode for a time along the rim, with the white rush- 
 ing stream in plain sight far below, with its melodious 
 roar ever thrumming in the ear. 
 
 Dale reined in and peered down at the pine-mat. 
 
 "Fresh deer sign all along here," he said, pointing, 
 
 101 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Wai, I seen thet long ago," rejoined Roy. 
 
 Helen's scrutiny was rewarded by descrying several 
 tiny depressions in the pine-needles, dark in color and 
 sharply defined. 
 
 "We may never get a better chance," said Dale. " Those 
 deer are workin' up our way. Get your rifle out . ' ' 
 
 Travel was resumed then, with Roy a little in advance 
 of the pack-train. Presently he dismounted, threw his 
 bridle, and cautiously peered ahead. Then, turning, he 
 waved his sombrero. The pack-animals halted in a 
 bunch. Dale beckoned for the girls to follow and rode 
 up to Roy's horse. This point, Helen saw, was at the top 
 of an intersecting canon. Dale dismounted, without draw- 
 Ihg his rifle from its saddle-sheath, and approached Roy. 
 
 "Buck an' two does," he said, low-voiced. "An* 
 they've winded us, but don't see us yet. . . . Girls, ride up 
 closer." 
 
 Following the directions indicated by Dale's long arm, 
 Helen looked down the slope. It was open, with tall pines 
 here and there, and clumps of silver spruce, and aspens 
 shining like gold in the morning sunlight. Presently Bo 
 exclaimed: "Oh, look! I see! I see!" Then Helen's 
 roving glance passed something different from green and 
 gold and brown. Shifting back to it she saw a magnificent 
 stag, with noble spreading antlers, standing like a statue, 
 his head up in alert and wild posture. His color was 
 gray. Beside him grazed two deer of slighter and more 
 graceful build, without horns. 
 
 "It's downhill," whispered Dale. "An* you're goin' 
 to overshoot." 
 
 Then Helen saw that Roy had his rifle leveled. 
 
 "Oh, don't!" she cried. 
 
 Dale's remark evidently nettled Roy. He lowered the 
 rifle. 
 
 "Milt, it's me lookin' over this gun. How can you 
 stand there an' tell me I'm goin' to shoot high? I had a 
 dead bead on him." 
 
 102 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Roy, you didn't allow for downhill. . . . Hurry. He 
 
 sees us now." 
 
 Roy leveled the rifle and, taking aim as before, he fired. 
 The buck stood perfectly motionless, as if he had indeed 
 been stone. The does, however, jumped with a start, 
 and gazed in fright in every direction. 
 
 "Told you! I seen where your bullet hit thet pine 
 half a foot over his shoulder. Try again an' aim at his 
 legs." 
 
 Roy now took a quicker aim and pulled trigger. A 
 puff of dust right at the feet of the buck showed where 
 Roy's lead had struck this time. With a single bound, 
 wonderful to see, the big deer was out of sight behind 
 trees and brush. The does leaped after him. 
 
 "Doggone the luck!" ejaculated Roy, red in the face, 
 as he worked the lever of his rifle. "Never could shoot 
 downhill, nohow!" 
 
 His rueful apology to the girls for missing brought a 
 merry laugh from Bo. 
 
 "Not for worlds would I have had you kill that beauti- 
 ful deer!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "We won't have venison steak off him, that's certain," 
 remarked Dale, dryly. "An' maybe none off any deer, 
 if Roy does the shootin'." 
 
 They resumed travel, sheering off to the right and 
 keeping to the edge of the intersecting canon. At length 
 they rode down to the bottom, where a tiny brook babbled 
 through willows, and they followed this for a mile or so 
 down to where it flowed into the larger stream. A dim 
 trail overgrown with grass showed at this point. 
 
 "Here's where we part," said Dale. "You'll beat me 
 into my camp, but I'll get there sometime after dark." 
 
 "Hey, Milt, I forgot about thet darned pet cougar of 
 yours an' the rest of your menagerie. Reckon they won't 
 scare the girls? Especially old Tom?" 
 
 "You won't see Tom till I get home," replied Dale. 
 
 "Ain't he corralled or tied up?" 
 
 103 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "No. He has the run of the place." 
 
 "Wai, good-by, then, an* rustle along." 
 
 Dale nodded to the girls, and, turning his horse, he 
 drove the pack-train before him up the open space between 
 the stream and the wooded slope. 
 
 Roy stepped off his horse with that single action which 
 appeared such a feat to Helen. 
 
 " Guess I'd better cinch up," he said, as he threw a 
 stirrup up over the pommel of his saddle. "You girls 
 are goin' to see wild country." 
 
 "Who's old Tom?" queried Bo, curiously. 
 
 "Why, he's Milt's pet cougar." 
 
 "Cougar? That's a panther a mountain-lion, didn't 
 he say?" 
 
 "Shore is. Tom is a beauty. An' if he takes a likin* 
 to you he'll love you, play with you, maul you half to 
 death." 
 
 Bo was all eyes. 
 
 "Dale has other pets, too?" she questioned, eagerly. 
 
 "I never was up to his camp but what it was overrun 
 with birds an' squirrels an' vermin of all kinds, as tame 
 as tame as cows. Too darn tame, Milt says. But I 
 can't figger thet. You girls will never want to leave thet 
 senaca of his." 
 
 "What's a senaca?" asked Helen, as she shifted her 
 foot to let him tighten the cinches on her saddle. 
 
 " Thet's Mexican for park, I guess," he replied. " These 
 mountains are full of parks; an', say, I don't ever want 
 to see no prettier place till I get to heaven. . . . There, 
 Ranger, old boy, thet's tight." 
 
 He slapped the horse affectionately, and, turning to his 
 own, he stepped and swung his long length up. 
 
 "It ain't deep crossin' here. Come on," he called, and 
 spurred his bay. 
 
 The stream here was wide and it looked deep, but turned 
 out to be deceptive. 
 
 "Wai, girls, here beginneth the second lesson," he 
 
 104 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 drawled, cheerily. "Ride one behind the other stick 
 close to me do what I do an' holler when you want to 
 rest or if somethin' goes bad." 
 
 With that he spurred into the thicket. Bo went next 
 and Helen followed. The willows dragged at her so hard 
 that she was unable to watch Roy, and the result was that 
 a low-sweeping branch of a tree knocked her hard on the 
 head. It hurt and startled her, and roused her mettle. 
 Roy was keeping to the easy trot that covered ground so 
 well, and he led up a slope to the open pine forest. Here 
 the ride for several miles was straight, level, and open. 
 Helen liked the forest to-day. It was brown and green, 
 with patches of gold where the sun struck. She saw her 
 first birds big blue grouse that whirred up from under 
 her horse, and little checkered gray quail that appeared 
 awkward on the wing. Several times Roy pointed out 
 deer flashing gray across some forest aisle, and often 
 when he pointed Helen was not quick enough to see. 
 
 Helen realized that this ride would make up for the 
 hideous one of yesterday. So far she had been only barely 
 conscious of sore places and aching bones. These she 
 would bear with. She loved the wild and the beautiful, 
 both of which increased manifestly with every mile. The 
 sun was warm, the air fragrant and cool, the sky blue as 
 azure and so deep that she imagined that she could look 
 far up into it. 
 
 Suddenly Roy reined in so sharply that he pulled the 
 bay up short. 
 
 "Look!" he called, sharply. 
 
 Bo screamed. 
 
 "Not thet way! Here! Aw, he's gone!" 
 
 "Nell! It was a bear! I saw it! Oh! not like circus 
 <6ears at all!" cried Bo. 
 
 Helen had missed her opportunity. 
 
 "Reckon he was a grizzly, an' I'm jest as well pleased 
 thet he loped off," said Roy. Altering his course some- 
 what, he led to an old rotten log that the bear had been 
 8 105 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 digging in. "After grubs. There, see his track. Eh 
 was a whopper shore enough." 
 
 They rode on, out to a high point that overlooked 
 canon and range, gorge and ridge, green and black as far 
 as Helen could see. The ranges were bold and long, 
 climbing to the central uplift, where a number of fringed 
 peaks raised their heads to the vast bare dome of Old 
 Baldy. Far as vision could see, to the right lay one roll- 
 ing forest of pine, beautiful and serene. Somewhere down 
 beyond must have lain the desert, but it was not in sight. 
 
 "I see turkeys 'way down there," said Roy, backing 
 away. "We'll go down and around an' mebbe I'll get a 
 shot." 
 
 Descent beyond a rocky point was made through thick 
 brush. This slope consisted of wide benches covered 
 with copses and scattered pines and many oaks. Helen 
 was delighted to see the familiar trees, although these 
 were different from Missouri oaks. Rugged and gnarled, 
 but not tall, these trees spread wide branches, the leaves 
 of which were yellowing. Roy led into a grassy 
 glade, and, leaping off his horse, rifle in hand, he prepared 
 to shoot at something. Again Bo cried out, but this time 
 it was in delight. Then Helen saw an immense flock of 
 turkeys, apparently like the turkeys she knew at home, 
 but these had bronze and checks of white, and they looked 
 wild. There must have been a hundred in the flock, most 
 of them hens. A few gobblers on the far side began the 
 flight, running swiftly off. Helen plainly heard the thud 
 of their feet. Roy shot once twice three times. Then 
 rose a great commotion and thumping, and a loud roar of 
 many wings. Dust and leaves whirling in the air were 
 left where the turkeys had been. 
 
 "Wai, I got two," said Roy, and he strode forward to 
 pick up his game. Returning, he tied two shiny, plump 
 gobblers back of his saddle and remounted his horse. 
 "We'll have turkey to-night, if Milt gets to camp in 
 
 time." 
 
 106 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 The ride was resumed. Helen never would have tired 
 tiding through those oak groves, brown and sear and 
 yellow, with leaves and acorns falling. 
 
 "Bears have been workin' in here already," said Roy. 
 " I see tracks all over. They eat acorns in the fall. An' 
 tnebbe we'll run into one yet." 
 
 The farther down he led the wilder and thicker grew 
 the trees, so that dodging branches was no light task. 
 Ranger did not seem to care how close he passed a tree or 
 under a limb, so that he missed them himself; but Helen 
 thereby got some additional bruises. Particularly hard 
 was it, when passing a tree, to get her knee out of the way 
 in time. 
 
 Roy halted next at what appeared a large green pond 
 full of vegetation and in places covered with a thick scum. 
 But it had a current and an outlet, proving it to be a huge 
 spring. Roy pointed down at a muddy place. 
 
 "Bear- wallow. He heard us comin'. Look at thet 
 little track. Cub track. An' look at these scratches on 
 this tree, higher 'n my head. An old she-bear stood up 
 an' scratched them." 
 
 Roy sat his saddle and reached up to touch fresh marks 
 on the tree. 
 
 "Woods 's full of big bears," he said, grinning. "An' 
 I take it particular kind of this old she rustlin' off with 
 her cub. She-bears with cubs are dangerous." 
 
 The next place to stir Helen to enthusiasm was the glen 
 at the bottom of this canon. Beech-trees, maples, aspens, 
 overtopped by lofty pines, made dense shade over a brook 
 where trout splashed on the brown, swirling current, and 
 leaves drifted down, and stray flecks of golden sunlight 
 lightened the gloom. Here was hard riding to and fro 
 across the brook, between huge mossy boulders, and 
 between aspens so close together that Helen could scarce 
 squeeze her knees through. 
 
 Once more Roy climbed out of that canon, over a ridge 
 into another, down long wooded slopes and through scrub" 
 
 107 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 oak thickets, on and on till the sun stood straight over- 
 head. Then he halted for a short rest, unsaddled the 
 horses to let them roll, and gave the girls some cold 
 lunch that he had packed. He strolled off with his 
 gun, and, upon returning, resaddled and gave the word 
 to start. 
 
 That was the last of rest and easy traveling for the girls. 
 The forest that he struck into seemed ribbed like a wash- 
 board with deep ravines so steep of slope as to make 
 precarious travel. Mostly he kept to the bottom where 
 dry washes afforded a kind of trail. But it was necessary 
 to cross these ravines when they were too long to be 
 headed, and this crossing was work. 
 
 The locust thickets characteristic of these slopes were 
 thorny and close knit. They tore and scratched and 
 stung both horses and riders. Ranger appeared to be the 
 most intelligent of the horses and suffered less. Bo's 
 white mustang dragged her through more than one 
 brambly place. On the other hand, some of these steep 
 slopes were comparatively free of underbrush. Great firs 
 and pines loomed up on all sides. The earth was soft and 
 the hoofs sank deep. Toward the bottom of a descent 
 Ranger would brace his front feet and then slide down on 
 his haunches. This mode facilitated travel, but it fright- 
 ened Helen. The climb out then on the other side had 
 to be done on foot. 
 
 After half a dozen slopes surmounted in this way Helen's 
 strength was spent and her breath was gone. She felt 
 light-headed. She could not get enough air. Her feet 
 felt like lead, and her riding-coat was a burden. A hun- 
 dred times, hot and wet and throbbing, she was com- 
 pelled to stop. Always she had been a splendid walker 
 and climber. And here, to break up the long ride, she 
 was glad to be on her feet. But she could only drag one 
 foot up after the other. Then, when her nose began to 
 bleed, she realized that it was the elevation which was 
 
 causing all the trouble. Her heart, however, did not hurt 
 
 1 08 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 her, though she was conscious of an oppression on her 
 breast. 
 
 At last Roy led into a ravine so deep and wide and full 
 of forest verdure that it appeared impossible to cross. 
 Nevertheless, he started down, dismounting after a littla 
 way. Helen found that leading Ranger down was worse 
 than riding him. He came fast and he would step right 
 in her tracks. She was not quick enough to get away 
 from him. Twice he stepped on her foot, and again his 
 broad chest hit her shoulder and threw her flat. When 
 he began to slide, near the bottom, Helen had to run for 
 her life. 
 
 "Oh, Nell! Isn't this great? "panted Bo, from some- 
 where ahead. 
 
 "Bo your mind's gone," panted Helen, in reply. 
 
 Roy tried several places to climb out, and failed in each. 
 Leading down the ravine for a hundred yards or more, he 
 essayed another attempt. Here there had been a slide, 
 and in part the earth was bare. When he had worked up 
 this, he halted above, and called: 
 
 "Bad place! Keep on the up side of the hosses!" 
 
 This appeared easier said than done. Helen could not 
 watch Bo, because Ranger would not wait. He pulled 
 at the bridle and snorted. 
 
 "Faster you come the better," called Roy. 
 
 Helen could not see the sense of that, but she tried. 
 Roy and Bo had dug a deep trail zigzag up that treacher* 
 ous slide. Helen made the mistake of starting to follow 
 in their tracks, and when she realized this Ranger was 
 climbing fast, almost dragging her, and it was too late to 
 get above. Helen began to labor. She slid down right 
 in front of Ranger. The intelligent animal, with a snort, 
 plunged out of the trail to keep from stepping on her. 
 Then he was above her. 
 
 "Look out down there," yelled Roy, in warning. "Get 
 on the up side!" 
 
 But that did not appear possible. The earth began to 
 
 109 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 under Ranger, and that impeded Helen's progress 
 He got in advance of her, straining on the bridle. 
 
 "Let go!" yelled Roy. 
 
 Helen dropped the bridle just as a heavy slide began to 
 move with Ranger. He snorted fiercely, and , rearing high, 
 in a mighty plunge he gained solid ground. Helen was 
 buried to her knees, but, extricating herself, she crawled 
 to a safe point and rested before climbing farther. 
 
 "Bad cav^-in, thet," was Roy's comment, when at last 
 she joined him and Bo at the top. 
 
 Roy appeared at a loss as to which way to go. He rode 
 to high ground and looked in all directions. To Helen 
 one way appeared as wild and rough as another, and all 
 was yellow, green, and black under the westering sun. 
 Roy rode a short distance in one direction, then changed 
 for another. 
 
 Presently he stopped. 
 
 "Wai, I'm shore turned round," he said. 
 
 "You're not lost?" cried Bo. 
 
 "Reckon I've been thet for a couple of hours," he re- 
 plied, cheerfully "Never did ride across here I had 
 the direction, but I'm blamed now if I can tell which way 
 tbst was." 
 
 Helen gazed at him in consternation. 
 
 "Lost! ''she echoed. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 A SILENCE ensued, fraught with poignant fear for 
 Helen, as she gazed into Bo's whitening face. She 
 read her sister's mind. Bo was remembering tales of lost 
 people who never were found. 
 
 "Me an' Milt get lost every day," said Roy. "You 
 don't suppose any man can know all this big country. It's 
 nothin' for us to be lost." 
 
 " Oh ! . .1 was lost when I was little," said Bo. 
 
 "Wai, I reckon it 'd been better not to tell you so off- 
 hand like," replied Roy, contritely. "Don't feel bad, 
 now. All I need is a peek at Old Baldy. Then I'll have 
 my bearin*. Come on." 
 
 Helen's confidence returned as Roy led off at a fast trot. 
 He rode toward the westering sun, keeping to the ridge 
 they had ascended, until once more he came out upon a 
 promontory. Old Baldy loomed there, blacker and higher 
 and closer. The dark forest showed round, yellow, bare 
 spots like parks. 
 
 "Not so far off the track," said Roy, as he wheeled his 
 horse. "We'll make camp in Milt's senaca to-night." 
 
 He led down off the ridge into a valley and then up to 
 higher altitude, where the character of the forest changed. 
 The trees were no longer pines, but firs and spruce, grow- 
 ing thin and exceedingly tall, with few branches below 
 the topmost foliage. So dense was this forest that twi- 
 light seemed to have come. 
 
 Travel was arduous. Everywhere were windfalls that 
 had to be avoided, and not a rod was there without a 
 {alien tree. The horses, laboring slowly, sometimes sanl* 
 
 in 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 knee-deep into the brown duff. Gray moss festooned the 
 tree-trunks and an amber-green moss grew thick on the 
 rotting logs. 
 
 Helen loved this forest primeval. It was so still, so 
 dark, so gloomy, so full of shadows and shade, and a dank 
 smell of rotting wood, and sweet fragrance of spruce. 
 The great windfalls, where trees were jammed together 
 in dozens, showed the savagery of the storms. Wherever 
 a single monarch lay uprooted there had sprung up a 
 number of ambitious sons, jealous of one another, fighting 
 for place. Even the trees fought one another 1 The forest 
 was a place of mystery, but its strife could be read by any 
 eye. The lightnings had split firs clear to the roots, and 
 others it had circled with ripping tear from top to trunk. 
 
 Time came, however, when the exceeding wildness of 
 the forest, in density and fallen timber, made it impera- 
 tive for Helen to put all her attention on the ground and 
 trees in her immediate vicinity. So the pleasure of gaz- 
 ing ahead at the beautiful wilderness was denied her. 
 Thereafter travel became toil and the hours endless. 
 
 Roy led on, and Ranger followed, while the shadows 
 darkened under the trees. She was reeling in her saddle, 
 half blind and sick, when Roy called out cheerily that they 
 *rere almost there. 
 
 Whatever his idea was, to Helen it seemed many miles 
 that she followed him farther, out of the heavy-timbered 
 forest down upon slopes of low spruce, like evergreen, 
 which descended sharply to another level, w^here dark, 
 shallow streams flowed gently and the solemn stillness 
 held a low murmur of falling water, and at last the wood 
 ended upon a wonderful park full of a thick, rich, golden 
 light of fast-fading sunset. 
 
 "Smell the smoke," said Roy. "By Solomon! if Milt 
 ain't here ahead of me!" 
 
 He rode on. Helen's weary gaze took in the round 
 senaca, the circling black slopes, leading up to craggy 
 rims all gold and red in the last flare of the sun; then all- 
 
 112 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 the spirit left in her flashed up in thrilling wonder at this 
 exquisite, wild, and colorful spot. 
 
 Horses were grazing out in the long grass and there were 
 deer grazing with them. Roy led round a corner of the 
 fringed, bordering woodland, and there, under lofty trees, 
 shone a camp-fire. Huge gray rocks loomed beyond, and 
 then cliffs rose step by step to a notch in the mountain 
 wall, over which poured a thin, lacy waterfall. As Helen 
 gazed in rapture the sunset gold faded to white and all 
 the western slope of the amphitheater darkened. 
 
 Dale's tall form appeared. 
 
 "Reckon you're late," he said, as with a comprehensive 
 flash of eye he took in the three. 
 
 "Milt, I got lost," replied Roy. 
 
 " I feared as much. . . . You girls look like you'd done 
 better to ride with me," went on Dale, as he offered a 
 hand to help Bo off. She took it, tried to get her foot 
 out of the stirrups, and then she slid from the saddle into 
 Dale's arms. He placed her on her feet and, supporting 
 her, said, solicitously: "A hundred-mile ride in three 
 days for a tenderfoot is somethin' your uncle Al won't 
 believe. . . . Come, walk if it kills you!" 
 
 Whereupon he led Bo, very much as if he were teaching 
 a child to walk. The fact that the voluble Bo had noth- 
 ing to say was significant to Helen, who was following 
 with the assistance of Roy. 
 
 One of the huge rocks resembled a sea-shell in that it 
 contained a hollow over which the wide-spreading shelf 
 flared out. It reached toward branches of great pines. 
 A spring burst from a crack in the solid rock. The camp- 
 fire blazed under a pine, and the blue column of smoke 
 rose just in front of the shelving rock. Packs were lying 
 on the grass and some of them were open. There were 
 no signs here of a permanent habitation of the hunter, 
 But farther on were other huge rocks, leaning, cracked, 
 and forming caverns, some of which perhaps he utilized. 
 
 "My camp is just back," said Dale, as if he had read 
 
 "3 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Helen's mind. "Tomorrow we'll fix up comfortable-like 
 round here for you girls." 
 
 Helen and Bo were made as easy as blankets and 
 saddles could make them, and the men went about their 
 tasks. 
 
 "Nell isn't this a dream?" murmured Bo. 
 
 "No, child. It's real terribly real," replied Helen. 
 "Now that we're here with that awful ride over we 
 can think." 
 
 "It's so pretty here," yawned Bo. "I'd just as lief 
 Uncle Al didn't find us very soon." 
 
 "Bo! He's a sick man. Think what the worry will 
 be to him." 
 
 "I'll bet if he knows Dale he won't be so worried." 
 
 " Dale told us Uncle Al disliked him." 
 
 "Pooh! What difference does that make? ... Oh, I 
 don't know which I am hungrier or tireder!" 
 
 "I couldn't eat to-night," said Helen, wearily. 
 
 When she stretched out she had a vague, delicious sen- 
 iSation that that was the end of Helen Rayner, and she 
 was glad. Above her, through the lacy, fernlike pine- 
 needles, she saw blue sky and a pale star just showing. 
 Twilight was stealing down swiftly. The silence was 
 beautiful, seemingly undisturbed by the soft, silky, 
 dreamy fall of water. Helen closed her eyes, ready for 
 sleep, with the physical commotion within her body grad- 
 ually yielding. In some places her bones felt as if they 
 had come out through her flesh ; in others throbbed deep- 
 seated aches; her muscles appeared slowly to subside, to 
 relax, with the quivering twinges ceasing one by one; 
 through muscle and bone, through all her body, pulsed 
 a burning current. 
 
 Bo's head dropped on Helen's shoulder. Sense became 
 vague to Helen. She lost the low murmur of the water- 
 fall, and then the sound or feeling of some one at the camp- 
 fire. And her last conscious thought was that she tried 
 to open her eyes and could not. 
 
 114. 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 When she awoke all was bright. The sun shone almost 
 directly overhead. Helen was astounded. Bo lay 
 wrapped in deep sleep, her face flushed, with beads of 
 perspiration on her brow and the chestnut curls damp. 
 Helen threw down the blankets, and then, gathering 
 courage for she felt as if her back was broken she en- 
 deavored to sit up. In vain! Her spirit was willing, 
 but her muscles refused to act. It must take a violent 
 spasmodic effort. She tried it with shut eyes, and, 
 succeeding, sat there trembling. The commotion she 
 had made in the blankets awoke Bo, and she blinked her 
 surprised blue eyes in the sunlight. 
 
 "Hello Nell! do I have to get up?" she asked, 
 sleepily. 
 
 "Can you?" queried Helen. 
 
 "Can I what?" Bo was now thoroughly awake and 
 lay there staring at her sister. 
 
 "Why get up." 
 
 "I'd like to know why not," retorted Bo, as she made 
 the effort. She got one arm and shoulder up, only to 
 flop back like a crippled thing. And she uttered the most 
 piteous little moan. "I'm dead ! I know I am ! ' ' 
 
 "Well, if you're going to be a Western girl you'd better 
 have spunk enough to move." 
 
 "A-huh!" ejaculated Bo. Then she rolled over, not 
 without groans, and, once upon her face, she raised her- 
 self on her hands and turned to a sitting posture. "Where's 
 everybody? . . . Oh, Nell, it's perfectly lovely here. Para- 
 dise!" 
 
 Helen looked around. A fire was smoldering. No one 
 was in sight. Wonderful distant colors seemed to strike 
 her glance as she tried to fix it upon near-by objects. A 
 beautiful little green tent or shack had been erected out 
 of spruce boughs. It had a slanting roof that sloped ail 
 the way from a ridge-pole to the ground; half of the 
 opening in front was closed, as were the sides. The 
 spruce boughs appeared all to be laid in the same direction, 
 
 115 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 giving it a smooth, compact appearance, actually as if it 
 had grown there. 
 
 "That lean-to wasn't there last night?'' inquired Bo. 
 
 "I didn't see it. Lean-to? Where'd you get that 
 name?" 
 
 " It's Western, my dear. I'll bet they put it up for us. 
 . . . Sure, I see our bags inside. Let's get up. It must be 
 late." 
 
 The girls had considerable fun as well as pain in getting 
 up and keeping each other erect until their limbs would 
 hold them firmly. They were delighted with the spi-uce 
 lean-to. It faced the open and stood just under the wide- 
 spreading shelf of rock. The tiny outlet from the spring 
 flowed beside it and spilled its clear water over a stone, 
 to fall into a little pool. The floor of this woodland habi- 
 tation consisted of tips of spruce boughs to about a foot 
 in depth, all laid one way, smooth and springy, and so 
 sweetly odorous that the air seemed intoxicating. Helen 
 and Bo opened their baggage, and what with use of the 
 cold water, brush and comb, and clean blouses, they made 
 themselves feel as comfortable as possible, considering the 
 excruciating aches. Then they went out to the camp- 
 fire. 
 
 Helen's eye was attracted by moving objects near at 
 hand. Then simultaneously with Bo's cry of delight 
 Helen saw a beautiful doe approaching under the trees. 
 Dale walked beside it. 
 
 "You sure had a long sleep," was the hunter's greeting. 
 "I reckon you both look better." 
 
 "Good morning. Or is it afternoon? We're just able 
 to move about," said Helen. 
 
 "I could ride," declared Bo, stoutly. "Oh, Nell, look 
 at the deer! It's coming to me." 
 
 The doe had hung back a little as Dale reached the 
 camp-fire. It was a gray, slender creature, smooth as 
 silk, with great dark eyes. It stood a moment, long ears 
 erect, and then with a graceful little trot came up to Bo 
 
 116 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 and reached a slim nose for her outstretched hand. All 
 about it, except the beautiful soft eyes, seemed wild, and 
 yet it was as tame as a kitten. Then, suddenly, as Bo 
 fondled the long ears, it gave a start and, breaking away, 
 ran back out of sight under the pines. 
 
 "What frightened it?" asked Bo. 
 
 Dale pointed up at the wall under the shelving roof of 
 rock. There, twenty feet from the ground, curled up on 
 a ledge, lay a huge tawny animal with a face like that of 
 a cat. 
 
 "She's afraid of Tom," replied Dale. "Recognizes him 
 as a hereditary foe, I guess. I can't make friends of 
 them." 
 
 "Oh! So that's Tom the pet lion!" exclaimed Bo. 
 " Ugh ! No wonder that deer ran off ! " 
 
 "How long has he been up there?" queried Helen, gaz- 
 ing fascinated at Dale's famous pet. 
 
 "I couldn't say. Tom comes an' goes," replied Dale. 
 "But I sent him up there last night." 
 
 "And he was there perfectly free right over US- 
 while we slept!" burst out Bo. 
 
 "Yes. An' I reckon you slept the safer for that." 
 
 "Of all things! Nell, isn't he a monster? But ht 
 doesn't look like a lion an African lion. He's a panther, 
 I saw his like at the circus once." 
 
 " He's a cougar," said Dale. "The panther is long and 
 slim. Tom is not only long, but thick an' round. I've 
 had him four years. An' he was a kitten no bigger 'n my 
 fist when I got him." 
 
 "Is he perfectly tame safe?" asked Helen, anxiously. 
 
 "I've never told anybody that Tom was safe, but he 
 is," replied Dale. "You can absolutelv believe it. A 
 wild cougar wouldn't attack a man unless cornered or 
 starved. An' Tom is like a big kitten." 
 
 The beast raised his great catlike face, with its sleepy, 
 half -shut eyes, and looked down upon them. 
 
 "Shall I call him down?" inquired Dale. 
 
 117 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 For once Bo did not find her voice. 
 
 ''Let us get a little more used to him at a distance," 
 replied Helen, with a little laugh. 
 
 "If he comes to you, just rub his head an' you'll see 
 how tame he is," said Dale. "Reckon you're both 
 hungry?" 
 
 "Not so very," returned Helen, aware of his penetrat- 
 ing gray gaze upon her. 
 
 "Well, I am," vouchsafed Bo. 
 
 "Soon as the turkey's done we'll eat. My camp is 
 round between the rocks. I'll call you." 
 
 Not until his broad back was turned did Helen notice 
 that the hunter looked different. Then she saw he wore 
 a lighter, cleaner suit of buckskin, with no coat, and 
 instead of the high-heeled horseman's boots he wore 
 moccasins and leggings. The change made him appear 
 more lithe. 
 
 "Nell, I don't know what you think, but I call him 
 handsome," declared Bo. 
 
 Helen had no idea what she thought. 
 
 " Let's try to walk some," she suggested. 
 
 So they essayed that painful task and got as far as a 
 pine log some few rods from their camp. This point was 
 close to the edge of the park, from which there was an 
 unobstructed view. 
 
 "My! What a place!" exclaimed Bo, with eyes wide 
 and round. 
 
 "Oh, beautiful!" breathed Helen. 
 
 An unexpected blaze of color drew her gaze first. Out 
 of the black spruce slopes shone patches of aspens, glori- 
 ously red and gold, and low down along the edge of timber 
 troops of aspens ran out into the park, not yet so blazing 
 as those above, but purple and yellow and white in the 
 sunshine. Masses of silver spruce, like trees in moon- 
 light, bordered the park, sending out here and there an 
 isolated tree, sharp as a spear, with under-branches close 
 to the ground. Long golden-green grass, resembling half- 
 
 118 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 ripe wheat, covered the entire floor of the park, gently 
 waving to the wind. Above sheered the black, gold- 
 patched slopes, steep and unscalable, rising to buttresses 
 of dark, iron-hued rock. And to the east circled the rows 
 of cliff-bench, gray and old and fringed, splitting at the 
 top in the notch where the lacy, slumberous waterfall, like 
 white smoke, fell and vanished, to reappear in wider sheet 
 of lace, only to fall and vanish again in the green depths. 
 It was a verdant valley, deep-set in the mountain walls, 
 wild and sad and lonesome. The waterfall dominated 
 the spirit of the place, dreamy and sleepy and tranquil; 
 it murmured sweetly on one breath of wind, and lulled 
 with another, and sometimes died out altogether, only 
 to come again in soft, strange roar. 
 
 "Paradise Park!" whispered Bo to herself. 
 A call from Dale disturbed their raptures. Turning, 
 they hobbled with eager but painful steps in the direction 
 of a larger camp-fire, situated to the right of the great 
 rock that sheltered their lean-to. No hut or house showed 
 there and none was needed. Hiding-places and homes 
 for a hundred hunters were there in the sections of caverned 
 cliffs, split off in bygone ages from the mountain wall 
 above. A few stately pines stood out from the rocks, and 
 a clump of silver spruce ran down to a brown brook. 
 This camp was only a step from the lean-to, round the 
 corner of a huge rock, yet it had been out oE sight. Here 
 indeed was evidence of a hunter's home pelts and skins 
 and antlers, a neat pile of split fire-wood, a long ledge of 
 rock, well sheltered, and loaded with bags like a huge 
 pantry-shelf, packs and ropes and saddles, tools and 
 weapons, and a platform of dry brush as shelter for a fire 
 around which hung on poles a various assortment of uten- 
 sils for camp. 
 
 "Hyar you git!" shouted Dale, and he threw a stick 
 at something. A bear cub scampered away in haste. He 
 was small and woolly and brown, and he grunted as he 
 ran. Soon he halted. 
 
 119 
 
THE MAN OF THE' FOREST 
 
 " That's Bud," said Dale, as the girls came up. "Guess 
 he near starved in my absence. An' now he wants every- 
 thin', especially the sugar. We don't have sugar often 
 up here." 
 
 "Isn't he dear? Oh, I love him!" cried Bo. "Come 
 back, Bud. Come, Buddie." 
 
 The cub, however, kept his distance, watching Dale 
 "with bright little eyes. 
 
 "Where's Mr. Roy?" asked Helen. 
 
 "Roy's gone. He was sorry not to say good-by. But 
 it's important he gets down in the pines on Anson's trail. 
 He'll hang to Anson, an* in case they get near Pine he'll 
 ride in to see where your uncle is." 
 
 "What do you expect?" questioned Helen, gravely. 
 
 "'Most anythin'," he replied. "Al, I reckon, knows 
 now. Maybe he's rustlin' into the mountains by this 
 time. If he meets up with Anson, well an' good, for Roy 
 won't be far off. An' sure if he runs across Roy, why 
 they'll soon be here. But if I were you I wouldn't count 
 on seein' your uncle very soon. I'm sorry. I've done 
 my best. It sure is a bad deal." 
 
 "Don't think me ungracious," replied Helen, hastily. 
 How plainly he had intimated that it must be privation 
 and annoyance for her to be compelled to accept his 
 hospitality! "You are good kind. I owe you much. 
 I'll be eternally grateful." 
 
 Dale straightened as he looked at her. His glance was 
 intent, piercing. He seemed to be receiving a strange or 
 unusual portent. No need for him to say he had never 
 before been spoken to like that! 
 
 "You may have to stay here with me for weeks 
 maybe months if we've the bad luck to get snowed in," 
 he said, slowly, as if startled at this deduction. "You're 
 safe here. No sheep-thief could ever find this camp. 
 I'll take risks to get you safe into Al's hands. But I'm 
 goin' to be pretty sure about what I'm doin'. . . . So 
 there's plenty to eat an' it's a pretty place." 
 
 1 20 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Hetty! Why, it's grand!" exclaimed Bo. "I've 
 calle4 it Paradise Park." 
 
 "Paradise Park," he repeated, weighing the words. 
 "Yota've named it an' also the creek. Paradise Creek! 
 I've been here twelve years with no fit name for my home 
 till you said that." 
 
 "Oh, that pleases me!" returned Bo, with shining eyes. 
 
 -Eat now," said Dale. "An' I reckon you'll like that 
 turkey." 
 
 There was a clean tarpaulin upon which were spread 
 steaming, fragrant pans roast turkey, hot biscuits and 
 gravy, mashed potatoes as white as if prepared at home, 
 stewed dried apples, and butter and coffee. This bounte- 
 ous repast surprised and delighted the girls; when they 
 had once tasted the roast wild turkey, then Milt Dale had 
 occasion to blush at their encomiums. 
 
 "I hope Uncle Al doesn't come for a month," de- 
 clared Bo, as she tried to get her breath. There was a 
 brown spot on her nose and one on each cheek, suspiciously 
 close to her mouth. 
 
 Dale laughed. It was pleasant to hear him, for his 
 laugh seemed unused and deep, as if it came from tranquil 
 depths. 
 
 "Won't you eat with us?" asked Helen. 
 
 "Reckon I will," he said. "It '11 save time, an* hot 
 grub tastes better." 
 
 Quite an interval of silence ensued, which presently was 
 broken by Dale. 
 
 "Here comes Tom." 
 
 Helen observed with a thrill that the cougar was mag- 
 nificent, seen erect on all-fours, approaching with slow, 
 sinuous grace. His color WL3 tawny, with spots of whitish 
 gray. He had bow-legs, big and round and furry, and a 
 huge head with great tawny eyes. No matter how tame 
 he was said to be, he looked wild. Like a dog he walked 
 right up, and it so happened that he was directly behind 
 Bo, within reach of her when she turned. 
 Q 121 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Gh, Lord!" cried Bo, and up went both of her *iands, 
 in one of which was a huge piece of turkey. Tom took it, 
 not viciously, but nevertheless with a snap that made 
 Helen jump. As if by magic the turkey vanished. And 
 Tom took a closer step toward Bo. Her expression of 
 fright changed to consternation. 
 
 "He stole my turkey!'* 
 
 "Tom, come here," ordered Dale, sharply. The cou- 
 gar glided round rather sheepishly. "Now lie down an* 
 behave." 
 
 Tom crouched on all-fours, his head resting on his paws, 
 with his beautiful tawny eyes, light and piercing, fixed 
 upon the hunter. 
 
 "Don't grab," said Dale, holding out a piece of turkey. 
 Whereupon Tom took it less voraciously. 
 
 As it happened, the little bear cub saw this transaction, 
 and he plainly indicated his opinion of the preference 
 shown to Tom. 
 
 "Oh, the dear!" exclaimed Bo. "He means it's not 
 fair. . . . Come, Bud come on." 
 
 But Bud would not approach the group until called by 
 Dale. Then he scrambled to them with every manifesta- 
 tion of delight. Bo almost forgot her own needs in feeding 
 him and getting acquainted with him. Tom plainly 
 showed his jealousy of Bud and Bud likewise showed his 
 fear of the great cat. 
 
 Helen could not believe the evidence of her eyes that 
 she was in the woods calmly and hungrily partaking of 
 sweet, wild-flavored meat that a full-grown mountain- 
 lion lay on one side of her and a baby brown bear sat on 
 the other that a strange hunter, a man of the forest, 
 there in his lonely and isolated fastness, appealed to the 
 romance in her and interested her as no one else she had 
 ever met. 
 
 When the wonderful meal was at last finished Bo enticed 
 the bear cub around to the camp of the girls, and there 
 soon became great comrades with him. Helen, watching 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Bo play, was inclined to envy her. No matter where Bo 
 was placed, she always got something out of it. She 
 adapted herself. She, who could have a good time with 
 almost any one or anything, would find the hours sweet 
 and fleeting in this beautiful park of wild wonders. 
 
 But merely objective actions merely physical move- 
 ments, had never yet contented Helen. She could run 
 and climb and ride and play with hearty and healthy 
 abandon, but those things would not suffice long for her, 
 and her mind needed food. Helen was a thinker. One 
 reason she had desired to make her home in the West 
 was that by taking up a life of the open, of action, she 
 might think and dream and brood less. And here she 
 was in the wild West, after the three most strenuously 
 active days of her career, and still the same old giant 
 revolved her mind and turned it upon herself and upon 
 all she saw. 
 
 "What can I do?" she asked Bo, almost helplessly. 
 
 "Why, rest, you silly!" retorted Bo. "You walk like 
 an old, crippled woman with only one leg." 
 
 Helen hoped the comparison was undeserved, but the 
 advice was sound. The blankets spread out on the grass 
 looked inviting and they felt comfortably warm in the 
 sunshine. The breeze was slow, languorous, fragrant, 
 and it brought the low hum of the murmuring waterfall, 
 like a melody of bees. Helen made a pillow and lay down 
 to rest. The green pine-needles, so thin and fine in their 
 crisscross network, showed clearly against the blue sky. 
 She looked in va n for birds. Then her gaze went won- 
 deringly to the lofty fringed rim of the great amphitheater, 
 and as she studied it she began to grasp its remoteness, 
 how far away it was in the rarefied atmosphere. A black 
 eagle, sweeping along, looked of tiny size, and yet he was 
 far under the heights above. How pleasant she fancied 
 it to be up there ! And drowsy fancy lulled her to sleep. 
 
 Helen slept all afternoon, and upon awakening, toward 
 sunset, found Bo curled beside her. Dale had thought- 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 fully covered them with a blanket ; also he had built a 
 camp-fire. The air was growing keen and cold. 
 
 Later, when they had put their coats on and made 
 comfortable seats beside the fire, Dale came over, 
 apparently to visit them. 
 
 "I reckon you can't sleep all the time," he said. "An' 
 bein' city girls, you'll get lonesome." 
 
 "Lonesome !" echoed Helen. The idea of her being 
 lonesome here had not occurred to her. 
 
 "I've thought that all out," went on Dale, as he sat 
 down, Indian fashion, before the blaze. "It's natural 
 you'd find time drag up here, bein' used to lots of people 
 an' goin's-on, an' work, an' all girls like." 
 
 "I'd never be lonesome here," replied Helen, with 
 her direct force. 
 
 Dale did not betray surprise, but he showed that his 
 mistake was something to ponder over. 
 
 "Excuse me," he said, presently, as his gray eyes held 
 hers. "That's how I had it. As I remember girls an' 
 it doesn't seem long since I left home most of them 
 would die of lonesomeness up here." Then he addressed 
 himself to Bo. "How about you? You see, I figured 
 you'd be the one that liked it, an' your sister the one 
 who wouldn't." 
 
 "I won't get lonesome very soon," replied Bo. 
 
 "I'm glad. It worried me some not ever havin' 
 girls as company before. An' in a day or so, when 
 you're rested, I'll help you pass the time." 
 
 Bo's eyes were full of flashing interest, and Helen 
 asked him, "How?" 
 
 It was a sincere expression of her curiosity and not 
 doubtful or ironic challenge of an educated woman to a 
 man of the forest. But as a challenge he took it. 
 
 "How !" he repeated, and a strange smile flitted across 
 his face. "Why, by givin' you rides an' climbs to beauti- 
 ful places. An' then, if you're interested, to show you 
 how little so-called civilized people know of nature." 
 
 124 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Helen realized then that whatever his calling, hunter 
 or wanderer or hermit, he was not uneducated, even if he 
 appeared illiterate. 
 
 "I'll be happy to learn from you," she said. 
 
 "Me, too!" chimed in Bo. "You can't tell too much 
 to any one from Missouri." 
 
 He smiled, and that warmed Helen to him, for then he 
 seemed less removed from other people. About this hunt- 
 er there began to be something of the very nature of 
 which he spoke a stillness, aloofness, an unbreakable 
 tranquillity, a cold, clear spirit like that in the mountain 
 air, a physical something not unlike the tamed wildness of 
 his pets or the strength of the pines. 
 
 "I'll bet I can tell you more 'n you'll ever remember," 
 he said. 
 
 "What '11 you bet?" retorted Bo. 
 
 "Well, more roast turkey against say somethin' nice 
 when you're safe an' home to your uncle Al's, runnin' his 
 ranch." 
 
 "Agreed. Nell, you hear?" 
 
 Helen nodded her head. 
 
 "All right. We'll leave it to Nell," began Dale, half 
 seriously. "Now I'll tell you, first, for the fun of passin' 
 time we'll ride an' race my horses out in the park. An' 
 we'll fish in the brooks an' hunt in the woods. There's 
 an old silvertip around that you can see me kill. An' 
 we'll climb to the peaks an' see wonderful sights. ... So 
 much for that. Now, if you really want to learn or if 
 you only want me to tell you well, that's no matter. 
 Only I'll win the bet! ... You'll see how this park lies in 
 the crater of a volcano an' was once full of water an' 
 how the snow blows in on one side in winter, a hundred 
 feet deep, when there's none on the other. An' the trees 
 how they grow an' live an' fight one another an' depend 
 on one another, an' protect the forest from storm-winds. 
 An' how they hold the water that is the fountains of the 
 great rivers. An' how the creatures an' things that live 
 
 125 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 fa. them or on them are good for them, an' neither could 
 live without the other. An' then I'll show you my pets 
 tame an' untamed, an* tell you how it's man that makes 
 any creature wild how easy they are to tame an' ho-vr 
 they learn to love you. An' there's the life ot the forest, 
 the strife of it how the bear lives, an* the cats, an' the 
 wolves, an' the deer. You'll see how cruel nature is 
 how savage an' wild the wolf or cougar tears down the 
 deer how a wolf loves fresh, hot blood, an' how a cougar 
 unrolls the skin of a deer back from his neck. An' you'll 
 see that this cruelty of nature this work of the wolf an' 
 cougar is what makes the deer so beautiful an' healthy 
 an' swift an' sensitive. Without his deadly foes the deer 
 would deteriorate an* die out. An' you'll see how this 
 principle works out among all creatures of the forest. 
 Strife! It's the meanin' of all creation, an' the salvation. 
 If you're quick to see, you'll learn that the nature here in 
 the wilds is the same as that of men on y men are no 
 longer cannibals. Trees fight to live birds fight ani- 
 mals fight men fight. They all live off one another. 
 An' it's this fightin' that brings them ail closer an' closer 
 to bein' perfect. But nothin' will ever be perfect." 
 
 " But how about religion? " interrupted Helen, earnestly. 
 
 "Nature has a religion, an' it's to live to grow to 
 reproduce, each of its kind." 
 
 "But that is not God or the immortality of the soul," 
 declared Helen. 
 
 "Well, it's as close to God an' immortality as nature 
 fcver gets." 
 
 "Oh you would rob me of my religion!" 
 - "No, I just talk as I see life," replied Dale, reflectively, 
 6tj he poked a stick into the red embers of the fire. " Maybe 
 i have a religion. I don't know. But it's not the kind 
 you have not the Bible kind. That kind doesn't keep 
 the men in Pine an' Snowdrop an' all over sheepmen an* 
 ranchers an' farmers an' travelers, such as I've known 
 the religion they profess doesn't keep them from lyin', 
 
 126 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 cheatin', stealin', an' killin'. I reckon no man who lives 
 as I do which perhaps is my religion will lie or cheat or 
 steal or kill, unless it's to kill in self-defense or like I'd do 
 if Snake Anson would ride up here now. My religion, 
 maybe, is love of life wild life as it was in the beginnin' 
 an' the wind that blows secrets from everywhere, an* 
 the water that sings all day an' night, an' the stars that 
 shine constant, an' the trees that speak somehow, an' the 
 rocks that aren't dead. I'm never alone here or on the 
 trails. There's somethin' unseen, but always with me. 
 An' that's It! Call it God if you like. But what stalls 
 me is where was that Spirit when this earth was a ball 
 j>i[ fiery gas? Where will that Spirit be when all life is 
 frozen out or burned out on this globe an' it hangs dead 
 in space like the moon? That time will come. There's 
 no waste in nature. Not the littlest atom is destroyed. 
 It changes, that's all, as you see this pine wood go up in 
 smoke an' feel somethin' that's heat come out of it. 
 Where does that go? It's not lost. Nothin' is lost. So, 
 the beautiful an' savin' thought is, maybe all rock an' 
 wood, water an' blood an* flesh, are resolved back into 
 the elements, to come to life somewhere again sometime." 
 
 "Oh, what you say is wonderful, but it's terrible!" ex- 
 claimed Helen. He had struck deep into her soul. 
 
 "Terrible? I reckon," he replied, sadly. 
 
 Then ensued a little interval of silence. 
 
 "Milt Dale, I lose the bet," declared Bo, with earnest- 
 ness behind her frivolity. 
 
 "I'd forgotten that. Reckon I talked a lot," he said, 
 apologetically. "You see, I don't get much chance to 
 talk, except to myself or Tom. Years ago, when I found 
 the habit of silence settlin' down on me, I took to thinkin' 
 out loud an' talkin' to anythin'." 
 
 " I could listen to you all night," returned Bo, dreamily. 
 
 "Do you read do you have books?" inquired Helen, 
 suddenly. 
 
 "Yes, I read tolerable well; a good deal better than I 
 
 127 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 talk or write," he replied. "I went to school till I was 
 fifteen. Always hated study, but liked to read. Years 
 ago an old friend of mine down here at Pine Widow Cass 
 she gave me a lot of old books. An' I packed them up 
 here. Winter's the time I read." 
 
 Conversation lagged after that, except for desultory 
 remarks, and presently Dale bade the girls good night 
 and left them. 
 
 Helen watched his tall form vanish in the gloom under 
 the pines, and after he had disappeared she still stared. 
 
 "Nell!" called Bo, shrilly. "I've called you three 
 times. I want to go to bed." 
 
 "Oh! I I was thinking," rejoined Helen, half em- 
 barrassed, half wondering at herself. "I didn't hear 
 you." 
 
 "I should smile you didn't," retorted Bo. "Wish you 
 could just have seen your eyes. Nell, do you want me 
 to tell you something?" 
 
 "Why yes," said Helen, rather feebly. She did not 
 at all, when Bo talked like that. 
 
 "You're going to fall in love with that wild hunter,'' 
 declared Bo in a voice that rang like a bell. 
 
 Helen was not only amazed, but enraged. She caught 
 her breath preparatory to giving this incorrigible sister 
 a piece of her mind. Bo went calmly on. 
 
 "I can feel it in my bones." 
 
 "Bo, you're a little fool a sentimental, romancing, 
 gushy little fool!" retorted Helen. "All you seem to 
 hold in your head is some rot about love. To hear you 
 talk one would think there's nothing else in the world 
 but love." 
 
 Bo's eyes were bright, shrewd, affectionate, and laugh- 
 ing as she bent their steady gaze upon Helen. 
 
 "Nell, that's just it. There is nothing else!" 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 '"PHE night of sleep was so short that it was difficult for 
 1 Helen to believe that hours had passed. Bo ap- 
 peared livelier this morning, with less complaint of aches. 
 
 "Nell, you've got color!" exclaimed Bo. "And your 
 eyes are bright. Isn't the morning perfectly lovely? . . . 
 Couldn't you get drunk on that air? I smell flowers. 
 And oh! I'm hungry!" 
 
 " Bo, our host will soon have need of his hunting abilities 
 if your appetite holds," said Helen, as she tried to keep 
 her hair out of her eyes while she laced her boots. 
 
 "Look! there's a big dog a hound." 
 
 Helen looked as Bo directed, and saw a hound of unusu- 
 ally large proportions, black and tan in color, with long, 
 drooping ears. Curiously he trotted nearer to the door 
 of their hut and then stopped to gaze at them. His head 
 was noble, his eyes shone dark and sad. He seemed 
 neither friendly nor unfriendly. 
 
 "Hello, doggie! Come right in we won't hurt you," 
 called Bo, but without enthusiasm. 
 
 This made Helen laugh. " Bo, you're simply delicious," 
 she said. "You're afraid of that dog." 
 
 " Sure. Wonder if he's Dale's. Of course he must be." 
 
 Presently the hound trotted away out of sight. When 
 the girls presented themselves at the camp-fire they espied 
 their curious canine visitor lying down. His ears were 
 so long that half of them lay on the ground. 
 
 "I sent Pedro over to wake you girls up," said Dale, 
 after greeting them. "Did he scare you?" 
 
 "Pedro. So that's his name. No, he didn't exactly 
 
 129 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 scare me. He did Nell, though. She's an awful tender- 
 foot," replied Bo. 
 
 "He's a splendid-looking dog," said Helen, ignoring her 
 sister's sally, " I love dogs. Will he make friends? " 
 
 "He'*; shy an' wild. You see, when I leave camp he 
 won't hang around. He an' Tom are jealous of each 
 other. I had a pack of hounds an' lost all but Pedro on 
 account of Tom. I think you can make friends with 
 Pedro. Try it." 
 
 Whereupon Helen made overtures to Pedro, and not 
 wholly in vain. The dog was matured, of almost stern 
 aloofness, and manifestly not used to people. His deep, 
 wine-dark eyes seemed to search Helen's soul. They 
 were honest and wise, with a strange sadness. 
 
 " He looks intelligent," observed Helen, as she smoothed 
 the long, dark ears. 
 
 : ' That hound is nigh human, ' ' responded Dale. ' ' Come, 
 an' while you eat I'll tell you about Pedro." 
 
 Dale had gotten the hound as a pup from a Mexican 
 sheep-herder who claimed he was part California blood- 
 hound. He grew up, becoming attached to Dale. In 
 his younger days he did not get along well with Dale's 
 other pets and Dale gave him to a rancher down in the 
 valley. Pedro was back in Dale's camp next day. From 
 that day Dale began to care more for the hound, but he 
 did not want to keep him, for various reasons, chief of 
 which was the fact hat Pedro was too fine a dog to be 
 left alone half the time to shift for himself. That fall 
 Dale had need to go to the farthest village, Snowdrop, 
 where he left Pedro with a friend. Then Dale rode to 
 Show Down and Pine, and the camp of the Beemans'. 
 and with them he trailed some wild horses for a hundred 
 miles, over into New Mexico. The snow was flying when 
 Dale got back to his camp in the mountains. And there 
 was Pedro, gaunt and worn, overjoyed to welcome him 
 home. Roy Beeman visited Dale that October and told 
 that Dale's friend in Snowdrop had not been able to keep 
 
 130 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Pedro. He broke a chain and scaled a ten-foot fence to 
 escape. He trailed Dale to Show Down, where one of 
 Dale's friends, recognizing the hound, caught him, and 
 meant to keep him until Dale's return. But Pedro re- 
 fused to eat. It happened that a freighter was going out 
 to the Beeman camp, and Dale's friend boxed Pedro up 
 and put him on the wagon. Pedro broke out of the box, 
 returned to Show Down, took up Dale's trail to Pine, 
 and then on to the Beeman camp. That was as far as 
 Roy could trace the movements of the hound. But he 
 believed, and so did Dale, that Pedro had trailed them 
 out on the wild-horse hunt. The following spring Dale 
 learned more from the herder of a sheepman at whose 
 camp he and the Beemans had rested on the way into 
 New Mexico. It appeared that after Dale had left this 
 camp Pedro had arrived, and another Mexican herder 
 had stolen the hound. But Pedro got away. 
 
 "An* he was here when I arrived," concluded Dale, 
 smiling. "I never wanted to get rid of him after that. 
 He's turned out to be the finest dog I ever knew. He 
 knows what I say. He can almost talk. An' I swear he 
 can cry. He does whenever I start off without him." 
 
 "How perfectly wonderful!" exclaimed Bo. "Aren't 
 animals great? . . . But I love horses best." 
 
 It seemed to Helen that Pedro understood they were 
 talking about him, for he looked ashamed, and swallowed 
 hard, and dropped his gaze. She knew something of the 
 truth about the love of dogs for their owners. This story 
 ,of Dale's, however, was stranger than any she had ever 
 heard. 
 
 Tom, the cougar, put in an appearance then, and there 
 was scarcely love in the tawny eyes he bent upon Pedro. 
 But the hound did not deign to notice him. Tom sidled 
 up to Bo, who sat on the farther side of the tarpaulin 
 table-cloth, and manifestly wanted part of her breakfast. 
 
 "Gee! I love the look of him," she said. "But when 
 he's close he makes my flesh creep.'* 
 
 131 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 " Beasts are as queer as people," observed Dale. " They 
 take likes an' dislikes. I believe Tom has taken a shine 
 to you an' Pedro begins to be interested in your sister. 
 I can tell." 
 
 "Where's Bud?" inquired Bo. 
 
 " He's asleep or around somewhere. Now, soon as I get 
 the work done, what would you girls like to do?" 
 
 "Ride!" declared Bo, eagerly. 
 
 "Aren't you sore an' stiff?" 
 
 "I am that. But I don't care. Besides, when I used 
 to go out to my uncle's farm near Saint Joe I always 
 found riding to be a cure for aches." 
 
 "Sure is, if you can stand it. An' what will your sister 
 like to do?" returned Dale, turning to Helen. 
 
 "Oh, I'll rest, and watch you folks and dream," re- 
 plied Helen. 
 
 "But after you've rested you must be active," said 
 Dale, seriously. "You must do things. It doesn't mat- 
 ter what, just as long as you don't sit idle." 
 
 "Why?" queried Helen, in surprise. "Why not be idle 
 here in this beautiful, wild place? Just to dream away 
 the hours the days! I could do it." 
 
 " But you mustn't. It took me years to learn how bad 
 that was for me. An* right now I would love nothin* 
 more than to forget my work, my horses an' pets every- 
 thin', an' just lay around, seein' an' feelin'." 
 
 "Seeing and feeling? Yes, that must be what I mean. 
 But why what is it? There are the beauty and color 
 the wild, shaggy slopes the gray cliffs the singing 
 wind the lulling water the clouds the sky. And the 
 silence, loneliness, sweetness of it all." 
 
 "It's a driftin' back. What I love to do an' yet fear 
 most. It's what makes a lone hunter of a man. An' it 
 can grow so strong that it binds a man to the wilds." 
 
 "How strange!" murmured Helen. "But that could 
 never bind me. Why, I must live and fulfil my mission, 
 my work in the civilized world." 
 
 132 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 It seemed to Helen that Dale almost imperceptibly 
 shrank at her earnest words. 
 
 "The ways of Nature are strange," he said. "I look 
 at it different. Nature's just as keen to wean you back 
 to a savage state as you are to be civilized. An* if Nature 
 , you would carry out her design all the better." 
 
 This hunter's talk shocked Helen and yet stimulated 
 
 mind. 
 
 , "Me a savage? Oh no!" she exclaimed. "But, if 
 f that were possible, what would Nature's design be?" 
 
 "You spoke of your mission in life," he replied. "A 
 woman's mission is to have children. The female of any 
 species has only one mission to reproduce its kind. An* 
 Nature has only one mission toward greater strength, 
 virility, efficiency absolute perfection, which is unattain- 
 able." 
 
 "What of mental and spiritual development of man and 
 woman?" asked Helen. 
 
 "Both are direct obstacles to the design of Nature.' 
 Nature is physical. To create for limitless endurance < 
 for eternal life. That must be Nature's inscrutable de- 
 sign. An* why she must fail." 
 
 "But the soul!" whispered Helen. 
 
 "Ah! When you speak of the soul an' I speak of life 
 we mean the same. You an' I will have some talks while 
 you're here. I must brush up my thoughts." 
 
 "So must I, it seems," said Helen, with a slow smile. 
 She had been rendered grave and thoughtful. "But I 
 ctuess I'll risk dreaming under the pines." 
 
 Bo had been watching them with her keen blue eyes. 
 
 "Nell, it 'd take a thousand years to make a savage of 
 you," she said. "But a week will do for me." 
 
 "Bo, you were one before you left Saint Joe," replied 
 Helen. " Don't you remember that school-teacher Barnes 
 who said you were a wildcat and an Indian mixed? He 
 spanked you with a ruler." 
 
 "Never! He missed me," retorted Bo, with red in her 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 cheeks. "Nell, I wish you'd not tell things about n& 
 when I was a kid." 
 
 "That was only two years ago," expostulated Helen, 
 in mild surprise. 
 
 " Suppose it was. I was a kid all right. I'll bet you " 
 Bo broke up abruptly, and, tossing her head, she gave Tom 
 a pat and then ran away around the corner of cliff wall. 
 
 Helen followed leisurely. 
 
 "Say, Nell," said Bo, when Helen arrived at their little 
 green lodge-pole hut, "do you know that hunter fellow 
 will upset some of your theories?" 
 
 "Maybe. I'll admit he amazes me and affronts me, 
 too, I'm afraid," replied Helen. "What surprises me is 
 that in spite of his evident lack of schooling hs's not raw 
 or crude. He's elemental." 
 
 "Sister dear, wake up. The man's wonderful. You 
 can learn more from him than you ever learned in your life. 
 So can I. I always hated books, anyway." 
 
 When, a little later, Dale approached carrying some 
 bridles, the hound Pedro trotted at his heels. 
 
 " I reckon you'd better ride the horse you had," he said 
 to Bo. 
 
 "Whatever you say. But I hope you let me ride them 
 all, by and by." 
 
 "Sure. I've a mustang out there you'll like. But he 
 pitches a little," he rejoined, and turned away toward 
 the park. The hound looked after him and then at Helen. 
 
 "Come, Pedro. Stay with me," called Helen. 
 
 Dale, hearing her, motioned the hound back. Obe- 
 diently Pedro trotted to her, still shy and soberly watch- 
 ful, as if not sure of her intentions, but with something 
 )of friendliness about him now. Helen found a soft, rest- 
 ful seat in the sun facing the park, and there composed 
 herself for what she felt would be slow, sweet, idle hours. 
 Pedro curled down beside her. The tall form of Dale 
 stalked across the park, out toward the straggling horses. 
 Again she saw a deer grazing among them. How 
 
 134 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 and motionless it stood watching Dale! Presently it 
 bounded away toward the edge of the forest. Sonw of 
 the horses whistled and ran, kicking heels high in tne air. 
 The shrill whistles rang clear in the stillness. 
 
 "Gee! Look at them go!" exclaimed Bo, gleefully, com- 
 ing up to where Helen sat. Bo threw herself down upon 
 the fragrant pine-needles and stretched herself languor- 
 ously, like a lazy kitten. There was something feline in 
 her lithe, graceful outline. She lay flat and looked up 
 through the pines. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be great, now," she murmured, dreamily, 
 half to herself, "if that Las Vegas cowboy would happen 
 somehow to come, and then an earthquake would shut 
 us up here in this Paradise valley so we'd never get out?" 
 
 "Bo! What would mother say to such talk as that?** 
 gasped Helen. 
 
 "But, Nell, wouldn't it be great?" 
 
 "It would be terrible." 
 
 "Oh, there never was any romance in you, Nell Ray- 
 aer," replied Bo. "That very thing has actually hap* 
 pened out here in this wonderful country of wild places. 
 You need not tell me! Sure it's happened. With the 
 cliff-dwellers and the Indians and then white people. 
 Every place I look makes me feel that. Nell, you'd have 
 to see people in the moon through a telescope before you'd 
 believe that." 
 
 "I'm practical and sensible, thank goodness!" 
 
 "But, for the sake of argument," protested Bo, with 
 flashing eyes, "suppose it might happen. Just to please 
 me, suppose we did get shut up here with Dale and that 
 cowboy we saw from the train. Shut in without any hope 
 of ever climbing out. . . . What would you do? Would 
 you give up and pine away and die? Or would you fight 
 for life and whatever joy it might mean?" 
 
 "Self-preservation is the first instinct," replied Helen, 
 eurpnsed at a strange, deep thrill in the depths of her. 
 "I'd fight for life, of course." 
 
 135 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Yes. Well, really, when I think seriously I don't 
 want anything like that to happen. But, just the same, 
 if it did happen I would glory in it." 
 
 While they were talking Dale returned with the horses. 
 
 "Can you bridle an' saddle your own horse?" he asked. 
 
 "No. I'm ashamed to say I can't," replied Bo. 
 
 "Time to learn then. Come on. Watch me first when 
 I saddle mine." 
 
 Bo was all eyes while Dale slipped off the bridle front 
 his horse and then with slow, plain action readjusted it. 
 Next he smoothed the back of the horse, shook out th* 
 blanket, and, folding it half over, he threw it in place, 
 being careful to explain to Bo just the right position. He 
 lifted his saddle in a certain way and put that in place 
 and then he tightened the cinches. 
 
 "Now you try," he said. 
 
 According to Helen's judgment Bo might have been r 
 Western girl all her days. But Dale shook his head ancf 
 made her do it over. 
 
 "That was better. Of course, the saddle is too heavy 
 for you to sling it up. You can learn that with a light, 
 one. Now put the bridle on again. Don't be afraid at' 
 your hands. He won't bite. Slip the bit in sideways. . . . 
 There. Now let's see you mount." 
 
 When "So got into the saddle Dale continued: "Yor 
 went up quick an' light, but the wrong way. Watch me.'* 
 
 Bo had to mount several times before Dale was satisfied. 
 Then he told her to ride off a little distance. When Bo 
 had gotten out of earshot Dale said to Helen: "She'll 
 take to a horse like a duck takes to water." Then, 
 mounting, he rode out after her. 
 
 Helen watched them trotting and galloping and run- 
 ning the horses round the grassy park, and rather regretted 
 she had not gone with them. Eventually Bo rode back, 
 to dismount and fling herself down, red-cheeked and 
 radiant, with disheveled hair, and curls damp on hef 
 temples. How alive she seemed! Helen's senses thrilled 
 
 136 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 with the grace and charm and vitality of this surprising 
 sister, and she was aware of a sheer physical joy in her 
 presence. Bo rested, but she did not rest long. She was 
 soon off to play with Bud. Then she coaxed the tame 
 doe to eat out of her hand. She dragged Helen off for 
 wild flowers, curious and thoughtless by turns. And at 
 length she fell asleep, quickly, in a way that reminded 
 Helen of the childhood now gone forever. 
 
 Dale called them to dinner about four o'clock, as the 
 sun was reddening the western rampart of the park. 
 Helen wondered where the day had gone. The hours 
 had flown swiftly, serenely, bringing her scarcely a thought 
 of her uncle or dread of her forced detention there or 
 possible discovery by those outlaws supposed to be hunt- 
 ing for her. After she realized the passing of those hours 
 she had an intangible and indescribable feeling of what 
 Dale had meant about dreaming the hours away. The ( 
 nature of Paradise Park was inimical to the kind of 
 thought that had habitually been hers. She found the 
 new thought absorbing, yet when she tried to name it 
 she found that, after all, she had only felt. At the meal 
 hour she was more than usually quiet. She saw that 
 Dale noticed it and was trying to interest her or distract 
 her attention. He succeeded, but she did not choose to 
 let him see that. She strolled away alone to her seat under 
 the pine. Bo passed her once, and cried, tantalizingly: 
 "My, Nell, but you're growing romantic!" 
 Never before in Helen's life had the beauty of the 
 evening star seemed so exquisite or the twilight so moving 
 and shadowy or the darkness so charged with loneliness, 
 It was their environment the accompaniment of wild 
 wolf-mourn, of the murmuring waterfall, of this strange 
 man of the forest and the unfamiliar elements among 
 which he made his home. 
 
 Next morning, her energy having returned, Helen 
 shared Bo's lesson in bridling and saddling her horse, and 
 to 337 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 in riding. Bo, however, rode so fast and so hard that for 
 Helen to share her company was impossible. And Dale, 
 interested and amused, yet anxious, spent most of his 
 time with Bo. It was thus that Helen rode all over the 
 park alone. She was astonished at its size, when from 
 almost any point it looked so small. The atmosphere de- 
 ceived her. How clearly she could see! And she began 
 to judge distance by the size of familiar things. A horse, 
 looked at across the longest length of the park, seemed 
 very small indeed. Here and there she rode upon dark, 
 swift, little brooks, exquisitely clear and amber-colored 
 and almost hidden from sight by the long grass. These 
 all ran one way, and united to form a deeper brook that 
 apparently wound under the cliffs at the west end, and 
 plunged to an outlet in narrow clefts. When Dale and 
 Bo came to her once she made inquiry, and she was sur- 
 prised to learn from Dale that this brook disappeared in 
 a hole in the rocks and had an outlet on the other side of 
 the mountain. Sometime he would take them to the lake 
 it formed. 
 
 "Over the mountain?" asked Helen, again remembering 
 that she must regard herself as a fugitive. "Will it be 
 safe to leave our hiding-place? I forget so often why we 
 are here." 
 
 "We would be better hidden over there than here," 
 replied Dale. "The valley on that side is accessible only 
 from that ridge. An' don't worry about bein' found. I 
 told you Roy Beeman is watchin' Anson an' his gang. 
 Roy will keep between them an' us." 
 
 Helen was reassured, yet there must always linger in 
 the background of her mind a sense of dread. In spite of 
 this, she determined to make the most of her opportunity. 
 Bo was a stimulus. And so Helen spent the rest of that 
 day riding and tagging after her sister. 
 
 The next day was less hard on Helen. Activity, rest, 
 eating, and sleeping took on a wonderful new meaning to 
 her. She had really never known them as strange joys. 
 
 138 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 She rode, she walked, she climbed a little, she dozed under 
 her pine-tree, she worked helping Dale at camp-fire tasks, 
 and when night came she said she did not know herself. 
 That fact haunted her in vague, deep dreams. Upon 
 awakening she forgot her resolve to study herself. That 
 day passed. And then several more went swiftly before 
 she adapted herself to a situation she had reason to believe 
 might last for weeks and even months. 
 
 It was afternoon that Helen loved best of all the time 
 of the day. The sunrise was fresh, beautiful; the morn- 
 ing was windy, fragrant; the sunset was rosy, glorious; 
 the twilight was sad, changing; and night seemed in- 
 finitely sweet with its stars and silence and sleep. But 
 the afternoon, when nothing changed, when all was 
 serene, when time seemed to halt, that was her choice, 
 and her solace. 
 
 One afternoon she had camp all to herself. Bo was 
 riding. Dale had climbed the mountain to see if he could 
 find any trace of tracks or see any smoke from camp-fire. 
 Bud was nowhere to be seen, nor any of the other pets. 
 Tom had gone off to some sunny ledge where he could 
 bask in the sun, after the habit of the wilder brothers of 
 his species. Pedro had not been seen for a night and a 
 day, a fact that Helen had noted with concern. However, 
 she had forgotten him, and therefore was the more sur- 
 prised to see him coming limping into camp on three legs. 
 
 "Why, Pedro! You have been fighting. Come here," 
 she called. 
 
 The hound did not look guilty. He limped to her and 
 held up his right fore paw. The action was unmistakable. 
 Helen examined the injured member and presently found 
 a piece of what looked like mussel-shell embedded deeply 
 between the toes. The wound was swollen, bloody, and 
 evidently very painful. Pedro whined. Helen had to 
 exert all the strength of her fingers to pull it out. Then 
 Pedro howled. But immediately he showed his grati- 
 
 no 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 tude by licking her hand. Helen bathed his paw and 
 bound it up. 
 
 When Dale returned she related the incident and, show- 
 ing the piece of shell, she asked: "Where did that come 
 from? Are there shells in the mountains?" 
 
 "Once this country was under the sea," replied Dale. 
 "I've found things that 'd make you wonder." 
 
 "Under the sea!" ejaculated Helen. It was one thing 
 to have read of such a strange fact, but a vastly different 
 one to realize it here among these lofty peaks. Dale was 
 always showing her something or telling her something 
 that astounded her. 
 
 "Look here," he said one day. "What do you make 
 of that little bunch of aspens?" 
 
 They were on the farther side of the park and were 
 resting under a pine-tree. The forest here encroached 
 upon the park with its straggling lines of spruce and 
 groves of aspen. The little clump of aspens did not differ 
 from hundreds Helen had seen. 
 
 "I don't make anything particularly of it," replied 
 Helen, dubiously. "Just a tiny grove of aspens some 
 very small, some larger, but none very big. But it's 
 pretty with its green and yellow leaves fluttering and 
 quivering." 
 
 " It doesn't make you think of a fight? " 
 
 "Fight? No, it certainly does not," replied Helen. 
 
 "Well, it's as good an example of fight, of strife, of 
 selfishness, as you will find in the forest," he said. 
 "Now come over, you an' Bo, an* let me show you 
 what I mean." 
 
 "Come on, Nell," cried Bo, with enthusiasm. "He'll 
 open our eyes some more." 
 
 Nothing loath, Helen went with them to the little clump 
 of aspens. 
 
 "About a hundred altogetker," said Dale. "They're 
 pretty well shaded by the spruces, but they get the sun- 
 light trom east an' south. These little trees all came from 
 
 140 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 the same seedlings. They're all the same age. Four of 
 them stand, say, ten feet or more high an' they're as large 
 'round as my wrist. Here's one that's largest. See how 
 full-foliaged he is how he stands over most of the others, 
 but not so much over these four next to him. They all 
 stand close together, very close, you see. Most of them 
 are no larger than my thumb. Look how few branches 
 they have, an' none low down. Look at how few leaves. 
 Do you see how all the branches stand out toward the 
 east an' south how the leaves, of course, face the same 
 way? See how one branch of one tree bends aside one 
 from another tree. That's a fight for the sunlight. . . . 
 Here are one two three dead trees. Look, I can snap 
 tfiem off. An' now look down under them. Here are 
 little trees five feet high four feet high down to these 
 only a foot high. Look how pale, delicate, fragile, un- 
 healthy! They get so little sunshine. They were born 
 with the other trees, but did not get an equal start. Posi- 
 tion gives the advantage, perhaps." 
 
 Dale led the girls around the little grove, illustrating 
 his words by action. He seemed deeply in earnest. 
 
 "You understand it's a fight for water an' sun. But 
 mostly sun, because, if the leaves can absorb the sun, the 
 tree an' roots will grow to grasp the needed moisture. 
 Shade is death slow death to the life of trees. These 
 little aspens are fightin' for place in the sunlight. It is 
 a merciless battle. They push an' bend one another's 
 branches aside an' choke them. Only perhaps half of 
 these aspens will survive, to make one of the larger clumps, 
 such as that one of full-grown trees over there. One 
 season will give advantage to this saplin' an' next year to 
 that one. A few seasons' advantage to one assures its 
 dominance over the others. But it is never sure of holdin' 
 that dominance. An' if wind or storm or a strong-growin' 
 rival does not overthrow it, then sooner or later old age 
 will. For there is absolute and continual fight. What is 
 true of these aspens is true of all the trees in the forest 
 
 141 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 an' of all plant life in the forest. What is most wonderful 
 to me is the tenacity of life." 
 
 And next day Dale showed them an even more striking 
 example of this mystery of nature. He guided them on 
 horseback up one of the thick, verdant-wooded slopes, 
 calling their attention at various times to the different 
 growths, until they emerged on the summit of the ridge 
 where the timber grew scant and dwarfed. At the edge 
 of timber-line he showed a gnarled and knotted spruce- 
 tree, twisted out of all semblance to a beautiful spruce, 
 bent and storm-blasted, with almost bare branches, all 
 reaching one way. The tree was a specter. It stood 
 alone. It had little green upon it. There seemed some- 
 thing tragic about its contortions. But it was alive and 
 strong. It had no rivals to take sun or moisture. Its 
 enemies were the snow and wind and cold of the heights. 
 
 Helen felt, as the realization came to her, the knowledge 
 Dale wished to impart, that it was as sad as wonderful, 
 and as mysterious as it was inspiring. At that moment 
 there were both the sting and sweetness of life the pain 
 and the joy in Helen's heart. These strange facts were 
 going to teach her to transform her. And even if they 
 hurt, she welcomed them. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 " T 'LL ride you if it breaks my neck!" panted Bo, pas- 
 1 sionately, shaking her gloved fist at the gray pony. 
 Dale stood near with a broad smile on his face. Helen 
 was within earshot, watching from the edge of the park, 
 and she felt so fascinated and frightened that she could 
 not call out for Bo to stop. The little gray mustang was 
 a beauty, clean-limbed and racy, with long black mane 
 and tail, and a fine, spirited head. There was a blanket 
 strapped on his back, but no saddle. Bo held the short 
 halter that had been fastened in a hackamore knot round 
 his nose. She wore no coat; her blouse was covered 
 with grass and seeds, and it was open at the neck; her 
 hair hung loose and disheveled; one side of her face bore 
 a stain of grass and dirt and a suspicion of blood; the 
 other was red and white; her eyes blazed; beads of sweat 
 stood out on her brow and wet places shone on her cheeks. 
 As she began to strain on the halter, pulling herself closer 
 to the fiery pony, the outline of her slender shape stood 
 out lithe and strong. 
 
 Bo had been defeated in her cherished and determined 
 ambition to ride Dale's mustang, and she was furious. 
 The mustang did not appear to be vicious or mean. But 
 he was spirited, tricky, mischievous, and he had thrown 
 her six times. The scene of Bo's defeat was at the edge 
 of the park, where thick moss and grass afforded soft 
 places for her to fall. It also afforded poor foothold for 
 the gray mustang, obviously placing him at a disadvan- 
 tage. Dale did not bridle him, because he had not been 
 broken to a bridle: and though it was harder for Bo to 
 
7 HE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 try to ride him bareback, there was less risk of her being 
 hurt. Bo had begun in all eagerness and enthusiasm, 
 loving and petting the mustang, which she named " Pony." 
 She had evidently anticipated an adventure, but her 
 smiling, resolute face had denoted confidence. Pony had 
 stood fairly well to be mounted, and then had pitched 
 and tossed until Bo had slid off or been upset or thrown. 
 After each fall Bo bounced up with less of a smile and 
 more of spirit, until now the Western passion to master 
 a horse had suddenly leaped to life within her. It was 
 no longer fun, no more a daring circus trick to scare Helen 
 and rouse Dale's admiration. The issue now lay between 
 Bo and the mustang. 
 
 Pony reared, snorting, tossing his head, and pawing 
 with front feet. 
 
 "Pull him down!" yelled Dale. 
 
 Bo did not have much weight, but she had strength, 
 and she hauled with all her might, finally bringing him 
 down. 
 
 "Now hold hard an* take up rope an* get in to him," 
 called Dale. "Good! You're sure not afraid of him. 
 He sees that. Now hold him, talk to him, tell him you're 
 goin' to ride him. Pet him a little. An' when he quits 
 shakin', grab his mane an' jump up an' slide a leg over 
 him. Then hook your feet under him, hard as you can, 
 an* stick on." 
 
 If Helen had not been so frightened for Bo she would 
 have been able to enjoy her other sensations. Creeping, 
 cold thrills chased over her as Bo, supple and quick, slid 
 an arm and a leg over Pony and straightened up on him 
 with a defiant cry. Pony jerked his head down, brought 
 his feet together in one jump, and began to bounce. Bo 
 got the swing of him this time and stayed on. 
 
 "You're ridin' him," yelled Dale. "Now squeeze hard 
 with your knees. Crack him over the head with your 
 rope. . . . That's the way. Hang on now an' you'll have 
 him beat." 
 
 144 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 The mustang pitched all over the space adjacent to 
 Dale and Helen, tearing up the moss and grass. Several 
 times he tossed Bo high, but she slid back to grip him 
 again with her legs, and he could not throw her. Sud- 
 denly he raised his head and bolted. Dale answered Bo's 
 triumphant cry. But Pony had not run fifty feet before 
 he tripped and fell, throwing Bo far over his head. As 
 luck would have it good luck, Dale afterward said she 
 landed in a boggy place and the force of her momentum 
 was such that she slid several yards, face down, in wet 
 moss and black ooze. 
 
 Helen uttered a scream and ran forward. Bo was 
 getting to her knees when Dale reached her. He helped 
 her up and half led, half carried her out of the boggy 
 place. Bo was not recognizable. From head to foot 
 she was dripping black ooze. 
 
 "Oh, Bo! Are you hurt?" cried Helen. 
 
 Evidently Bo's mouth was full of mud. 
 
 "Pp su tt! Ough! Whew! "she sputtered. "Hurt? 
 No! Can't you see what I lit in? Dale, the sun-of-a-gun 
 didn't throw me. He fell, and I went over his head." 
 
 " Right. You sure rode him. An' he tripped an' slung 
 you a mile, ' ' replied Dale. ' ' It's lucky you lit in that bog. ' ' 
 
 "Lucky! With eyes and nose stopped up? Oooo! 
 I'm full of mud. And my nice new riding-suit!" 
 
 Bo's tones indicated that she was ready to cry. Helen, 
 realizing Bo had not been hurt, began to laugh. Her 
 sister was the funniest-looking object that had ever come 
 before her eyes. 
 
 "Nell Rayner are you laughing at me?" demanded 
 3o, in most righteous amaze and anger. 
 
 "Me laugh-ing? N-never, Bo," replied Helen. "Can't 
 you see I'm just just " 
 
 "See? You idiot! my eyes are full of mud!" flashed 
 Bo. "But I hear you. I'll I'll get even." 
 
 Dale was laughing, too, but noiselessly, and Bo, being 
 blind for the moment, could not be aware of that. By 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 this time they had reached camp. Helen fell flat and 
 laughed as she had never laughed before. When Helen 
 forgot herself so far as to roll on the ground it was indeed 
 a laughing matter. Dale's big frame shook as he pos- 
 sessed himself of a towel and, wetting it at the spring, 
 began to wipe the mud off Bo's face. But that did not 
 serve. Bo asked to be led to the water, where she knelt 
 and, with splashing, washed out her eyes, and then her 
 face, and then the bedraggled strands of hair. 
 
 "That mustang didn't break my neck, but he rooted 
 my face in the mud. I'll fix him," she muttered, as she 
 got up. "Please let me have the towel, now. . . . Well' 
 Milt Dale, you're laughing!" 
 
 "Ex-cuse me, Bo. I Haw! haw! haw!" Then Dale 
 lurched off, holding his sides. 
 
 Bo gazed after him and then back at Helen. 
 
 "I suppose if I'd been kicked and smashed and killed 
 you'd laugh," she said. And then she melted. "Oh, my 
 pretty riding-suit! What a mess! I must be a sight. . . . 
 Nell, I rode that wild pony the sun-of-a-gun ! I rode him! 
 That's enough for me. You try it. Laugh all you want. 
 It was funny. But if you want to square yourself with 
 me, help me clean my clothes." 
 
 Late in the night Helen heard Dale sternly calling 
 Pedro. She felt some little alarm. However, nothing 
 happened, and she soon went to sleep again. At the 
 morning meal Dale explained. 
 
 "Pedro an' Tom were uneasy last night. I think there 
 are lions workin' over the ridge somewhere. I heard 
 one scream." 
 
 "Scream?" inquired Bo, with interest. 
 
 "Yes, an' if you ever hear a lion scream you will think 
 H a woman in mortal agony. The cougar cry, as Roy 
 rails it, is the wildest to be heard in the woods. A wolf 
 howls. He is sad, hungry, and wild. But a cougar 
 seems human an' dyin' an' wild. We'll saddle up an' 
 
 :a.6 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 ride over there. Maybe Pedro will tree a lion. Bo, fi 
 he does will you shoot it?" 
 
 "Sure," replied Bo, with her mouth full of biscuit. 
 
 That was how they came to take a long, slow, steep 
 ride under cover of dense spruce. Helen liked the ride 
 after they got on the heights. But they did not get to 
 any point where she could indulge in her pleasure of gaz- 
 ing afar over the ranges. Dale led up and down, and 
 finally mostly down, until they came out within sight of 
 sparser wooded ridges with parks lying below and streams 
 shining in the sun. 
 
 More than once Pedro had to be harshly called by Dale- 
 The hound scented game. 
 
 "Here's an old kill," said Dale, halting to point at 
 some bleached bones scattered under a spruce. Tufts of 
 grayish-white hair lay strewn around. 
 
 "What was it?" asked Bo. 
 
 "Deer, of course. Killed there an* eaten by a lion. 
 Sometime last fall. See, even the skull is split. But I 
 could not say that the lion did it." 
 
 Helen shuddered. She thought of the tame deer down 
 at Dale's camp. How beautiful and graceful, and re- 
 sponsive to kindness! 
 
 They rode out of the woods into a grassy swale with 
 rocks and clumps of some green bushes bordering it. 
 Here Pedro barked, the first time Helen had heard him. 
 The hair on his neck bristled, and it required stern calls 
 from Dale to hold him in. Dale dismounted 
 
 "Hyar, Pede, you get back," he ordered. "I'll let you 
 go presently. . . . Girls, you're goin' to see somethin'. 
 But stay on your horses." 
 
 Dale, with the hound tense and bristling beside him, 
 strode here and there at the edge of the swale. Presently 
 he halted on a slight elevation and beckoned for the girls 
 to ride over. 
 
 "Here, see where the grass is pressed down all nice an* 
 round," he said, pointing. "A lion made that. Ha 
 
 H7 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 sneaked there, watchin' for deer. That was done this 
 mornin'. Come on, now. Let's see if we can trail him." 
 
 Dale stooped now, studying the grass, and holding 
 Pedro. Suddenly he straightened up with a flash in his 
 gray eyes. 
 
 "Here's where he jumped." 
 
 But Helen could not see any reason why Dale should 
 say that. The man of the forest took a long stride 
 then another. 
 
 "An' here's where that lion lit on the back of the deer. 
 It was a big jump. See the sharp hoof tracks of the 
 deer." Dale pressed aside the grass to show dark, rough, 
 fresh tracks of a deer, evidently made by violent action. 
 
 "Come on," called Dale, walking swiftly. "You're 
 sure goin* to see somethin' now. . . . Here's where the deer 
 bounded, carryin' the lion." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Bo, incredulously. 
 
 "The deer was runnin' here with the lion on his back. 
 I'll prove it to you. Come on, now. Pedro, you stay 
 with me. Girls, it's a fresh trail." Dale walked along, 
 leading his horse, and occasionally he pointed down into 
 the grass. "There! See that! That's hair." 
 
 Helen did see some tufts of grayish hair scattered on 
 the ground, and she believed she saw little, dark separa- 
 tions in the grass, where an animal had recently passed. 
 All at once Dale halted. When Helen reached him Bo 
 was already there and they were gazing down at a wide, 
 flattened space in the grass. Even Helen's inexperienced 
 eyes could make out evidences of a struggle. Tufts of 
 gray-white hair lay upon the crushed grass. Helen did 
 not need to see any more, but Dale silently pointed to a 
 oatch of blood. Then he spoke: 
 
 "The lion brought the deer down here an' killed him. 
 Probably broke his neck. That deer ran a hundred yards 
 with the lion. See, here's the trail left where the lion 
 dragged the deer off." 
 
 A well-defined path showed across the swale. 
 
 148 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Girls, you'll see that deer pretty quick," declared 
 Dale, starting forward. "This work has just been done. 
 Only a few minutes ago." 
 
 "How can you tell?" queried Bo. 
 
 "Look! See that grass. It has been bent down by 
 the deer bein' dragged over it. Now it's springin' up." 
 
 Dale's next stop was on the other side of the swale, under 
 a spruce with low, spreading branches. The look of Pedro 
 quickened Helen's pulse. He was wild to give chase. 
 Fearfully Helen looked where Dale pointed, expecting to 
 see the lion. But she saw instead a deer lying prostrate 
 with tongue out and sightless eyes and bloody hair. 
 
 "Girls, that lion heard us an' left. He's not far," said 
 Dale, as he stooped to lift the head of the deer. "Warm! 
 Neck broken. See the lion's teeth an' claw marks. . . . 
 It's a doe. Look here. Don't be squeamish, girls. This 
 is only an hourly incident of every-day life in the forest. 
 See where the lion has rolled the skin down as neat as I 
 could do it, an' he'd just begun to bite in there when he 
 heard us." 
 
 "What murderous work! The sight sickens me!" ex- 
 claimed Helen. 
 
 "It is nature," said Dale, simply. 
 
 "Let's kill the lion," added Bo. 
 
 For answer Dale took a quick turn at their saddle- 
 girths, and then, mounting, he called to the hound. 
 "Hunt him up, Pedro." 
 
 Like a shot the hound was off. 
 
 "Ride in my tracks an' keep close to me," called Dale, 
 as he wheeled his horse. 
 
 "We're off!" squealed Bo, in wild delight, and she 
 made her mount plunge. 
 
 Helen urged her horse after chem and they broke across 
 a corner of the swale to the woods. Pedro was running 
 straight, with his nose high. He let out one short bark. 
 He headed into the woods, with Dale not far behind. 
 Helen was on one of Dale's best horses, but that fact 
 
 149 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 scarcely manifested itself, because the others began to 
 increase their lead. They entered the woods. It was 
 open, and fairly good going. Bo's horse ran as fast in 
 the woods as he did in the open. That frightened Helen 
 and she yelled to Bo to hold him in. She yelled to deaf 
 ears. That was Bo's great risk she did not intend to 
 be careful. Suddenly the forest rang with Dale's en- 
 couraging yell, meant to aid the girls in following him. 
 Helen's horse caught the spirit of the chase. He gained 
 somewhat on Bo, hurdling logs, sometimes two at once. 
 Helen's blood leaped with a strange excitement, utterly 
 unfamiliar and as utterly resistless. Yet her natural 
 fear, and the intelligence that reckoned with the foolish 
 risk of this ride, shared alike in her sum of sensations. 
 She tried to remember Dale's caution about dodging 
 branches and snags, and sliding her knees back to avoid 
 knocks from trees. She barely missed some frightful 
 reaching branches. She received a hard knock, then 
 another, that unseated her, but frantically she held on 
 and slid back, and at the end of a long run through com- 
 paratively open forest she got a stinging blow in the face 
 from a far-spreading branch of pine. Bo missed, by what 
 seemed only an inch, a solid snag that would have broken 
 her in two. Both Pedro and Dale got out of Helen's 
 sight. Then Helen, as she began to lose Bo, felt that she 
 would rather run greater risks than be left behind to get 
 lost in the forest, and she urged her horse. Dale's yell 
 pealed back. Then it seemed even more thrilling to fol- 
 low by sound than by sight. Wind and brush tore at her. 
 The air was heavily pungent with odor of pine. Helen 
 heard a wild, full bay of the hound, ringing back, full of 
 savage eagerness, and she believed Pedro had roused out 
 the lion from some covert. It lent more stir to her 
 blood and it surely urged her horse on faster. 
 
 Then the swift pace slackened. A windfall of timber 
 delayed Helen. She caught a glimpse of Dale far ahead, 
 climbing a slope. The forest seemed full of his ringing 
 
 150 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 yell. Helen strangely wished for level ground and th 
 former swift motion. Next she saw Bo working down to 
 the right, and Dale's yell now came from that direction. 
 Helen followed, got out of the timber, and made better 
 time on a gradual slope down to another park. 
 
 When she reached the open she saw Bo almost across 
 this narrow open ground. Here Helen did not need to 
 urge her mount. He snorted and plunged at the level 
 and he got to going so fast that Helen would have 
 screamed aloud in mingled fear and delight if she had not 
 been breathless. 
 
 Her horse had the bad luck to cross soft ground. He 
 went to his knees and Helen sailed out of the saddle over 
 his head. Soft willows and wet grass broke her fall. 
 She was surprised to find herself unhurt. Up she bounded 
 and certainly did not know this new Helen Rayner. Her 
 horse was coming, and he had patience with her, but he 
 wanted to hurry. Helen made the quickest mount of 
 her experience and somehow felt a pride in it. She would 
 tell Bo that. But just then Bo flashed into the woods 
 out of sight. Helen fairly charged into that green foliage, 
 breaking brush and branches. She broke through into 
 open forest. Bo was inside, riding down an aisle between 
 pines and spruces. At that juncture Helen heard Dale's 
 melodious yell near at hand. Coming into still more open 
 forest, with rocks here and there, she saw Dale dismounted 
 under a pine, and Pedro standing with fore paws upon the 
 tree-trunk, and then high up on a branch a huge tawny- 
 colored lion, just like Tom. 
 
 Bo's horse slowed up and showed fear, but he kept on 
 as far as Dale's horse. But Helen's refused to go any 
 nearer. She had difficulty in halting him. Presently she 
 dismounted and, throwing her bridle over a stump, she 
 ran on, panting and fearful, yet tingling all over, up to 
 her sister and Dale. 
 
 "Nell, you did pretty good for a tenderfoot," was Bo'* 
 greeting. 
 
 ifti 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "It was a fine chase," said Dale. "You both rode well. 
 I wish you could have seen the lion on the ground. He 
 bounded great long bounds with his tail up in the air 
 very funny. An' Pedro almost caught up with him. That 
 scared me, because he would have killed the hound. 
 Pedro was close to him when he treed. An* there he is 
 the yellow deer-killer. He's a male an' full grown." 
 
 With that Dale pulled his rifle from its saddle-sheath 
 and looked expectantly at Bo. But she was gazing with 
 great interest and admiration up at the lion. 
 
 "Isn't he just beautiful?" she burst out. "Oh, look at 
 him spit ! Just like a cat ! Dale, he looks afraid he might 
 fall off." 
 
 "He sure does. Lions are never sure of their balance 
 in a tree. But I never saw one make a misstep. He knows 
 he doesn't belong there." 
 
 To Helen the lion looked splendid perched up there. 
 He was long and round and graceful and tawny. His 
 tongue hung out and his plump sides heaved, showing 
 what a quick, hard run he had been driven to. What 
 struck Helen most forcibly about him was something in 
 his face as he looked down at the hound. He was scared. 
 He realized his peril. It was not possible for Helen to 
 watch him killed, yet she could not bring herself to beg 
 Bo not to shoot. Helen confessed she was a tenderfoot. 
 
 "Get down, Bo, an' let's see how good a shot you are." 
 said Dale. 
 
 Bo slowly withdrew her fascinated gaze from the lion 
 and looked with a rueful smile at Dale. 
 
 "I've changed my mind. I said I would kill him, but 
 now I can't. He looks so so different from what I'd 
 imagined." 
 
 Dale's answer was a rare smile of understanding and 
 approval that warmed Helen's heart toward him. All the 
 same, he was amused. Sheathing the gun, he mounted 
 his horse. 
 
 "Come on, Pedro," he called. "Come, I tell you," 
 
 152 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 he added, sharply. "Well, girls, we treed him, anyhow, 
 an' it was fun. Now we'll ride back to the deer he killed 
 an' pack a haunch to camp for our own use." 
 
 "Will the lion go back to his his kill, I think you 
 called it?" asked Bo. 
 
 "I've chased one away from his kill half a dozen times. 
 Lions are not plentiful here an' they don't get overfed. 
 I reckon the balance is pretty even." 
 
 This last remark made Helen inquisitive. And as they 
 slowly rode on the back-trail Dale talked. 
 
 "You girls, bein' tender-hearted an' not knowin' the 
 life of the forest, what's good an' what's bad, think it 
 was a pity the poor deer was killed by a murderous lion. 
 But you're wrong. As I told you, the lion is absolutely 
 necessary to the health an' joy of wild life or deer's 
 wild life, so to speak. When deer were created or came 
 into existence, then the lion must have come, too. They 
 can't live without each other. Wolves, now, are not 
 particularly deer-killers. They live off elk an' any thin' 
 they can catch. So will lions, for that matter. But I 
 mean lions follow the deer to an' fro from winter to sum- 
 mer feedin'-grounds. Where there's no deer you will 
 find no lions. Well, now, if left alone deer would multiply 
 very fast. In a few years there would be hundreds where 
 now there's only one. An' in time, as the generations 
 passed, they'd lose the fear, the alertness, the speed an* 
 strength, the eternal vigilance that is love of life they'd 
 lose that an' begin to deteriorate, an' disease would carry 
 them off. I saw one season of black-tongue among deer. 
 It killed them off, an' I believe that is one of the diseases 
 of over-production. The lions, now, are forever on the 
 trail of the deer. They have learned. Wariness is an 
 instinct born in the fawn. It makes him keen, quick, 
 active, fearful, an' so he grows up strong an' healthy to 
 become the smooth, sleek, beautiful, soft-eyed, an' wild- 
 lookin' deer you girls love to watch. But if it wasn't 
 for the lions, the deer would not thrive. Only the strong- 
 11 153 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 est an' swiftest survive. That is the meanin' of nature. 
 There is always a perfect balance kept by nature. It may 
 vary in different years, but on the whole, in the long years, 
 it averages an even balance." 
 
 "How wonderfully you put it!" exclaimed Bo, with all 
 her impulsiveness. "Oh, I'm glad I didn't kill the lion." 
 
 "What you say somehow hurts me," said Helen, wist- 
 fully, to the hunter. "I see I feel how true how in- 
 evitable it is. But it changes my my feelings. Almost 
 I'd rather not acquire such knowledge as yours. This 
 balance of nature how tragic how sad!" 
 
 "But why?" asked Dale. "You love birds, an' birds 
 are the greatest killers in the forest." 
 
 "Don't tell me that don't prove it," implored Helen. 
 " It is not so much the love of life in a deer or any creature, 
 and the terrible clinging to life, that gives me distress. 
 It is suffering. I can't bear to see pain. I can stand pain 
 myself, but I can't bear to see or think of it." 
 
 "Well," replied Dale, thoughtfully, "There you 
 stump me again. I've lived long in the forest an' when 
 a man's alone he does a heap of thinkin'. An' always I 
 couldn't understand a reason or a meanin' for pain. Of 
 all the bafflin' things of life, that is the hardest to under- 
 stand an' to forgive pain!" 
 
 That evening, as they sat in restful places round the 
 camp-fire, with the still twilight fading into night, Dale 
 seriously asked the girls what the day's chase had meant 
 to them. His manner of asking was productive of 
 thought. Both girls were silent for a moment. 
 
 "Glorious!" was Bo's brief and eloquent reply. 
 
 "Why?" asked Dale, curiously. "You are a girl. 
 You've been used to home, people, love, comfort, safety, 
 quiet." 
 
 "Maybe that is just why it was glorious," said Bo, 
 earnestly. "I can hardly explain. I loved the motion 
 of the horse, the feel of wind in my face, the smell of the 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 pine, the sight of slope and forest glade and windfall and 
 rocks, and the black shade under the spruces. My blood 
 beat and burned. My teeth clicked. My nerves all 
 quivered. My heart sometimes, at dangerous moments, 
 almost choked me, and all the time it pounded hard. 
 Now my skin was hot and then it was cold. But I think 
 the best of that chase for me was that I was on a fast 
 horse, guiding him, controlling him. He was alive. Oh, 
 how I felt his running!" 
 
 "Well, what you say is as natural to me as if I felt it," 
 said Dale. "I wondered. You're certainly full of fire. 
 An', Helen, what do you say?" 
 
 " Bo has answered you with her feelings," replied Helen. 
 "I could not do that and be honest. The fact that Bo 
 wouldn't shoot the lion after we treed him acquits her. 
 Nevertheless, her answer is purely physical. You know, 
 Mr. Dale, how you talk about the physical. I should 
 say my sister was just a young, wild, highly sensitive, 
 hot-blooded female of the species. She exulted in that 
 chase as an Indian. Her sensations were inherited ones 
 certainly not acquired by education. Bo always hated 
 study. The ride was a revelation to me. I had a good 
 many of Bo's feelings though not so strong. But over 
 against them was the opposition of reason, of conscious- 
 ness. A new-born side of my nature confronted me, 
 strange, surprising, violent, irresistible. It was as if an- 
 other side of my personality suddenly said: 'Here I am. 
 Reckon with me now!' And there was no use for the 
 moment to oppose that strange side. I the thinking 
 Helen Rayner, was powerless. Oh yes, I had such 
 thoughts even when the branches were stinging my face 
 and I was thrilling to the bay of the hound. Once my 
 horse fell and threw me. . . . You needn't look alarmed. 
 It was fine. I went into a soft place and was unhurt. 
 But when I was sailing through the air a thought flashed: 
 this is the end of me ! It was like a dream when you are 
 falling dreadfully. Much of what I felt and thought on 
 
 155 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 that chase must have been because of what I have studied 
 and read and taught. The reality of it, the action and 
 flash, were splendid. But fear of danger, pity for the 
 chased lion, consciousness of foolish risk, of a reckless 
 disregard for the serious responsibility I have taken 
 all these worked in my mind and held back what might 
 have been a sheer physical, primitive joy of the wild 
 moment." 
 
 Dale listened intently, and after Helen had finished he 
 studied the fire and thoughtfully poked the red embers 
 with his stick. His face was still and serene, untroubled 
 and unlined, but to Helen his eyes seemed sad, pensive, 
 expressive of an unsatisfied yearning and wonder. She 
 had carefully and earnestly spoken, because she was very 
 curious to hear what he might say. 
 
 "I understand you," he replied, presently. "An' I'm 
 sure surprised that I can. I've read my books an' re- 
 read them, but no one ever talked like that to me. What 
 I make of it is this. You've the same blood in you that's 
 in Bo. An' blood is stronger than brain. Remember 
 that blood is life. It would be good for you to have it 
 run an' beat an' burn, as Bo's did. Your blood did that 
 a thousand years or ten thousand before intellect was born 
 in your ancestors. Instinct may not be greater than 
 reason, but it's a million years older. Don't fight your 
 instincts so hard. If they were not good the God of 
 Creation would not have given them to you. To-day 
 your mind was full of self-restraint that did not altogether 
 restrain. You couldn't forget yourself. You couldn't 
 feel only, as Bo did. You couldn't be true to your real 
 nature." 
 
 "I don't agree with you," replied Helen, quickly. "I 
 don't have to be an Indian to be true to myself." 
 
 "Why, yes you do," said Dale. 
 
 "But I couldn't be an Indian," declared Helen, spirit- 
 edly. " I couldn't feel only, as you say Bo did. I couldn't 
 go back in the scale, as you hint. What would all my 
 
 156 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 education amount to though goodness knows it's little 
 enough if I had no control over primitive feelings that 
 happened to be born in me?" 
 
 "You'll have little or no control over them when the 
 right time comes," replied Dale. "Your sheltered life 
 an' education have led you away from natural instincts. 
 But they're in you an' you'll learn the proof of that out 
 here." 
 
 "No. Not if I lived a hundred years in the West," 
 asserted Helen. 
 
 "But, child, do you know what you're talkin' about?*' 
 
 Here Bo let out a blissful peal of laughter. 
 
 "Mr. Dale!" exclaimed Helen, almost affronted. She 
 was stirred. "I know myself, at least." 
 
 " But you do not. You've no idea of yourself. You've 
 education, yes, but not in nature an' life. An* after all, 
 they are the real things. Answer me, now honestly, 
 will you?" 
 
 " Certainly, if I can. Some of your questions are hard 
 to answer." 
 
 "Have you ever been starved?" he asked. 
 
 "No," replied Helen. 
 
 "Have you ever been lost away from home?'* 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Have you ever faced death real stark an' naked 
 death, close an' terrible?" 
 
 "No, indeed." 
 
 "Have you ever wanted to kill any one with your bare 
 hands?" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Dale, you you amaze me. No! . . . No! 
 
 " I reckon I know your answer to my last question, but 
 I'll ask it, anyhow. . . . Have you ever been so madly in 
 love with a man that you could not live without him?" 
 
 Bo fell off her seat with a high, trilling laugh. "Oh, 
 you two are great!" 
 
 "Thank Heaven, I haven't been," replied Helen, 
 Shortly. 
 
 J57 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Then you don't know anythin' about life," declared 
 Dale, with finality. 
 
 Helen was not to be put down by that, dubious and 
 troubled as it made her. 
 
 "Have you experienced all those things?" she queried, 
 stubbornly. 
 
 "All but the last one. Love never came my way. 
 How could it? I live alone. I seldom go to the villages 
 where there are girls. No girl would ever care for me. I 
 have nothin'. . . . But, all the same, I understand love a 
 little, just by comparison with strong feelin's I've lived." 
 
 Helen watched the hunter and marveled at his sim- 
 plicity. His sad and penetrating gaze was on the fire, 
 as if in its white heart to read the secret denied him. He 
 had said that no girl would ever love him. She imagined 
 he might know considerably less about the nature of girls 
 than of the forest. 
 
 "To come back to myse 1 *," said Helen, wanting to con- 
 tinue the argument. "You declared I didn't know my- 
 self. That I would have no self-control. I will ! " 
 
 "I meant the big things of life," he said, patiently. 
 
 "What things?" 
 
 "I told you. By askin* what had never happened to 
 you I learned what will happen." 
 
 "Those experiences to come to we!" breathed Helen, 
 incredulously. ' ' Never ! ' ' 
 
 " Sister Nell, they sure will particularly the last-named 
 one the mad love," chimed in Bo, mischievously, yet 
 believingly. 
 
 Neither Dale nor Helen appeared to hear her inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 "Let me put it simpler," began Dale, evidently racking 
 his brain for analogy. His perplexity appeared painful 
 to him, because he had a great faith, a great conviction 
 that he could not make clear. "Here I am, the natural 
 physical man, livin' in the wilds. An* here you come, 
 the complex, intellectual woman. Remember, for my 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 argument's sake, that you're here. An' suppose circum- 
 stances forced you to stay here. You'd fight the elements 
 with me an' work with me to sustain life. There must 
 be a great change in either you or me, accordin' to the 
 other's influence. An' can't you see that change must 
 come in you, not because of anythin* superior in me I'm 
 really inferior to you but because of our environment? 
 You'd lose your complexity. An' in years to come you'd 
 be a natural physical woman, because you'd live through 
 an' by the physical." 
 
 "Oh dear, will not education be of help to the Western 
 woman?" queried Helen, almost in despair. 
 
 "Sure it will," answered Dale, promptly. "What the 
 West needs is women who can raise an' teach children. 
 But you don't understand me. You don't get under your 
 skin. I reckon I can't make you see my argument as I 
 feel it. You take my word for this, though. Sooner or 
 later you will wake up an* forget yourself. Remember." 
 
 "Nell, I'll bet you do, too," said Bo, seriously for her. 
 "It may seem strange to you, but I understand Dale. I 
 feel what he means. It's a sort of shock. Nell, we're 
 not what we seem. We're not what we fondly imagine 
 we are. We've lived too long with people too far away 
 from the earth. You know the Bible says something like 
 this: 'Dust thou art and to dust thou shalt return.' 
 Where do we come from?" 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 DAYS passed. 
 Every morning Helen awoke with a wondering 
 question as to what this day would bring forth, especially 
 with regard to possible news from her uncle. It must 
 come sometime and she was anxious for it. Something 
 about this simple, wild camp life had begun to grip her. 
 She found herself shirking daily attention to the clothes 
 she had brought West. They needed it, but she had 
 begun to see how superficial they really were. On the 
 other hand, camp-fire tasks had come to be a pleasure - 
 She had learned a great deal more about them than had 
 Bo. Worry and dread were always impinging upon the 
 fringe of her thoughts always vaguely present, though 
 seldom annoying. They were like shadows in dreams. 
 She wanted to get to her uncle's ranch, to take up the 
 duties of her new life. But she was not prepared to be- 
 lieve she would not regret this wild experience. She must 
 get away from that in order to see it clearly, and she 
 began to have doubts of herself. 
 
 Meanwhile the active and restful outdoor life went on. 
 Bo leaned more and more toward utter reconciliation to 
 it. Her eyes had a wonderful flash, like blue lightning; 
 her cheeks were gold and brown; her hands tanned dark 
 as an Indian's. 
 
 She could vault upon the gray mustang, or, for that 
 matter, clear over his back. She learned to shoot a rifle 
 accurately enough to win Dale's praise, and vowed she 
 would like to draw a bead upon a grizzly bear or upon 
 
 Snake Anson 
 
 1 60 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Bo, if you met tnat grizzly Dale said has been prowl- 
 ing round camp lately you'd run right up a tree," de- 
 clared Helen, one morning, when Bo seemed particularly 
 boastful. 
 
 "Don't fool yourself," retorted Bo. 
 
 "But I've seen you run from a mouse!" 
 
 " Sister, couldn't I be afraid of a mouse and not a bear?" 
 
 "I don't see how." 
 
 "Well, bears, lions, outlaws, and other wild beasts are 
 to be met with here in the West, and my mind's made up," 
 said Bo, in slow-nodding deliberation. 
 
 They argued as they had always argued, Helen for 
 reason and common sense and restraint, Bo on the prin- 
 ciple that if she must fight it was better to get in the 
 first blow. 
 
 The morning on which this argument took place Dale 
 was a long time in catching the horses. When he did, come 
 in he shook his head seriously. 
 
 "Some varmint's been chasin' the horses," he said, as 
 he reached for his saddle. "Did you hear them snortin* 
 an' runnin' last night?" 
 
 Neither of the girls had been awakened. 
 'I missed one of the colts," went on Dale, "an* I'm 
 goin' to ride across the park." 
 
 Dale's movements were quick and stern. It was sig- 
 nificant that he chose his heavier rifle, and. mounting, 
 with a sharp call to Pedro, he rode off without another 
 word to the girls. 
 
 Bo watched him for a moment and then began to saddle 
 the mustang. 
 
 "You won't follow him?" asked Helen, quickly. 
 
 " I sure will," replied Bo. " He didn't forbid it.' 
 
 "But he certainly did not want us." 
 
 "He might not want you, but I'll bet he wouldn't 
 object to me, whatever 's up," said Bo, shortly. 
 
 "Oh! So you think " exclaimed Helen, keenly hurt. 
 She bit her tongue to keep back a hot reply. And it 
 
 161 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 was certain that a bursting gush of anger flooded over 
 her. Was she, then, such a coward? Did Dale think this 
 slip />f a sister, so wild and wilful, was a stronger woman 
 than she? A moment's silent strife convinced her that 
 no doubt he thought so and no doubt he was right. Then 
 the anger centered upon herself, and Helen neither under- 
 stood nor trusted herself. 
 
 The outcome proved an uncontrollable impulse. Helen 
 began to saddle her horse. She had the task half accom- 
 plished when Bo's call made her look up. 
 
 "Listen!" 
 
 Helen heard a ringing, wild bay of the hound. 
 
 "That's Pedro," she said, with a thrill. 
 
 "Sure. He's running. We never heard him bay like 
 that before." 
 
 "Where's Dale?" 
 
 "He rode out of sight across there," replied Bo, point- 
 ing. "And Pedro's running toward us along that slope 
 He must be a mile two miles from Dale." 
 
 "But Dale will follow." 
 
 "Sure. But he'd need wings to get near that hound 
 now. Pedro couldn't have gone across there with him. 
 . . . Just listen." 
 
 The wild note of the hound manifestly stirred Bo to 
 irrepressible action. Snatching up Dale's lighter rifle, she 
 shoved it into her saddle-sheath, and, leaping on the 
 mustang, she ran him over brush and brook, straight down 
 the park toward the place Pedro was climbing. For an 
 instant Helen stood amazed beyond speech. When Bo 
 sailed over a big log, like a steeple-chaser, then Helen 
 answered to further unconsidered impulse by frantically 
 getting her saddle fastened. Without coat or hat she 
 mounted. The nervous horse bolted almost before she 
 got into the saddle. A strange, trenchant trembling 
 coursed through all her veins. She wanted to scream for 
 Bo to wait. Bo was out of sight, but the deep, muddy 
 tracks in wet places and the path through the long grass 
 
 162 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 afforded Helen an easy trail to follow. In fact, her horse 
 needed no gu'ding. He ran in and out of the straggling 
 spruces along the edge of the park, and suddenly wheeled 
 around a corner of trees to come upon the gray mustang 
 standing still. Bo was looking up and listening. 
 
 "There he is!" cried Bo, as the hound bayed ringingly, 
 closer to them this time, and she spurred away. 
 
 Helen's horse followed without urging. He was excited. 
 His ears were up. Something was in the wind. Helen 
 had never ridden along this broken end of the park, and 
 Bo was not easy to keep up with. She led across bogs, 
 brooks, swales, rocky little ridges, through stretches of 
 timber and groves of aspen so thick Helen could scarcely 
 squeeze through. Then Bo came out into a large open 
 offshoot of the park, right under the mountain slope, 
 and here she sat, her horse watching and listening. Helen 
 rode up to her, imagining once that she had heard the 
 hound. 
 
 "Look! Look!" Bo's scream made her mustang stand 
 almost straight up. 
 
 Helen gazed up to see a big brown bear with a frosted 
 coat go lumbering across an opening on the slope. 
 
 "It's a grizzly! He'll kill Pedro! Oh, where is Dale!" 
 cried Bo, with intense excitement. 
 
 "Bo! That bear is running down! We we must get 
 out of his road," panted Helen, in breathless alarm. 
 
 "Dale hasn't had time to be close. . . . Oh, I wish he'd 
 come! I don't know what to do." 
 
 "Ride back. At least wait for him." 
 
 Just then Pedro spoke differently, in savage barks, and 
 following that came a loud growl and crashings in the 
 brush. These sounds appeared to be not far up the slope. 
 
 "Nell! Do you hear? Pedro's fighting the bear," 
 burst out Bo. Her face paled, her eyes flashed like blue 
 steel. "The bear '11 kill him!" 
 
 "Oh, thax, would be dreadful!" replied Helen, in dis- 
 tress. " But what on earth can we do?" 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Hel-lo, Dale!" called Bo, at the highest pitch of her 
 piercing voice. 
 
 No answer came. A heavy crash of brush, a rolling of 
 stones, another growl from the slope told Helen that the 
 hound had brought the bear to bay. 
 
 "Nell, I'm going up," said Bo, deliberately. 
 
 "No-no! Are you mad?" returned Helen. 
 
 "The bear will kill Pedro." 
 
 "He might kill you." 
 
 "You ride that way and yell for Dale," rejoined Bo. 
 
 "What will you do?" gasped Helen. 
 
 "I'll shoot at the bear scare him off. If he chases me 
 he can't catch me coming downhill. Dale said that." 
 
 "You're crazy!" cried Helen, as Bo looked up the slope, 
 searching for open ground. Then she pulled the rifle from 
 its sheath. 
 
 But Bo did not hear or did not care. She spurred the 
 mustang, and he, wild to run, flung grass and dirt from 
 his heels. What Helen would have done then she never 
 knew, but the fact was that her horse bolted after the 
 mustang. In an instant, seemingly, Bo had disappeared 
 in the gold and green of the forest slope. Helen's mount 
 climbed on a run, snorting and heaving, through aspens, 
 brush, and timber, to come out into a narrow, long open- 
 ing extending lengthwise up the slope. 
 
 A sudden prolonged crash ahead alarmed Helen and 
 halted her horse. She saw a shaking of aspens. Then 
 a huge brown beast leaped as a cat out of the woods. It 
 was a bear of enormous size. Helen's heart stopped 
 her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. The bear 
 turned. His mouth was open, red and dripping. He 
 looked shaggy, gray. He let out a terrible bawl. Helen's 
 every muscle froze stiff. Her horse plunged high and 
 sidewise, wheeling almost in the air, neighing his terror. 
 Like a stone she dropped from the saddle. She did not 
 see the horse break into the woods, but she heard him. 
 Her gaze never left the bear even while she was falling, 
 
 164 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 and it seemed she alighted in an upright position with 
 her back against a bush. It upheld her. The bear 
 wagged his huge head from side to side. Then, as the 
 hound barked close at hand, he turned to run heavily 
 uphill and out of the opening. 
 
 The instant of his disappearance was one of collapse 
 for Helen. Frozen with horror, she had been unable to 
 move or feel or think. All at once she was a quivering 
 mass of cold, helpless flesh, wet with perspiration, sick 
 with a shuddering, retching, internal convulsion, her mind 
 liberated from paralyzing shock. The moment was as 
 horrible as that in which the bear had bawled his frightful 
 rage. A stark, icy, black emotion seemed in possession 
 of her. She could not lift a hand, yet all of her body 
 appeared shaking. There was a fluttering, a strangling 
 in her throat. The crushing weight that surrounded her 
 heart eased before she recovered use of her limbs. Then, 
 the naked and terrible thing was gone, like a nightmare 
 giving way to consciousness. What blessed relief ! Helen 
 wildly gazed about her. The bear and hound were out 
 of sight, and so was her horse. She stood up very dizzy 
 and weak. Thought of Bo then seemed to revive her, to 
 shock different life and feeling throughout all her cold 
 extremities. She listened. 
 
 She heard a thudding of hoofs down the slope, then 
 Dale's clear, strong call. She answered. It appeared 
 long before he burst out of the woods, riding hard and 
 leading her horse. In that time she recovered fully, and 
 when he reached her, to put a sudden halt upon the fiery 
 Ranger, she caught the bridle he threw and swiftly 
 mounted her horse. The feel of the saddle seemed dif- 
 ferent. Dale's piercing gray glance thrilled her strangely. 
 
 "You're white. Are you hurt?" he said. 
 
 "No. I was scared." 
 
 "But he threw you?" 
 
 "Yes, he certainly threw me." 
 
 "What happened?" 
 
 165 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "We heard the hound and we rode along the timber. 
 Then we saw the bear a monster white coated " 
 
 "I know. It's a grizzly. He killed the colt your 
 pet. Hurry now. What about Bo?" 
 
 "Pedro was righting the bear. Bo said he'd be killed. 
 She rode right up here. My horse followed. I couldn't 
 have stopped him. But we lost Bo. Right there the 
 bear came out. He roared. My horse threw me and ran 
 off. Pedro's barking saved me my life, I think. Oh! 
 that was awful! Then the bear went up there. . . . And 
 you came." 
 
 "Bo's followin' the hound!" ejaculated Dale. And, 
 lifting his hands to his mouth, he sent out a stentorian 
 yell that rolled up the slope, rang against the cliffs, pealed 
 and broke and died away. Then he waited, listening. 
 From far up the slope came a faint, wild cry, high-pitched 
 and sweet, to create strange echoes, floating away to die 
 in the ravines. 
 
 "She's after him!" declared Dale, grimly. 
 
 "Bo's got your rifle," said Helen. "Oh, we must 
 hurry." 
 
 "You go back," ordered Dale, wheeling his horse. 
 
 "No!" Helen felt that word leave her lips with the 
 force of a bullet. 
 
 Dale spurred Ranger and took to the open slope. Helen 
 kept at his heels until timber was reached. Here a steep 
 trail led up. Dale dismounted. 
 
 "Horse tracks bear tracks dog tracks," he said, 
 bending over. "We'll have to walk up here. It '11 save 
 our horses an' maybe time, too." 
 
 "Is Bo riding up there?" asked Helen, eying the steep 
 ascent. 
 
 "She sure is." With that Dale started up, leading his 
 horse. Helen followed. It was rough and hard work. 
 She was lightly clad, yet soon she was hot, laboring, and 
 her heart began to hurt. When Dale halted to rest Helen 
 was just ready to drop. The baying of the hound, 
 
 166 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 though infrequent, inspirited her. But presently that 
 sound was lost. Dale said bear and hound had gone 
 over the ridge and as soon as the top was gained he would 
 hear them again. 
 
 "Look there," he said, presently, pointing to fresh 
 tracks, larger than those made by Bo's mustang. "Elk 
 tracks. We've scared a big bull an' he's right ahead of 
 us. Look sharp an' you'll see him." 
 
 Helen never climbed so hard and fast before, and when 
 they reached the ridge-top she was all tuckered out. It 
 was all she could do to get on her horse. Dale led along 
 the crest of this wooded ridge toward the western end, 
 which was considerably higher. In places open rocky 
 ground split the green timber. Dale pointed toward a 
 promontory. 
 
 Helen saw a splendid elk silhouetted against the sky. 
 He was a light gray over all his hindquarters, with shoul- 
 ders and head black. His ponderous, wide-spread antlers 
 towered over him, adding to the wildness of his magnifi- 
 cent poise as he stood there, looking down into the valley, 
 no doubt listening for the bay of the hound. When he 
 heard Dale's horse he gave one bound, gracefully and 
 wonderfully carrying his antlers, to disappear in the 
 green. 
 
 Again on a bare patch of ground Dale pointed down. 
 Helen saw big round tracks, toeing in a little, that gave 
 her a chill. She knew these were grizzly tracks. 
 
 Hard riding was not possible on this ridge crest, a fact 
 that gave Helen time to catch her breath. At length, 
 coming out upon the very summit of the mountain, Dale 
 heard the hound. Helen's eyes feasted afar upon a wild 
 scene of rugged grandeur, before she looked down on this 
 western slope at her feet to see bare, gradual descent, 
 leading down to sparsely wooded bench and on to deep- 
 green canon. 
 
 "Ride hard now!" yelled Dale. ''I see Bo, an' I'll have 
 to ride to catch her." 
 
 167 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Dale spurred down the slope. Helen rode in his tracks, 
 and, though she plunged so fast that she felt her hair 
 stand up with fright, she saw him draw away from her. 
 Sometimes her horse slid on his haunches for a few yards, 
 and at these hazardous moments she got her feet out of 
 the stirrups so as to fall free from him if he went down. 
 She let him choose the way, while she gazed ahead at 
 Dale, and then farther on, in the hope of seeing Bo. At 
 last she was rewarded. Far down the wooded bench she 
 saw a gray flash of the little mustang and a bright glint 
 of Bo's hair. Her heart swelled. Dale would soon over- 
 haul Bo and come between her and peril. And on the 
 instant, though Helen was unconscious of it then, a re- 
 markable change came over her spirit. Fear left her. And 
 a hot, exalting, incomprehensible something took posses- 
 sion of her. 
 
 She let the horse run, and when he had plunged to the 
 foot of that slope of soft ground he broke out across the 
 open bench at a pace that made the wind bite Helen's 
 cheeks and roar in her ears. She lost sight of Dale. It 
 gave her a strange, grim exultance. She bent her eager 
 gaze to find the tracks of his horse, and she found them. 
 Also she made out the tracks of Bo's mustang and the 
 bear and the hound. Her horse, scenting game, perhaps, 
 and afraid to be left alone, settled into a fleet and powerful 
 stride, sailing over logs and brush. That open bench had 
 looked short, but it was long, and Helen rode down the 
 gradual descent at breakneck speed. She would not be 
 left behind. She had awakened to a heedlessness of risk. 
 Something burned steadily within her. A grim, hard anger 
 of joy! When she saw, far down another open, gradual 
 descent, that Dale had passed Bo and that Bo was riding 
 the little mustang as never before, then Helen flamed with 
 a madness to catch her, to beat her in that wonderful 
 chase, to show her and Dale what there really was in the 
 depths of Helen Rayner. 
 
 Her ambition was to be short-lived, she divined from 
 
 168 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 the lay of the land ahead, but the ride she lived then for 
 a flying mile was something that would always blanch 
 her cheeks and prick her skin in remembrance. 
 
 The open ground was only too short. That thundering 
 pace soon brought Helen's horse to the timber. Here it 
 took all her strength to check his headlong flight over 
 deadfalls and between small jack-pines. Helen lost sight 
 of Bo, and she realized it would take all her wits to keep 
 from getting lost. She had to follow the trail, and in 
 some places it was hard to see from horseback. 
 
 Besides, her horse was mettlesome, thoroughly aroused, 
 and he wanted a free rein and his own way. Helen tried 
 that, only to lose the trail and to get sundry knocks from 
 trees and branches. She could not hear the hound, nor 
 Dale. The pines were small, close together, and tough. 
 They were hard to bend. Helen hurt her hands, scratched 
 her face, barked her knees. The horse formed a habit 
 suddenly of deciding to go the way he liked instead of 
 the way Helen guided him, and when he plunged between 
 saplings too close to permit easy passage it was exceedingly 
 hard on her. That did not make any difference to Helen. 
 Once worked into a frenzy, her blood stayed at high 
 pressure. She did not argue with herself about a need of 
 desperate hurry. Even a blow on the head that nearly 
 blinded her did not in the least retard her. The horse 
 could hardly be held and not at all in the few open 
 places. 
 
 At last Helen reached another slope. Coming out upon 
 a canon rim, she heard Dale's clear call, far down, and 
 Bo's answering peal, high and piercing, with its note of 
 exultant wildness. Helen also heard the bear and the 
 hound fighting at the bottom of this canon. 
 
 Here Helen again missed the tracks made by Dale and 
 Bo. The descent looked impassable. She rode back along 
 the rim, then forward. Finally she found where the ground 
 had been plowed deep by hoofs, down over little banks. 
 Helen's horse balked at these jumps. When she goaded 
 12 169 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 him over them she went forward on his neck. It seemed 
 like riding straight downhill. The mad spirit of that chase 
 grew more stingingly keen to Helen as the obstacles grew. 
 Then, once more the bay of the hound and the bawl of 
 the bear made a demon of her horse. He snorted a shrill 
 defiance. He plunged with fore hoofs in the air. He slid 
 and broke a way down the steep, soft banks, through the 
 thick brush and thick clusters of saplings, sending loose 
 rocks and earth into avalanches ahead of him. He fell 
 over one bank, but a thicket of aspens upheld him so that 
 he rebounded and gained his feet. The sounds of fight 
 ceased, but Dale's thrilling call floated up on the pine- 
 scented air. 
 
 Before Helen realized it she was at the foot of the slope, 
 in a narrow canon-bed, full of rocks and trees, with a soft 
 roar of running water filling her ears. Tracks were every- 
 where, and when she came to the first open place she saw 
 where the grizzly had plunged off a sandy bar into the 
 water. Here he had fought Pedro. Signs of that battle 
 were easy to read. Helen saw where his huge tracks, 
 still wet, led up the opposite sandy bank. 
 
 Then down-stream Helen did some more reckless and 
 splendid riding. On level ground the horse was great. 
 Once he leaped clear across the brook. Every plunge, 
 every turn Helen expected to come upon Dale and Bo 
 facing the bear. The canon narrowed, the stream-bed 
 deepened. She had to slow down to get through the trees 
 and rocks. Quite unexpectedly she rode pell-mell upon 
 Dale and Bo and the panting Pedro. Her horse plunged 
 to a halt, answering the shrill neighs of the other horses. 
 
 Dale gazed in admiring amazement at Helen. 
 
 " Say, did you meet the bear again?" he queried, blankly. 
 
 "No. Didn't you kill him?" panted Helen, slowly 
 sagging in her saddle. 
 
 "He got away in the rocks. Rough country down 
 here." 
 
 Helen slid off her horse and fell with a little panting 
 
 170 
 
THE MAN OF THR FOREST 
 
 cry of relief She saw that she was bloody, dirty, di- 
 sheveled, and wringing wet with perspiration. Her riding- 
 habit was torn into tatters. Every muscle seemed to 
 burn and sting, and all her bones seemed broken. But 
 it was worth all this to meet Dale's penetrating glance, to 
 see Bo's utter, incredulous astonishment. 
 
 "Nell Rayner!" gasped Bo. 
 
 " If my horse 'd been any good in the woods,** 
 panted Helen, "I'd not lost so much time riding down 
 this mountain. And I'd caught you beat you." 
 
 "Girl, did you ride down this last slope?" queried Dale. 
 
 "I sure did," replied Helen, smiling. 
 
 "We walked every step of the way, and was lucky to 
 get down at that," responded Dale, gravely. "No horse 
 should have been ridden down there. Why, he must have 
 slid down." 
 
 "We slid yes. But I stayed on him." 
 
 Bo's incredulity changed to wondering, speechless ad- 
 miration. And Dale's rare smile changed his gravity. 
 
 "I'm sorry. It was rash of me. I thought you'd go 
 back. . . . But all's well that ends well. . . . Helen, did you 
 wake up to-day?" 
 
 She dropped her eyes, not caring to meet the question* 
 ing gaze upon her. 
 
 " Maybe a little," she replied, and she covered her face 
 with her hands. Remembrance u his questions of his 
 assurance that she did not know the real meaning of life 
 of her stubborn antagonism made her somehow 
 ashamed. But it was riot for long. 
 
 "The chase was great," she said. "I did not know 
 myself. You were right." 
 
 " In how many ways did you find me right?" he asked. 
 
 "I think all but one," she replied, with a laugh and 
 a shudder. "I'm near starved now I was so furious at 
 Bo that I could have choked her. I faced that horrible 
 brute. ... Oh, I know what it is to fear death! ... I was 
 lost twice on the ride absolutely lost. That's all." 
 
 171 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Bo found her tongue. "The last thing was for you to 
 fell wildly in love, wasn't it?" 
 
 "According to Dale, I must add that to my new ex- 
 periences of to-day before I can know real life," replied 
 Helen, demurely. 
 
 1 he hunter turned away. " Let us go," he said, soberly. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A?TER more days of riding the grassy level of that 
 wonderfully gold and purple park, and dreamily 
 listening by day to the ever-low and ever-changing mur- 
 mur of the waterfall, and by night to the wild, lonely 
 mourn of a hunting wolf, and climbing to the dizzy 
 heights where the wind stung sweetly, Helen Rayner lost 
 track of time and forgot her peril. 
 
 Roy Beeman did not return. If occasionally Dale 
 mentioned Roy and his quest, the girls had little to say 
 beyond a recurrent anxiety for the old uncle, and then 
 they forgot again. Paradise Park, lived in a little while 
 at that season of the year, would have claimed any one, 
 and ever afterward haunted sleeping or waking dreams. 
 
 Bo gave up to the wild life, to the horses and rides, to 
 the many pets, and especially to the cougar, Tom. The 
 big cat followed her everywhere, played with her, rolling 
 and pawing, kitten-like, and he would lay his massive 
 head in her lap to purr his content. Bo had little fear of 
 anything, and here in the wilds she soon lost that. 
 
 Another of Dale's pets was a half-grown black bear 
 named Muss. He was abnormally jealous of little Bud 
 and he had a well-developed hatred of Tom, otherwise 
 he was a very good-tempered bear, and enjoyed Dale's 
 impartial regard. Tom, however, chased Muss out of 
 camp whenever Dale's back was turned, and sometimes 
 Muss stayed away, shifting for himself. With the advent 
 of Bo, who spent a good deal of time on the animals, Muss 
 manifestly found the camp more attractive. Whereupon^ 
 Dale predicted trouble between Tom and Muss. 
 
 i73 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Bo liked nothing better than a rough-and-tumble frolic 
 with the black bear. Muss was not very big nor very 
 heavy, and in a wrestling bout with the strong and wiry 
 girl he sometimes came out second best. It spoke well 
 of him that he seemed to be careful not to hurt Bo. He 
 never bit or scratched, though he sometimes gave her 
 sounding slaps with his paws. Whereupon, Bo would 
 clench her gauntleted fists and sail into him in earnest. 
 
 One afternoon before the early supper they always had, 
 Dale and Helen were watching Bo teasing the bear. She 
 was in her most vixenish mood, full of life and fight. 
 Tom lay his long length on the grass, watching with nar- 
 row, gleaming eyes. 
 
 When Bo and Muss locked in an embrace and went 
 down to roll over and over, Dale called Helen's attention 
 to the cougar. 
 
 "Tom's jealous. It's strange how animals are like 
 people. Pretty soon I'll have to corral Muss, or there'll 
 be a fight." 
 
 lielen could not see anything wrong with Tom except 
 that he did not look playful. 
 
 During supper-time both bear and cougar disappeared, 
 though this was not remarked until afterward. Dale 
 whistled and called, but the rival pets did not return. 
 Next morning Tom was there, curled up snugly at the 
 foot of Bo's bed, and when she arose he followed her 
 around as usual. But Muss did not return. 
 
 The circumstance made Dale anxious. He left camp, 
 taking Tom with him, and upon returning stated that he 
 had followed Muss's track as far as possible, and then 
 had tried to put Tom on the trail, but the cougar would 
 not or could not follow it. Dale said Tom never liked a 
 bear trail, anyway, cougars and bears being common 
 enemies. So, whether by accident or design, Bo lost one 
 of her playmates. 
 
 The hunter searched some of the slopes next day and 
 went up on one of the mountains. He did not dis- 
 174 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 cover any sign of Muss, but he said he had found some- 
 thing else. 
 
 "Do you girls want some more real excitement?" he 
 asked. 
 
 Helen smiled her acquiescence and Bo replied with one 
 of her forceful speeches. 
 
 "Don't mind bein' good an' scared?" he went on. 
 
 "You can't scare me," bantered Bo. But Helen looked 
 doubtful. 
 
 "Up in one of the parks I ran across one of my horses 
 a lame bay you haven't seen. Well, he had been killed 
 by that old silvertip. The one we chased. Hadn't been 
 dead over an hour. Blood was still runnin' an' only a little 
 meat eaten. That bear heard me or saw me an' made off 
 into the woods. But he'll come back to-night. I'm goin' 
 up there, lay for him, an' kill him this time. Reckon you'd 
 better go, because I don't want to leave you here alone 
 at night." 
 
 "Are you going to take Tom?" asked Bo. 
 
 "No. The bear might get his scent. An', besides, 
 Tom ain't reliable on bears. I'll leave Pedro home, too." 
 
 When they had hurried supper, and Dale had gotten 
 in the horses, the sun had set and the valley was shadowing 
 low down, while the ramparts were still golden. 
 
 The long zigzag trail Dale followed up the slope took 
 nearly an hour to climb, so that when that was surmounted 
 and he led out of the woods twilight had fallen. A rolling 
 park extended as far as Helen could see, bordered by for- 
 est that in places sent out straggling stretches of trees. 
 Here and there, like islands, were isolated patches of 
 timber. 
 
 At ten thousand feet elevation the twilight of this clear 
 and cold night was a rich and rare atmospheric effect. 
 It looked as if it was seen through perfectly clear smoked 
 glass. Objects were singularly visible, even at long range, 
 and seemed magnified. In the west, where the afterglow 
 of sunset lingered over the dark, ragged, spruce-speared 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 horizon-line, there was such a transparent golden line 
 melting into vivid star-fired blue that Helen could only 
 gaze and gaze in wondering admiration. 
 
 Dale spurred his horse into a lope and the spirited 
 mounts of the girls kept up with him. The ground was 
 rough, with tufts of grass growing close together, yet the 
 horses did not stumble. Their action and snorting be- 
 trayed excitement. Dale led around several clumps of 
 timber, up a long grassy swale, and then straight west- 
 ward across an open flat toward where the dark-fringed 
 forest-line raised itself wild and clear against the cold 
 sky. The horses went swiftly, and the wind cut like a 
 blade of ice. Helen could barely get her breath and she 
 panted as if she had just climbed a labor some hill. The 
 stars began to blink out of the blue, and the gold paled 
 somewhat, and yet twilight lingered. It seemed long 
 across that flat, but really was short. Coming to a thin 
 line of trees that led down over a slope to a deeper but 
 still isolated patch of woods, Dale dismounted and tied 
 his horse. When the girls got off he haltered their horses 
 also. 
 
 "Stick close to me an* put your feet down easy," he 
 whispered. How tall and dark he loomed in the fading 
 light! Helen thrilled, as she had often of late, at the 
 strange, potential force of the man. Stepping softly, 
 without the least sound, Dale entered this straggly bit of 
 woods, which appeared to have narrow byways and nooks. 
 Then presently he came to the top of a well-wooded slope, 
 dark as pitch, apparently. But as Helen followed she 
 perceived the trees, and they were thin dwarf spruce, 
 partly dead. The slope was soft and springy, easy to 
 step upon without noise. Dale went so cautiously that 
 Helen could not hear him, and sometimes in the gloom 
 she could not see him. Then the chill thrills ran over her. 
 Bo kept holding on to Helen, which fact hampered Helen 
 as well as worked somewhat to disprove Bo's boast. At 
 last level ground was reached. Helen made out a light- 
 
 176 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 gray background crossed by black bars. Another glance 
 showed this to be the dark tree-trunks against the open 
 park. 
 
 Dale halted, and w'th a touch brought Helen to a 
 straining pause. He was listening. It seemed wonderful 
 to watch him bend his head and stand as silent and mo- 
 tionless as one of the dark trees. 
 
 "He's not there yet," Dale whispered, and he stepped 
 forward very slowly. Helen and Bo began to come up 
 against thin dead branches that were invisible and then 
 cracked. Then Dale knelt down, seemed to melt into the 
 ground. 
 
 "You'll have to crawl," he whispered. 
 
 How strange and thrilling that was for Helen, and hard 
 work! The ground bore twigs and dead branches, which 
 had to be carefully crawled over; and lying flat, as was 
 necessary, it took prodigious effort to drag her body inch 
 by inch. Like a huge snake, Dale wormed his way along. 
 
 Gradually the wood lightened. They were nearing the 
 edge of the park. Helen now saw a strip of open with a 
 high, black wall of spruce beyond. The afterglow flashed 
 or changed, like a dimming northern light, and then failed. 
 Dale crawled on farther to halt at length between two 
 tree-trunks at the edge of the wood. 
 
 "Come up beside me," he whispered. 
 
 Helen crawled on, and presently Bo was beside her 
 panting, with pale face and great, staring eyes, plain to 
 be seen in the wan light. 
 
 "Moon's comin' up. We're just in time. The old 
 grizzly's not there yet, but I see coyotes. Look." 
 
 Dale pointed across the open neck of park to a dim 
 blurred patch standing apart some little distance from 
 the black wall. 
 
 "That's the dead horse," whispered Dale. "An' if 
 you watch close you can see the coyotes. They're gray 
 an' they move. . . . Can't you hear them?" 
 
 Helen's excited ears, so full of throbs and imaginings, 
 
 177 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 presently registered low snaps and snarls. Bo gave ha 
 arm a squeeze. 
 
 " I hear them. They're fighting. Oh, gee !" she panted, 
 and drew a long, full breath of unntterable excitement. 
 
 "Keep quiet now an' watch an' listen," said the hunter. 
 
 Slowly the black, ragged forest-line seemed to grow 
 blacker and lift; slowly the gray neck of park lightened 
 under some invisible influence; slowly the stars paled and 
 the sky filled over. Somewhere the moon was rising. 
 And slowly that vague blurred patch grew a little clearer. 
 
 Through the tips of the spruce, now seen to be rather 
 close at hand, shone a slender, silver crescent moon r 
 darkening, hiding, shining again, climbing until its ex- 
 quisite sickle-point topped the trees, and then, magically, 
 it cleared them, radiant and cold. While the eastern 
 black wall shaded still blacker, the park blanched and 
 the border-line opposite began to stand out as trees. 
 
 "Look! Look!" cried Bo, very low and fearfully, as 
 she pointed. 
 
 "Not so loud," whispered Dale. 
 
 "But I see something!" 
 
 "Keep quiet," he admonished. 
 
 Helen, in the direction Bo pointed, could not see any- 
 thing but moon-blanched bare ground, rising close at 
 hand to a little ridge. 
 
 " Lie still," whispered Dale. " I'm goin' to crawl around 
 to get a look from another angle. I'll be right back." 
 
 He moved noiselessly backward and disappeared. With 
 him gone, Helen felt a palpitating of her heart and a prick- 
 ling of her skin. 
 
 "Oh, my! Nsll! Look!" whispered Bo, in fright. "I 
 know I saw something." 
 
 On top of the little ridge a round object moved slowiy, 
 getting farther out into the light. Helen watched with 
 suspended breath. It moved out to be silhouetted against 
 the sky apparently a huge, round, bristling animal, 
 frosty in color. One instant it seemed huge the next 
 
 178 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 small then close at hand and far away. It swerved to 
 come directly toward them. Suddenly Helen realized 
 that the beast was not a dozen yards distant. She was 
 just beginning a new experience a real and horrifying 
 terror in which her blood curdled, her heart gave a tre- 
 mendous leap and then stood still, and she wanted to 
 fly, but was rooted to the spot when Dale returned to 
 her side. 
 
 "That's a pesky porcupine," he whispered. "Almost 
 crawled over you. He sure would have stuck you full of 
 quills." 
 
 Whereupon he threw a stick at the animal. It bounced 
 straight up to turn round with startling quickness, and 
 it gave forth a rattling sound; then it crawled out of 
 sight. 
 
 "For cu pine!" whispered Bo, pantingly. "It might 
 as well have been an elephant!" 
 
 Helen uttered a long, eloquent sigh. She would not 
 have cared to describe her emotions at sight of a harmless 
 hedgehog. 
 
 " Listen P' warned Dale, very low. His big hand closed 
 over Helen's gauntleted one. "There you have the real 
 cry of the wild." 
 
 Sharp and cold on the night air split the cry of a wolf, 
 distant, yet wonderfully distinct. How wild and mournful 
 and hungry! How marvelously pure! Helen shuddered 
 through all her frame with the thrill of its music, the wild 
 and unutterable and deep emotions it aroused. Again 
 a, sound of this forest had pierced beyond her life, back 
 into the dim remote past from which she had come. 
 
 The cry was not repeated. The coyotes were still. And 
 a silence fell, absolutely unbroken. 
 
 Dale nudged Helen, and then reached over to give Bo 
 a tap. He was peering keenly ahead and his strained in- 
 tensity could be felt. Helen looked with all her might and 
 she saw the shadowy gray forms of the coyotes skulk 
 away, out of the moonlight into the gloom of the woods, 
 
 i79 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 where they disappeared. Not only Dale's intensity, but 
 the very silence, the wildness of the moment and place, 
 seemed fraught with wonderful potency. Bo must have 
 felt it, too, for she was trembling all over, and holding 
 tightly to Helen, and breathing quick and fast. 
 
 "A-huh!" muttered Dale, under his breath. 
 
 Helen caught the relief and certainty in his exclamation, 
 and she divined, then, something of what the moment 
 must have been to a hunter. 
 
 Then her roving, alert glance was arrested by a looming 
 gray shadow coming out of the forest. It moved, but 
 surely that huge thing could not be a bear. It passed 
 out of gloom into silver moonlight. Helen's heart bounded. 
 For it was a great frosty-coated bear lumbering along 
 toward the dead horse. Instinctively Helen's hand 
 sought the arm of the hunter. It felt like iron under a 
 rippling surface. The touch eased away the oppression 
 over her lungs, the tightness of her throat. What must 
 have been fear left her, and only a powerful excitement 
 remained. A sharp expulsion of breath from Bo and a 
 violent jerk of her frame were signs that she had sighted 
 the grizzly. 
 
 In the moonlight he looked of immense size, and that 
 wild park with the gloomy blackness of forest furnished 
 a fit setting for him. Helen's quick mind, so taken up 
 with emotion, still had a thought for the wonder and the 
 meaning of that scene. She wanted the bear killed, yet 
 that seemed a pity. 
 
 He had a wagging, rolling, slow walk which took several 
 moments to reach his quarry. When at length he reached 
 it he walked around with sniffs plainly heard and then a 
 cross growl. Evidently he had discovered that his meal 
 had been messed over. As a whole the big bear could be 
 seen distinctly, but only in outline and color. The dis- 
 tance was perhaps two hundred yards. Then it looked as 
 if he had begun to tug at the carcass. Indeed, he was 
 dragging it, very ? 1 owly, but surely. 
 
 1 80 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Look at that!" whispered Dale. "If he ain't strong! 
 . . Reckon I'll have to stop him." 
 
 The grizzly, however, stopped of his own accord, just 
 outside of the shadow-line of the forest. Then he hunched 
 in a big frosty heap over his prey and began to tear and 
 rend. 
 
 " Jess was a mighty good horse," muttered Dale, grimly; 
 "too good to make a meal for a hog silvertip." 
 
 Then the hunter silently rose to a kneeling position, 
 swinging the rifle in front of him. He glanced up into 
 the low branches of the tree overhead. 
 
 "Girls, there's no tellin' what a grizzly will do. If I 
 yell, you climb up in this tree, an' do it quick." 
 
 With that he leveled the rifle, resting his left elbow on 
 his knee. The front end of the rifle, reaching out of the 
 shade, shone silver in the moonlight. Man and weapon 
 became still as stone. Helen held her breath. But Dale 
 relaxed, lowering the barrel. 
 
 "Can't see the sights very well," he whispered, shaking 
 his head. "Remember, now if I yell you climb!" 
 
 Again he aimed and slowly grew rigid. Helen could not 
 take her fascinated eyes off him. He knelt, bareheaded, 
 and in the shadow she could make out the gleam of his 
 clear-cut profile, stern and cold. 
 
 A streak of fire and a heavy report startled her. Then 
 she heard the bullet hit. Shifting her glance, she saw 
 the bear lurch with convulsive action, rearing on his hind 
 legs. Loud clicking snaps must have been a clashing of 
 his jaws in rage. But there was no other sound. Then 
 again Dale's heavy gun boomed. Helen heard again that 
 singular spatting thud of striking lead. The bear went 
 down with a flop as if he had been dealt a terrific blow. 
 But just as quickly he was up on all-fours and began to 
 whirl with hoarse, savage bawls of agony and fury. His 
 action quickly carried him out of the moonlight into the 
 shadow, where he disappeared. There the bawls gave 
 place to gnashing snarls, and crashings in the bmsh v 
 
 181 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 and snapping of branches, as he made his way into 
 the forest. 
 
 "Sure he's mad," said Dale, rising to his feet. "An' I 
 reckon hard hit. But I won't follow him to-night." 
 
 Both the girls got up, and Helen found she was shaky 
 on her feet and very cold. 
 
 "Oh-h, wasn't it won-wonder-ful ! " cried Bo. 
 
 "Are you scared? Your teeth are chatterin'," queried 
 Dale. 
 
 "I'm cold." 
 
 "Well, it sure is cold, all right," he responded. "Now 
 the fun's over, you'll feel it. ... Nell, you're froze, too?" 
 
 Helen nodded. She was, indeed, as cold as she had 
 ever been before. But that did not prevent a strange 
 warmness along her veins and a quickened pulse, the 
 cr.use of which she did not conjecture. 
 
 "l>,t's rustle," said Dale, and led the way out of the 
 wood and skirted its edge around to the slope. There 
 they climbed to the flat, and went through the straggling 
 line of trees to where the horses were tethered. 
 
 Up here the wind began to blow, not hard through the 
 forest, but still strong and steady out in the open, and 
 bitterly cold. Dale helped Bo to mount, and then Helen. 
 
 " I'm numb," she said. " I'll fall off sure." 
 
 "No. You'll be warm in a jiffy," he replied, "because 
 we'll ride some goin' back. Let Ranger pick the way 
 an' you hang on." 
 
 With Ranger's first jump Helen's blood began to run. 
 Out he shot, his lean, dark head beside Dale's horse. 
 The wild park lay clear and bright in the moonlight, with 
 strange, silvery radiance on the grass. The patches of 
 timber, like spired black islands in a moon-blanched lake, 
 seemed to harbor shadows, and places for bears to hide, 
 ready to spring out. As Helen neared each little grove 
 her pulses shook and her heart beat. Half a mile of rapid 
 riding burned out the cold. And all seemed glorious 
 the sailing moon, white in a dark-blue sky, the white^ 
 
 182 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 passionless stars, so solemn, so far away, the beckoning 
 fringe of forest-land at once mysterious and friendly, and 
 the fleet horses, running with soft, rhythmic thuds over 
 the grass, leaping the ditches and the hollows, making the 
 bitter wind sting and cut. Coming up that park the ride 
 had been long; going back was as short as it was thrilling. 
 In Helen, experiences gathered realization slowly, and it 
 was this swift ride, the horses neck and neck, and all the 
 wildness and beauty, that completed the slow, insidious 
 work of years. The tears of excitement froze on her 
 cheeks and her heart heaved full. All that pertained to 
 this night got into her blood. It was only to feel, to livs 
 now, but it could be understood and remembered forever 
 afterward. 
 
 Dale's horse, a little in advance, sailed over a ditch. 
 Ranger made a splendid leap, but he alighted amon^ some 
 grassy tufts and fell. Helen shot over his head. She 
 struck lengthwise, her arms stretched, and slid hard to a 
 shocking impact that stunned her. 
 
 Bo's scream rang in her ears; she felt the wet grass 
 under her face and then the strong hands that lifted her. 
 Dale loomed over her, bending down to look into her face; 
 Bo was clutching her with frantic hands. And Helen 
 could only gasp. Her breast seemed caved in. The need 
 to breathe was torture. 
 
 "Nell! you're not hurt. You fell light, like a feather. 
 All grass here. . . . You can't be hurt!" said Dale, sharply. 
 
 His anxious voice penetrated beyond her hearing, and 
 his strong hands went swiftly over her arms and shoulders, 
 feeling for broken bones. 
 
 " Just had the wind knocked out of you," went on Dale. 
 "It feels awful, but it's nothin'." 
 
 Helen got a little air, that was like hot pin-points in 
 her lungs, and then a deeper breath, and then full, gasping 
 respiration. 
 
 "I guess I'm not hurt not a bit," she choked out. 
 
 "You sure had a header. Never saw a prettier spili 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Ranger doesn't do that often. I reckon we were travelin* 
 too fast. But it was fun, don't you think? " 
 
 It was Bo who answered. "Oh, glorious! . . . But, gee! 
 I was scared." 
 
 Dale still held Helen's hands. She released them while 
 looking up at him. The moment was realization for her 
 of what for days had been a vague, sweet uncertainty, 
 becoming near and strange, disturbing and present. This 
 accident had been a sudden, violent end to the wonderful 
 ride. But its effect, the knowledge of what had got into 
 her blood, would never change. And inseparable from it 
 was this man of the forest. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 ON the next morning Helen was awakened by what 
 she imagined had been a dream of some one shout- 
 ing. With a start she sat up. The sunshine showed pink 
 and gold on the ragged spruce line of the mountain rims. 
 Bo was on her knees, braiding her hair with shaking 
 hands, and at the same time trying to peep out. 
 
 And the echoes of a ringing cry were cracking back from 
 the cliffs. That had been Dale's voice. 
 
 "Nell! Nell! Wake up!" called Bo, wildly. "Oh, 
 some one's come! Horses and men!" 
 
 Helen got to her knees and peered out over Bo's shoul- 
 der. Dale, standing tall and striking beside the camp- 
 fire, was waving his sombrero. Away down the open 
 edge of the park came a string of pack-burros with 
 mounted men behind. In the foremost rider Helen recog- 
 nized Roy Beeman. 
 
 "That first one's Roy!" she exclaimed. "I'd never 
 forget him on a horse. . . . Bo, it must mean Uncle Al's 
 come!" 
 
 "Sure! We're born lucky. Here we are safe and sound 
 and all this grand camp trip. . . . Look at the cowboys. 
 . . . Look! Oh, maybe this isn't great!" babbled Bo. 
 
 Dale wheeled to see the girls peeping out. 
 
 "It's time you're up!" he called. "Your uncle Al is 
 here." 
 
 For an instant after Helen sank back out of Dale's 
 
 sight she sat there perfectly motionless, so struck was 
 
 she by the singular tone of Dale's voice. She imagined 
 
 that he regretted what this visiting cavalcade of horse- 
 
 13 185 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 men meant they had come to take her to her ranch in 
 Pine. Helen's heart suddenly began to beat fast, but 
 thickly, as if muffled within her breast. 
 
 "Hurry now, girls," called Dale. 
 
 Bo was already out, kneeling on the flat stone at the 
 little brook, splashing water in a great hurry. Helen's 
 hands trembled so that she could scarcely lace her boots 
 or brush her hair, and she was long behind Bo in making 
 herself presentable. When Helen stepped out, a short, 
 powerfully built man in coarse garb and heavy boots 
 stood holding Bo's hands. 
 
 "Wai, wal! You favor the Rayners," he was saying. 
 "I remember your dad, an' a fine feller he was." 
 
 Beside them stood Dale and Roy, and beyond was a 
 group of horses and riders. 
 
 "Uncle, here comes Nell," said Bo, softly. 
 
 " Aw ! " The old cattle-man breathed hard as he turned. 
 
 Helen hurried. She had not expected to remember 
 this uncle, but one look into the brown, beaming face, 
 with the blue eyes flashing, yet sad, and she recognized 
 him, at the same instant recalling her mother. 
 
 He held out his arms to receive her. 
 
 "Nell Auchincloss all over again!" he exclaimed, in 
 deep voice, as he kissed her. "I'd have knowed you 
 anywhere!" 
 
 "Uncle Al!" murmured Helen. "I remember you 
 though I was only four." 
 
 "Wal, wal, that's fine," he replied. "I remember you 
 straddled my knee once, an' your hair was brighter an' 
 curly. It ain't neither now. . . . Sixteen years! An* 
 you're twenty now? What a fine, broad-shouldered girl 
 you are! An', Nell, you're the handsomest Auchincloss 
 I ever seen!" 
 
 Helen found herself blusnmg, md withdrew her hands 
 from his as Roy stepped forward to pay his respects. He 
 Stood bareheaded, lean and tall, with neither his clear 
 eyes nor his still face, nor the proffered hand expressing 
 
 186 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 anything of the proven quality of fidelity, of achievement, 
 that Helen sensed in him. 
 
 "Howdy, Miss Helen? Howdy, Bo?" he said. "You- 
 all both look fine an' brown. ... I reckon I was shore slow 
 rustlin' your uncle Al up here. But I was figgerin' you'd 
 like Milt's camp for a while." 
 
 "We sure did," replied Bo, archly. 
 
 "Aw!" breathed Auchincloss, heavily. "Lernme set 
 down." 
 
 He drew the girls to the rustic seat Dale had built for 
 them under the big pine. 
 
 "Oh, you must be tired! How how are you?" asked 
 Helen, anxiously. 
 
 "Tired! Wai, if I am it's jest this here minit. When 
 Joe Beeman rode in on me with thet news of you wal, I 
 jest fergot I was a worn-out old hoss. Haven't felt so 
 good in years. Mebbe two such young an* pretty nieces 
 will make a new man of me." 
 
 "Uncle Al, you look strong and well to me," said Bo. 
 "And young, too, and " 
 
 "Haw! Haw! Thet '11 do," interrupted Al. "I see 
 through you. What you'll do to Uncle Al will be aplenty. 
 . . . Yes, girls, I'm feelin' fine. But strange strange! 
 Mebbe thet's my joy at seein' you safe safe when I 
 feared so thet damned greaser Beasley " 
 
 In Helen's grave gaze his face changed swiftly and all 
 the serried years of toil and battle and privation showed, 
 with something that was not age, nor resignation, yet as 
 tragic as both. 
 
 "Wal, never mind him now," he added, slowly, and 
 the warmer light returned to his lace. ' ' Dale come here. ' ' 
 
 The hunter stepped closer. 
 
 "I reckon I owe you more 'n I can ever pay," said 
 Auchincloss, with an arm around each niece. 
 
 "No, Al, you don't owe me anythin'," returned Dale, 
 thoughtfully, as he looked away. 
 
 "A-huh!" grunted Al. "You hear him, girls Now 
 
 187 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 listen, you wild hunter. An' you girls listen. . . . Milt, I 
 never thought you much good, 'cept for the wilds. But 
 I reckon I'll have to swallow thet. I do. Comin' to me 
 as you did an' after bein' druv off keepin' your council 
 an' savin' my girls from thet hold-up, wal, it's the biggest 
 deal any man ever did for me. . . . An' I'm ashamed of 
 my hard feelin's, an' here's my hand." 
 
 "Thanks, Al," replied Dale, with his fleeting smile, 
 and he met the proffered hand. "Now, will you be 
 makin' camp here?" 
 
 "Wal, no. I'll rest a bit, an' you can pack the girls' 
 outfit then we'll go. Sure you're goin' with us?" 
 
 "I'll call the girls to breakfast," replied Dale, and he 
 moved away without answering Auchincloss's query. 
 
 Helen divined that Dale did not mean to go down to 
 Pine with them, and the knowledge gave her a blank feel- 
 ing of surprise. Had she expected him to go? 
 
 "Come here, Jeff," called Al, to one of his men. 
 
 A short, bow-legged horseman with dusty garb and 
 sun-bleached face hobbled forth from the group. He was 
 not young, but he had a boyish grin and bright little eyes. 
 Awkwardly he doffed his slouch sombrero. 
 
 "Jeff, shake hands with my nieces," said Al. "This 's 
 Helen, an' your boss from now on. An' this 's Bo, fer 
 short. Her name was Nancy, but when she lay a baby in 
 her cradle I called her Bo-Peep, an' the name's stuck. 
 . . . Girls, this here's my foreman, Jeff Mulvey, who's 
 been with me twenty years." 
 
 The introduction caused embarrassment to all three 
 principals, particularly to Jeff. 
 
 "Jeff, throw the packs an' saddles fer a rest," was Al's 
 order to his foreman. 
 
 "Nell, reckon you'll have fun bossin' thet outfit," 
 chuckled Al. "None of 'em's got a wife. Lot of scala- 
 wags they are; no women would have them!" 
 
 " Uncle, I hope I'll never have to be their boss," replied 
 
 Helen. 
 
 188 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Wai, you're goin' to be, right off," declared Al. "They 
 ain't a bad lot, after all. An' I got a likely new man." 
 
 With that he turned to Bo, and, after studying her 
 pretty face, he asked, in apparently severe tone, "Did 
 you send a cowboy named Carmichael to ask me for a 
 job?" 
 
 Bo looked quite startled. 
 
 " Carmichael! Why, Uncle, I never heard that name 
 before," replied Bo, bewilderedly. 
 
 "A-huh! Reckoned the young rascal was lyin'," said 
 Auchincloss. "But I liked the fellar's looks an' so let him 
 stay." 
 
 Then the rancher turned to the group of lounging 
 riders. 
 
 "Las Vegas, come here," he ordered, in a loud voice. 
 
 Helen thrilled at sight of a tall, superbly built cowboy 
 reluctantly detaching himself from the group. He had a 
 red-bronze face, young like a boy's. Helen recognized it, 
 and the flowing red scarf, and the swinging gun, and the 
 slow, spur-clinking gait. No other than Bo's Las Vegas 
 cowboy admirer! 
 
 Then Helen flashed a look at Bo, which look gave her a 
 delicious, almost irresistible desire to laugh. That young 
 lady also recognized the reluctant individual approaching 
 with flushed and downcast face. Helen recorded her first 
 experience of Bo's utter discomnture. Bo turned white 
 then red as a rose. 
 
 "Say, my niece said she never heard of the name Car- 
 michael," declared Al, severely, as the cowboy halted be- 
 fore him. Helen knew her uncle had the repute of dealing 
 "hard with his men, but here she was reassured and pleased 
 at the twinkle in his eye. 
 
 "Shore, boss, I can't help thet," drawled the cowboy. 
 "It's good old Texas stock." 
 
 He did not appear shamefaced now, but just as cool, 
 easy, clear-eyed, and lazy as the day Helen had liked his 
 warm young face and intent gaze. 
 
 189 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Texas! You fellars from the Pan Handle are always 
 hollerin' Texas. I never seen thet Texans had any one else 
 beat say from Missouri," returned Al, testily. 
 
 Carmichael maintained a discreet silence, and carefully 
 avoided looking at the girls. 
 
 "Wai, reckon we'll all call you Las Vegas, anyway," 
 continued the rancher. "Didn't you say my niece sent 
 you to me for a job?" 
 
 Whereupon Carmichael's easy manner vanished. 
 
 " Now, boss, shore my memory's pore," he said. " I only 
 says" 
 
 "Don't tell me thet. My memory's not p-o-r-e," replied 
 Al, mimicking the drawl. "What you said was thet my 
 niece would speak a good word for you." 
 
 Here Carmichael stole a timid glance at Bo, the result of 
 which was to render him utterly crestfallen. Not improb- 
 ably he had taken Bo's expression to mean something it 
 did not, for Helen read it as a mingling of consternation 
 and fright. Her eyes were big and blazing; a red spot was 
 growing in each cheek as she gathered strength from his 
 confusion. 
 
 "Well, didn't you?" demanded Al. 
 
 From the glance the old rancher shot from the cowboy 
 to the others of his employ it seemed to Helen that they 
 were having fun at Carmichael's expense. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I did," suddenly replied the cowboy. 
 
 "A-huh! All right, here's my niece. Now see thet she 
 speaks the good word." 
 
 Carmichael looked at Bo and Bo looked at him. Their 
 glances were strange, wondering, and they grew shy. Bo 
 dropped hers. The cowboy apparently forgot what had 
 been demanded of him. 
 
 Helen put a hand on the old rancher's arm. 
 
 "Uncle, what happened was my fault," she said. "The 
 train stopped at Las Vegas. This young man saw us at the 
 open window. He must have guessed we were lonely, 
 homesick girls, getting lost in the West. For he spoke to 
 
 190 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 us nice and friendly. He knew of you. And he asked, in 
 what I took for fun, if we thought you would give him a 
 job. And I replied, just to tease Bo, that she would surely 
 speak a good word for him." 
 
 "Haw! Haw! So thet's it," replied Al, and he turned 
 to Bo with merry eyes. "Wai, I kept this here Las Vegas 
 Carmichael on his say-so. Come on with your good word, 
 unless you want to see him lose his job." 
 
 Bo did not grasp her uncle's bantering, because she was 
 seriously gazing at the cowboy. But she had grasped 
 something. 
 
 "He he was the first person out West to speak 
 kindly to us," she said, facing her uncle. 
 
 "Wai, thet's a pretty good word, but it ain't enough," 
 responded Al. 
 
 Subdued laughter came from the listening group. Car- 
 michael shifted from side to side. 
 
 " He he looks as if he might ride a horse well," ventured 
 Bo. 
 
 "Best hossman I ever seen," agreed Al, heartily. 
 
 "And and shoot?" added Bo, hopefully. 
 
 "Bo, he pacics thet gun low, like Jim Wilson an' all 
 them Texas gun-fighters. Reckon thet ain't no good 
 word." 
 
 "Then I'll vouch for him," said Bo, with finality. 
 
 "Thet settles it." Auchincloss turned to the cowboy. 
 "Las Vegas, you're a stranger to us. But you're welcome 
 to a place in the outfit an' I hope you won't never dis- 
 appoint us." 
 
 Auchincloss's tone, passing from jest to earnest, be- 
 trayed to Helen the old rancher's need of new and true 
 men, and hinted of trying days to come. 
 
 Carmichael stood before Bo, sombrero in hand, rolling 
 it round and round, manifestly bursting with words he 
 could not speak. And the girl looked very young and sweet 
 with her flushed face and shining eyes. Helen saw in the 
 moment more than that little by-play of confusion. 
 
 IQI 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Miss Miss Rayner I shore am obliged," he stam- 
 mered, presently. 
 
 "You're very welcome," she replied, softly. 
 
 "I I got on the next train," he added. 
 
 When he said that Bo was looking straight at him, but 
 she seemed not to have heard. 
 
 "What's your name?" suddenly she asked. 
 
 "Carmichael." 
 
 "I heard that. But didn't uncle call you Las Vegas?" 
 
 "Shore. But it wasn't my fault. Thet cow-punchin' 
 outfit saddled it on me, right off. They don't know no 
 better. Shore I jest won't answer to thet handle. . . . 
 Now Miss Bo my real name is Tom." 
 
 " I simply could not call you any name but Las Vegas," 
 replied Bo, very sweetly. 
 
 "But beggin' your pardon I I don't like thet," 
 blustered Carmichael. 
 
 "People often get called names they don't like," she 
 said, with deep intent. 
 
 The cowboy blushed scarlet. Helen as well as he got 
 Bo's inference to that last audacious epithet he had boldly 
 called out as the train was leaving Las Vegas. She also 
 sensed something of the disaster in store for Mr. Car- 
 michael. Just then the embarrassed young man was saved 
 by Dale's call to the girls to come to breakfast. 
 
 That meal, the last for Helen in Paradise Park, gave 
 rise to a strange and inexplicable restraint. She had little 
 to say. Bo was in the highest spirits, teasing the pets, 
 joking with her uncle and Roy, and even poking fun at 
 Dale. The hunter seemed somewhat somber. Roy was 
 his usual dry, genial self. And Auchincloss, who sat near 
 by, was an interested spectator. When Tom put in an 
 appearance, lounging with his feline grace into the camp, 
 as if he knew he was a privileged pet, the rancher could 
 scarcely contain himself. 
 
 "Dale, it's thet damn cougar!" he ejaculated, 
 
 I Q2 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Sure, that's Tom." 
 
 "He ought to be corralled or chained. I've no use for 
 cougars," protested Al. 
 
 "Tom is as tame an' safe as a kitten." 
 
 " A-huh ! Wai, you tell thet to the girls if you like. But 
 not me! I'm an old hoss, I am." 
 
 "Uncle Al, Tom sleeps curled up at the foot of my 
 bed," said Bo. 
 
 "Aw what?" 
 
 "Honest Injun," she responded. "Well, isn't it so?" 
 
 Helen smilingly nodded her corroboration. Then Bo 
 called Tom to her and made him lie with his head on his 
 stretched paws, right beside her, and beg for bits to eat. 
 
 "Wai! I'd never have believed thet!" exclaimed Al, 
 shaking his big head. " Dale, it's one on me. I've had them 
 big cats foller me on the trails, through the woods, moon- 
 light an' dark. An' I've heard 'em let out thet awful cry. 
 They ain't any wild sound on earth thet can beat a cou- 
 gar's. Does this Tom ever let out one of them wails?" 
 
 "Sometimes at night," replied Dale. 
 
 "Wai, excuse me. Hope you don't fetch the yallet 
 rascal down to Pine." 
 
 "I won't." 
 
 "What '11 you do with this menagerie?" 
 
 Dale regarded the rancher attentively. "Reckon, Al, 
 I'll take care of them." 
 
 "But you're goin' down to my ranch." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 Al scratched his head and gazed perplexedly at the 
 hunter. "Wai, ain't it customary to visit friends?" 
 
 "Thanks, Al. Next time I ride down Pine way in the 
 spring, perhaps I'll run over an' see how you are." 
 
 "Spring!" ejaculated Auchincloss. Then he shook his 
 head sadly and a far-away look filmed his eyes. "Reckon 
 you'd call some late." 
 
 "Al, you'll get well now. These girls now they'll 
 cure you. Reckon I never saw you look so good." 
 
 193 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Auchincloss did not press his point farther at that time, 
 but after the meal, when the other men came to see Dale's 
 camp and pets, Helen's quick ears caught the renewal 
 of the subject. 
 
 "I'm askin' you will you come?" Auchincloss said, 
 low and eagerly. 
 
 "No. I wouldn't fit in down there," replied Dale. 
 
 "Milt, talk sense. You can't go on forever huntin' 
 bear an' tamin' cats," protested the old rancher. 
 
 "Why not?" asked the hunter, thoughtfully. 
 
 Auchincloss stood up and, shaking himself as if to ward 
 off his testy temper, he put a hand on Dale's arm. 
 
 "One reason is you're needed in Pine." 
 
 "How? Who needs me?" 
 
 "I do. I'm playin' out fast. An' Beasley's my enemy. 
 The ranch an' all I got will go to Nell. Thet ranch will 
 have to be run by a man an' held by a man. Do you 
 savvy? It's a big job. An' I'm offerin' to make you my 
 foreman right now." 
 
 "Al, you sort of take my breath," replied Dale. "An' 
 I'm sure grateful. But the fact is, even if I could handle 
 the job, I I don't believe I'd want to." 
 
 "Make yourself want to, then. Thet 'd soon come. 
 You'd get interested. This country will develop. I 
 seen thet years ago. The government is goin' to 
 chase the Apaches out of here. Soon homesteaders 
 will be flockin' in. Big future, Dale. You want to 
 get in now. An' " 
 
 Here Auchincloss hesitated, then spoke lower: 
 
 "An' take your chance with the girl! . . . I'll be on 
 your side." 
 
 A slight vibrating start ran over Dale's stalwart form. 
 
 "Al you're plumb dotty f" he exclaimed. 
 
 ' ' Dotty ! Me ? Dotty ! ' ' ejaculated Auchincloss. Then 
 he swore. " In a minit I'll tell you what you are." 
 
 "But, Al, that talk's so so like an old fool's." 
 
 "Huh! An' why so?" 
 
 194 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Because that wonderful girl would never look at 
 me," Dale replied, simply. 
 
 "I seen her lookin' already," declared Al, bluntly. 
 
 Dale shook his head as if arguing with the old rancher 
 was hopeless. 
 
 "Never mind thet," went on Al. "Mebbe I am a 
 dotty old fool 'specially for takin' a shine to you. But 
 I say again will you come down to Pine an' be my 
 foreman?" 
 
 " No, "replied Dale. 
 
 " Milt, I've no son an' I'm afraid of Beasley." This 
 was uttered in an agitated whisper. 
 
 "Al, you make me ashamed," said Dale, hoarsely. "I 
 can't come. I've no nerve." 
 
 "You've no what?" 
 
 "Al, I don't know what's wrong with me. But I'm 
 afraid I'd find out if I came down there." 
 
 "A-huh! It's the girl!" 
 
 "I don't know, but I'm afraid so. An' I won't 
 come." 
 
 "Aw yes, you will " 
 
 Helen rose with beating heart and tingling ears, and 
 moved away out of hearing. She had listened too long to 
 what had not been intended for her ears, yet she could 
 not be sorry. She walked a few rods along the brook, 
 out from under the pines, and, standing in the open edge 
 of the park, she felt the beautiful scene still her agitation. 
 The following moments, then, were the happiest she had 
 spent in Paradise Park, and the profoundest of her whole 
 life. 
 
 Presently her uncle called her. 
 
 "Nell, this here hunter wants to give you thet black 
 hoss. An' I say you take him." 
 
 "Ranger deserves better care than I can give him," 
 said Dale. "He runs free in the woods most of the time. 
 I'd be obliged if she'd have him. An' the hound, Pedro* 
 too." 
 
 195 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Bo swept a saucy glance from Dale to her sister. 
 
 "Sure she'll have Ranger. Just offer him to me!" 
 
 Dale stood there expectantly, holding a blanket in his 
 hand, ready to saddle the horse. Carmichael walked 
 around Ranger with that appraising eye so keen in cow- 
 boys. 
 
 "Las Vegas, do you know anything about horses?" 
 asked Bo. 
 
 "Me! Wai, if you ever buy or trade a hoss you shore 
 have me there," replied Carmichael. 
 
 "What do you think of Ranger?" went on Bo. 
 
 "Shore I'd buy him sudden, if I could." 
 
 "Mr. Las Vegas, you're too late," asserted Helen, as 
 she advanced to lay a hand on the horse. "Ranger is 
 mine." 
 
 Dale smoothed out the blanket and, folding it, he threw 
 it over the horse; and then with one powerful swing he 
 set the saddle in place. 
 
 "Thank you very much for him," said Helen, softly. 
 
 "You're welcome, an' I'm sure glad," responded Dale, 
 and then, after a few deft, strong pulls at the straps, he 
 continued. "There, he's ready for you." 
 
 With that he laid an arm over the saddle, and faced 
 Helen as she stood patting and smoothing Ranger. Helen, 
 strong and calm now, in feminine posssssion of her secret 
 and his, as well as her composure, looked frankly and 
 steadily at Dale. He seemed composed, too, yet the 
 bronze of his fine face was a trifle pale. 
 
 "But I can't thank you I'll never be able to repay 
 you for your service to me and my sister," said Helen. 
 
 "I reckon you needn't try," Dale returned. "An' my 
 service, as you call it, has been good for me." 
 
 "Are you going down to Pine with us?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "But you will come soon?" 
 
 "Not very soon, I reckon," he replied, and averted his 
 gaze. 
 
 196 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "Hardly before spring." 
 
 "Spring? . . . That is a long time. Won't you come to 
 see me sooner than that?" 
 
 "If I can get down to Pine." 
 
 "You're the first friend I've made in the West," said 
 Helen, earnestly. 
 
 "You'll make many more an* I reckon soon forget him 
 you called the man of the forest." 
 
 "I never forget any of my friends. And you've beep 
 the the biggest friend I ever had." 
 
 "I'll be proud to remember." 
 
 " But will you remember will you promise to come to 
 Pine?" 
 
 "I reckon." 
 
 "Thank you. All's well, then. . . . My friend, good- 
 by." 
 
 "Good-by," he said, clasping her hand. His glance 
 was clear, warm, beautiful, yet it was sad. 
 
 Auchincloss's hearty voice broke the spell. Then Helen 
 saw that the others were mounted. Bo had ridden up 
 close; her face was earnest and happy and grieved all at 
 once, as she bade good-by to Dale. The pack-burros 
 were hobbling along toward the green slope. Helen was 
 the last to mount, but Roy was the last to leave the 
 hunter. Pedro came reluctantly. 
 
 It was a merry, singing train which climbed that brown 
 odorous trail, under the dark spruces. Helen assuredly 
 was happy, yet a pang abided in her breast. 
 
 She remembered that half-way up the slope there was 
 a turn in the trail where it came out upon an open bluff. 
 The time seemed long, but at last she got there. And she 
 checked Ranger so as to have a moment's gaze down into 
 the park. 
 
 It yawned there, a dark-green and bright-gold gulf, 
 asleep under a westering sun, exquisite, wild, lonesome. 
 Then she saw Dale standing in the open space between 
 
 IQ7 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 the pines and the spruces. He waved to her. And she 
 returned the salute. 
 
 Roy caught up with her then and halted his horse. He 
 waved his sombrero to Dale and let out a piercing yell 
 that awoke the sleeping echoes, splitting strangely from 
 cliff to cliff. 
 
 " Shore Milt never knowed what it was to be lonesome," 
 said Roy, as if thinking aloud. "But he'll know now." 
 
 Ranger stepped out of his own accord and, turning off 
 the ledge, entered the spruce forest. Helen lost sight of 
 Paradise Park. For hours then she rode along a shady, 
 fragrant trail, seeing the beauty of color and wildness, 
 hearing the murmur and rush and roar of water, but all 
 the while her mind revolved the sweet and momentous 
 realization which had thrilled her that the hunter, this 
 strange man of the forest, so deeply versed in nature and 
 so unfamiliar with emotion, aloof and simple and strong 
 like the elements which had developed him, had fallen in 
 love with her and did not know it. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 DAl^E stood with face and arm upraised, and he 
 watched Helen ride off the ledge to disappear in 
 the forest. That vast spruce slope seemed to have swal- 
 lowed her. She was gone! Slowly Dale lowered his arm 
 with gesture expressive of a strange finality, an eloquent 
 despair, of which he was unconscious. 
 
 He turned to the park, to his camp, and the many 
 duties of a hunter. The park did not seem the same, nor 
 his home, nor his work. 
 
 "I reckon this feelin's natural," he soliloquized, re- 
 signedly, "but it's sure queer for me. That's what comes 
 of makin' friends. Nell an' Bo, now, they made a differ- 
 ence, an' a difference I never knew before." 
 
 He calculated that this difference had been simply one 
 of responsibility, and then the charm and liveliness of the 
 companionship of girls, and finally friendship. These 
 would pass now that the causes were removed. 
 
 Before he had worked an hour around camp he realized 
 a change had come, but it was not the one anticipated. 
 Always before he had put his mind on his tasks, whatever 
 they might be; now he worked while his thoughts were 
 strangely involved. 
 
 The little bear cub whined at his heels; the tame deer 
 Seemed regard him with deep, questioning eyes; the 
 big coug ir padded softly here and there as if searching 
 for something. 
 
 "You all miss them now I reckon," said Dale. 
 "Well, they're gone an' you'll have to get along with me." 
 
 Some vague approach to irritation with his pets sur- 
 
 199 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 prised him. Presently he grew both irritated and sur- 
 prised with himself a state of mind totally unfamiliar. 
 Several times, as old habit brought momentary abstrac- 
 tion, he found himself suddenly looking around for Helen 
 and Bo. And each time the shock grew stronger. They 
 were gone, but their presence lingered. After his camp 
 chores were completed he went over to pull down the lean- 
 to which the girls had utilized as a tent. The spruce 
 boughs had dried out brown and sear; the wind had 
 blown the roof awry; the sides were leaning in. As there 
 was now no further use for this little habitation, he might 
 better pull it dowr,. Dale did not acknowledge that his 
 gaze had involuntarily wandered toward it many times. 
 Therefore he strode over with the intention of destroy- 
 ing it. 
 
 For the first time since Roy and he had built the lean-to 
 he stepped inside. Nothing was more certain than the 
 fact that he experienced a strange sensation, perfectly 
 incomprehensible to him. The blankets lay there on the 
 spruce boughs, disarranged and thrown back by hurried 
 hands, yet still holding something of round folds where 
 the slender forms had nestled. A black scarf often worn 
 by Bo lay covering the pillow of pine-needles; a red ribbon 
 that Helen had worn on her hair hung from a twig. These 
 articles were all that had been forgotten. Dale gazed at 
 them attentively, then at the blankets, and all around 
 the fragrant little shelter; and he stepped outside with 
 an uncomfortable knowledge that he could not destroy 
 the place where Helen and Bo had spent so many hours. 
 
 Whereupon, in studious mood, Dale took up his rifle 
 and strode out to hunt. His winter supply of venison 
 had not yet been laid in. Action suited his mood; he 
 climbed far and passed by many a watching buck to slay 
 which seemed murder; at last he jumped one that was 
 wild and bounded away. This he shot, and set himself 
 a Herculean task in packing the whole carcass back to 
 camp. Burdened thus, he staggered under the trees, 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 sweating freely, many times laboring for breath, aching 
 with toil, until at last he had reached camp. There he 
 slid the deer carcass off his shoulders, and, standing over 
 it, he gazed down while his breast labored. It was one 
 of the finest young bucks he had ever seen. But neither 
 in stalking it, nor making a wonderful shot, nor in packing 
 home a weight that would have burdened two men, nor 
 in gazing down at his beautiful quarry, did Dale experi- 
 ence any of the old joy of the hunter. 
 
 "I'm a little off my feed," he mused, as he wiped the 
 sweat from his heated face. "Maybe a little dotty, as I 
 called Al. But that '11 pass." 
 
 Whatever his state, it did not pass. As of old, after a 
 long day's hunt, he reclined beside the camp-fire and 
 watched the golden sunset glows change on the ramparts; 
 as of old he laid a hand on the soft, furry head of the pet 
 cougar; as of old he watched the gold change to red and 
 then to dark, and twilight fall like a blanket; as of old 
 he listened to the dreamy, lulling murmur of the water- 
 fall. The old familiar beauty, wildness, silence, and lone- 
 liness were there, but the old content seemed strangely 
 gone. 
 
 Soberly he confessed then that he missed the happy 
 company of the girls. He did not distinguish Helen from 
 Bo in his slow -introspection. When he sought his bed he 
 did not at once fall to sleep. Always, after a few moments 
 of wakefulness, while the silence settled down or the wind 
 moaned through the pines, he had fallen asleep. This 
 night he found different. Though he was tired, sleep 
 would not soon come. The wilderness, the mountains, 
 the park, the camp all seemed to have lost something. 
 Even the darkness seemed empty. And when at length 
 Dale fell asleep it was to be troubled by restless dreams. 
 
 Up with the keen-edged, steely-bright dawn, he went at 
 his tasks with the springy stride of the deer-stalker. 
 At the end of that strenuous day, which was singularly 
 
 201 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 full of the old excitement and action and danger, and of 
 new observations, he was bound to confess that no longer 
 did the chase suffice for him. 
 
 Many times on the heights that day, with the wind 
 keen in his face, and the vast green billows of spruce below 
 him, he had found that he was gazing without seeing, 
 halting without object, dreaming as he had never dreamed 
 before. 
 
 Once, when a magnificent elk came out upon a rocky 
 ridge and, whistling a challenge to invisible rivals, stood 
 there a target to stir any hunter's pulse, Dale did not even 
 raise his rifle. Into his ear just then rang Helen's voice: 
 "Milt Dale, you are no Indian. Giving yourself to a hunt- 
 er's wild life is selfish. It is wrong. You love this lonely 
 life, but it is not work. Work that does not help others is 
 not a real man's work." 
 
 From that moment conscience tormented him. It was 
 not what he loved, but what he ought to do, that counted in 
 the sum of good achieved in the world. Old Al Auchin- 
 closs had been right. Dale was wasting strength and intel- 
 ligence that should go to do his share in the development 
 of the West. Now that he had reached maturity, if 
 through his knowledge of nature's law he had come to see 
 the meaning of the strife of men for existence, for place, 
 for possession, and to hold them in contempt, that was 
 no reason why he should keep himself aloof from them, 
 from some work that was needed in an incomprehensible 
 world. 
 
 Dale did not hate work, but he loved freedom. To be 
 alone, to live with nature, to feel the elements, to labor 
 and dream and idle and climb and sleep unhampered b<* 
 duty, by worry, by restriction, by the petty interests uf 
 men this had always been his ideal of living. Cowboys, 
 riders, sheep-herders, farmers these toiled on from one 
 place and one job to another for the little money doled out 
 to them. Nothing beautiful, nothing significant had ever 
 existed in that for him. He had worked as a boy at ever* 
 
 202 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 kind of range-work, and of all that humdrum waste of effort 
 he had liked sawing wood best. Once he had quit a job 
 of branding cattle because the smell of burning hide, the 
 bawl of the terrified calf, had sickened him. If men were 
 honest there would be no need to scar cattle. He had never 
 in the least desired to own land and droves of stock, and 
 make deals with ranchmen, deals advantageous to himself. 
 Why should a man want to make a deal or trade a horse 
 V do a piece of work to another man's disadvantage ? Self- 
 preservation was the first law of life. But as the plants 
 and trees and birds and beasts interpreted that law, merci^ 
 less and inevitable as they were, they had neither greed 
 nor dishonesty. They lived by the grand rule of what was 
 best for the greatest number. 
 
 But Dale's philosophy, cold and clear and inevitable, 
 like nature itself, began to be pierced by the human appeal 
 in Helen Rayner's words. What did she mean ? Not that 
 he should lose his love of the wilderness, but that he realize 
 himself! Many chance words of that girl had depth. He 
 was young, strong, intelligent, free from taint of disease 
 or the fever of drink. He could do something for others. 
 Who? If that mattered, there, for instance, was poor 
 old Mrs. Cass, aged and lame now; there was Al Auchin- 
 closs, dying in his boots, afraid of enemies, and wistful 
 for his blood and his property to receive the fruit of his 
 labors; there were the two girls, Helen and Bo, new and 
 strange to the West, about to be confronted by a big 
 problem of ranch life and rival interests. Dale thought 
 of still more people in the little village of Pine of others 
 who had failed, whose lives were hard, who could have 
 been made happier by kindness and assistance. 
 
 What, then, was the duty of Milt Dale to himself? 
 Because men preyed on one another and on the weak, 
 should he turn his back upon a so-called civilization or 
 should he grow like them? Clear as a bell came the 
 answer that his duty was to do neither. And then he saw 
 how the little village of Pine, as well as the whole world, 
 
 203 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 needed men like him. He had gone to nature, to the for- 
 est, to the wilderness for his development; and all the 
 judgments and efforts of his future would be a result of 
 that education. 
 
 Thus Dale, lying in the darkness and silence of his lonely 
 park, arrived at a conclusion that he divined was but 
 the beginning of a struggle. 
 
 It took long introspection to determine the exact nature 
 of that struggle, but at length it evolved into the paradox 
 that Helen Rayner had opened his eyes to his duty as a 
 man, that he accepted it, yet found a strange obstacle 
 in the perplexing, tumultuous, sweet fear of ever going 
 near her again. 
 
 Suddenly, then, all his thought revolved around the 
 girl, and, thrown off his balance, he weltered in a wilder- 
 ness of unfamiliar strange ideas. 
 
 When he awoke next day the fight was on in earnest. 
 In his sleep his mind had been active. The idea that 
 greeted him, beautiful as the sunrise, flashed in memory 
 of Auchincloss's significant words, "Take your chance 
 with the girl!" 
 
 The old rancher was in his dotage. He hinted of things 
 beyond the range of possibility. That idea of a chance 
 for Dale remained before his consciousness only an instant. 
 Stars were unattainable; life could not be fathomed; the 
 secret of nature did not abide alone on the earth these 
 theories were not any more impossible of proving than 
 that Helen Rayner might be for him. 
 
 Nevertheless, her strange coming into his life had played 
 havoc, the extent of which he had only begun to realize. 
 
 For a month he tramped through the forest. It was 
 October, a still golden, fulfilling season of the year; and 
 everywhere in the vast dark green a glorious blaze of oak 
 and aspen made beautiful contrast. He carried his rifle, 
 but he never used it. He would climb miles and go this 
 way and that with no object in view. Yet his eye and ear 
 
 204 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 had never been keener. Hours he would spend on a prom- 
 ontory, watching the distance, where the golden patches 
 of aspen shone bright out cf dark-green mountain slopes. 
 He loved to fling himself down in an aspen-grove at the 
 edge of a senaca, and there lie in that radiance like a veil 
 of gold and purple and red, with the white tree-trunks 
 striping the shade. Always, whether there were breeze 
 or not, the aspen-leaves quivered, ceaselessly, wonderfully, 
 like his pulses, beyond his control. Often he reclined 
 against a mossy rock beside a mountain stream to listen, 
 to watch, to feel all that was there, while his mind held a 
 haunting, dark-eyed vision of a girl. On the lonely 
 heights, like an eagle, he sat gazing down into Paradise 
 Park, that was more and more beautiful, but would never 
 again be the same, never fill him with content, never be 
 all and all to him. 
 
 Late in October the first snow fell. It melted at once 
 on the south side of the park, but the north slopes and the 
 rims and domes above stayed white. 
 
 Dale had worked quick and hard at curing and storing 
 his winter supply of food, and now he spent days chopping 
 and splitting wood to burn during the months he would 
 be snowed-in. He watched for the dark-gray, fast-scudding 
 storm-clouds, and welcomed them when they came. Once 
 there lay ten feet of snow on the trails he would be snowed- 
 in until spring. It would be impossible to go down to 
 Pine. And perhaps during the long winter he would be 
 cured of this strange, nameless disorder of his feelings. 
 
 November brought storms up on the peaks. Flurries 
 of snow fell in the park every day, but the sunny south 
 side, where Dale's camp lay, retained its autumnal color 
 and warmth. Not till late in winter did the snow creep 
 over this secluded nook. 
 
 The morning came at last, piercingly keen and bright, 
 when Dale saw that the heights were impassable; the 
 realization brought him a poignant regret. He had not 
 guessed how he had wanted to see Helen Rayner again 
 
 205 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 until it was too late. That opened his eyes. A raging 
 frenzy of action followed, in which he only tired himself 
 physically without helping himself spiritually. 
 
 It was sunset when he faced the west, looking up at the 
 pink snow-domes and the dark-golden fringe of spruce, 
 and in that moment he found the truth. 
 
 "I love that girl! I love that girl!" he spoke aloud, to 
 the distant white peaks, to the winds, to the loneliness and 
 silence of his prison, to the great pines and to the murmur- 
 ing stream, and to his faithful pets. It was his tragic 
 confession of weakness, of amazing truth, of hopeless posi- 
 tion, of pitiful excuse for the transformation wrought in 
 him. 
 
 Dale's struggle ended there when he faced his soul. To 
 understand himself was to be released from strain, worry, 
 ceaseless importuning doubt and wonder and fear. But 
 the fever of unrest, of uncertainty, had been nothing cor*^ 
 pared to a sudden upflashing torment of love. 
 
 With somber deliberation he set about the tasks need 
 ful, and others that he might make his camp-fires and 
 meals, the care of his pets and horses, the mending of 
 saddles and pack-harness, the curing of buckskin for 
 moccasins and hunting-suits. So his days were not idle, 
 But all this work was habit for him and needed no applica- 
 tion of mind. 
 
 And Dale, like some men of lonely wilderness lives who 
 did not retrograde toward the savage, was a thinker. 
 Love made him a sufferer. 
 
 The surprise and shame of his unconscious surrender, 
 the certain hopelessness of it, the long years of communion 
 with all that was wild, lonely, and beautiful, the wonder- 
 fully developed insight into nature's secrets, and the sud- 
 den-dawning revelation that he was no omniscient being 
 exempt from the ruthless ordinary destiny of man all 
 these showed him the strength of his manhood and of his 
 passion, and that the life he had chosen was of all lives 
 the one calculated to make love sad and terrible. 
 
 206 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Helen Rayner haunted him. In the sunlight there was 
 not a place around camp which did not picture her lithe, 
 vigorous body, her dark, thoughtful eyes, her eloquent, 
 resolute lips, and the smile that was so sweet and strong. 
 At night she was there like a slender specter, pacing 
 beside him under the moaning pines. Every camp-fire 
 held in its heart the glowing white radiance of her 
 spirit. 
 
 Nature had taught Dale to love solitude and silence, but 
 love itself taught him their meaning. Solitude had been 
 created for the eagle on his crag, for the blasted mountain 
 fir, lonely and gnarled on its peak, for the elk and the 
 wolf. But it had not been intended for man. And to live 
 always in the silence of wild places was to become obsessed 
 with self to think and dream to be happy, which state, 
 however pursued by man, was not good for him. Man 
 must be given imperious longings for the unattainable. 
 
 It needed, then, only the memory of an unattainable 
 woman to render solitude passionately desired by a man, 
 yet almost unendurable. Dale was alone with his secret; 
 and every pine, everything in that park saw him shaken 
 and undone. 
 
 In the dark, pitchy deadness of night, when there was 
 no wind and the cold on the peaks had frozen the water- 
 fall, then the silence seemed insupportable. Many hours 
 that should have been given to slumber were paced out 
 under the cold, white, pitiless stars, under the lonely pines. 
 
 Dale's memory betrayed him, mocked his restraint, 
 cheated him of any peace; and his imagination, sharpened 
 by love, created pictures, fancies, feelings, that drove him 
 frantic. 
 
 He thought of Helen Rayner's strong, shapely brown 
 hand. In a thousand different actions it haunted him. 
 How quick and deft in camp-fire tasks! how graceful and 
 swift as she plaited her dark hair! how tender and skil- 
 ful in its ministration when one of his pets had been 
 injured! how eloquent when pressed tight against her 
 
 207 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 breast in a moment of fear on the dangerous heights! hew 
 expressive of unutterable things when laid on his arm! 
 
 Dale saw that beautiful hand slowly creep up his arm, 
 across his shoulder, and slide round his neck to clasp 
 there. He was powerless to inhibit the picture. And 
 what he felt then was boundless, unutterable. No 
 woman had ever yet so much as clasped his hand, and 
 heretofore no such imaginings had ever crossed his mind, 
 yet deep in him, somewhere hidden, had been this wait- 
 ing, sweet, and imperious need. In the bright day he 
 appeared to ward off such fancies, but at night he was 
 helpless. And every fancy left him weaker, wilder. 
 
 When, at the culmination of this phase of his passion, 
 Dale, who had never known the touch of a woman's lips, 
 suddenly yielded to the illusion of Helen Rayner's kisses, 
 he found himself quite mad, filled with rapture and de- 
 spair, loving her as he hated himself. It seemed as if he 
 had experienced all these terrible feelings in some former 
 life and had forgotten them in this life. He had no right 
 to think of her, but he could not resist it. Imagining the 
 sweet surrender of her lips was a sacrilege, yet here, in 
 spite of will and honor and shame, he was lost. 
 
 Dale, at length, was vanquished, and he ceased to rail 
 at himself, or restrain his fancies. He became a dreamy, 
 sad-eyed, camp-fire gazer, like many another lonely man, 
 separated, by chance or error, from what the heart hun- 
 gered most for. But this great experience, when all its 
 significance had clarified in his mind, immeasurably 
 broadened his understanding of the principles of nature 
 applied to life. 
 
 Love had been in him stronger than in most men, be- 
 cause of his keen, vigorous, lonely years in the forest, 
 where health of mind and body were intensified and pre- 
 served. How simple, how natural, how inevitable! He 
 might have loved any fine-spirited, healthy-bodied girl. 
 Like a tree shooting its branches and leaves, its whole 
 entity, toward the sunlight, so had he grown toward a 
 
 208 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 woman's love. Why? Because the thing he revered in 
 nature, the spirit, the universal, the life that was God, 
 had created at his birth or before his birth the three tre- 
 mendous instincts of nature to fight for life, to feed 
 himself, to reproduce his kind. That was all there was 
 to it. But oh! the mystery, the beauty, the torment, 
 and the terror of this third instinct this hunger for the 
 sweetness and the glory of a woman's love! 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 HELEN RAYNER dropped her knitting into her lap 
 and sat pensively gazing out of the window over 
 the bare yellow ranges of her uncle's ranch. 
 
 The winter day was bright, but steely, and the wind 
 that whipped down from the white-capped mountains 
 had a keen, frosty edge. A scant snow lay in protected 
 places; cattle stood bunched in the lee of ridges; low 
 sheets of dust scurried across the flats. 
 
 The big living-room of the ranch-house was warm and 
 comfortable with its red adobe walls, its huge stone fire- 
 place where cedar logs blazed, and its many-colored blan- 
 kets. Bo Rayner sat before the fire, curled up in an arm- 
 chair, absorbed in a book. On the floor lay the hound 
 Pedro, his racy, fine head stretched toward the warmth. 
 
 "Did uncle call?" asked Helen, with a start out of her 
 reverie. 
 
 "I didn't hear him," replied Bo. 
 
 Helen rose to tiptoe across the floor, and, softly parting 
 some curtains, she looked into the room where her uncle 
 lay. He was asleep. Sometimes he called out in his 
 slumbers. For weeks now he had been confined to his 
 bed, slowly growing weaker. With a sigh Helen returned 
 to her window-seat and took up her work. 
 
 "Bo, the sun is bright," she said. "The days are 
 growing longer. I'm so glad." 
 
 "Nell, you're always wishing time away. For me it 
 passes quickly enough," replied the sister. 
 
 "But I love spring and summer and fall and I guess 
 I hate winter," returned Helen, thoughtfully. 
 
 210 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 The yellow ranges rolled away up to the black ridges 
 and they in turn swept up to the cold, white mountains. 
 Helen's gaze seemed to go beyond that snowy barrier. 
 And Bo's keen eyes studied her sister's earnest, sad 
 face. 
 
 "Nell, do you ever think of Dale?" she queried, sud- 
 denly. 
 
 The question startled Helen. A slow blush suffused 
 neck and cheek. 
 
 "Of course," she replied, as if surprised that Bo should 
 ask such a thing. 
 
 "I I shouldn't have asked that," said Bo, softly, and 
 then bent again over her book. 
 
 Helen gazed tenderly at that bright, bowed head. In 
 this swift-flying, eventful, busy winter, during which the 
 management of the ranch had devolved wholly upon 
 Helen, the little sister had grown away from her. Bo 
 had insisted upon her own free will and she had followed 
 it, to the amusement of her uncle, to the concern of Helen, 
 to the dismay and bewilderment of the faithful Mexican 
 housekeeper, and to the undoing of all the young men on 
 the ranch. 
 
 Helen had always been hoping and waiting for a favor- 
 able hour in which she might find this wilful sister once 
 more susceptible to wise and loving influence. But while 
 she hesitated to speak, slow footsteps and a jingle of spurs 
 sounded without, and then came a timid knock. Bo 
 looked up brightly and ran to open the door. 
 
 "Oh! It's only you!" she uttered, in withering scorn, 
 to the one who knocked. 
 
 Helen thought she could guess who that was. 
 
 "How are you-all?" asked a drawling voice. 
 
 "Well, Mister Carmichael, if that interests you I'm 
 quite ill," replied Bo, freezingly. 
 
 "111! Aw no, now?" 
 
 "It's a fact. If I don't die right off I'll have to be 
 taken back to Missouri," said Bo, casually. 
 
 211 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Are you goin' to ask me in?" queried Carmichael, 
 bluntly. "It's cold an' I've got somethin' to say to " 
 
 "To me? Well, you're not backward, I declare," re- 
 torted Bo. 
 
 "Miss Rayner, I reckon it '11 be strange to you findin' 
 out I didn't come to see you." 
 
 "Indeed! No. But what was strange was the deluded 
 idea I had that you meant to apologize to me like a 
 gentleman. . . . Come in, Mr. Carmichael. My sister is 
 here." 
 
 The door closed as Helen turned round. Carmichael 
 stood just inside with his sombrero in hand, and as he 
 gazed at Bo his lean face seemed hard. In the few months 
 since autumn he had changed aged, it seemed, and the 
 once young, frank, alert, and careless cowboy traits had 
 merged into the making of a man. Helen knew just how 
 much of a man he really was. He had been her mainstay 
 during all the complex working of the ranch that had 
 fallen upon her shoulders. 
 
 "Wai, I reckon you was deluded, all right if you 
 thought I'd crawl like them other lovers of yours," he 
 said, with cool deliberation. 
 
 Bo turned pale, and her eyes fairly blazed, yet even in 
 what must have been her fury Helen saw amaze and pain. 
 
 "Other lovers? I think the biggest delusion here is the 
 way you flatter yourself," replied Bo, stingingly. 
 
 "Me flatter myself? Nope. You don't savvy me. I'm 
 shore hatin' myself these days." 
 
 "Small wonder. I certainly hate you with all my 
 heart!" 
 
 At this retort the cowboy dropped his head and did not 
 see Bo flaunt herself out of the room. But he heard the 
 door close, and then slowly came toward Helen. 
 
 "Cheer up, Las Vegas," said Helen, smiling. "Bo's 
 hot-tempered." 
 
 "Miss Nell, I'm just like a dog. The meaner she 
 treats me the more I love her," he replied, dejectedly. 
 
 212 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 To Helen's first instinct of liking for this cowboy there 
 had been added admiration, respect, and a growing ap- 
 preciation of strong, faithful, developing character. Car- 
 michael's face and hands were red and chapped from 
 winter winds; the leather of wrist-bands, belt, and boots 
 was all worn shiny and thin; little streaks of dust fell 
 from him as he breathed heavily. He no longer looked 
 he dashing cowboy, ready for a dance or lark or fight 
 
 "How in the world did you offend her so?" asked 
 Helen. "Bo is furious. I never saw her so angry as 
 that." 
 
 "Miss Nell, it was jest this way," began Carmichael. 
 "Shore Bo's knowed I was in love with her. I asked her 
 to marry me an' she wouldn't say yes or no. ... An', 
 mean as it sounds she never run away from it, thet's 
 shore. We've had some quarrels two of them bad, an' 
 this last's the worst." 
 
 "Bo told me about one quarrel," said Helen. "It was 
 because you drank that time." 
 
 "Shore it was. She took one of her cold spells an' I 
 jest got drunk." 
 
 "But that was wrong," protested Helen. 
 
 "I ain't so shore. You see, I used to get drunk often 
 before I come here. An' I've been drunk only once. 
 Back at Las Vegas the outfit would never believe thet. 
 Wai, I promised Bo I wouldn't do it again, an 1 I've kept 
 my word." 
 
 "That is fine of you. But tell me, why is she angry 
 now?" 
 
 "Bo makes up to all the fellars," confessed Carmichael, 
 hanging his head. "I took her to the dance last week 
 over in the town-hall. Thet's the first time she'd gone 
 anywhere with me. I shore was proud. . . . But thet 
 dance was hell. Bo carried on somethin' tumble, an' I " 
 
 "Tell me. What did she do?" demanded Helen, anx- 
 iously. "I'm responsible for her. I've got to see that 
 she behaves." 
 
 213 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Aw, I ain't sayin' she didn't behave like a lady,*' re- 
 plied Carmichael. "It was she wal, all them fellars 
 are fools over her an' Bo wasn't true to me." 
 
 "My dear boy, is Bo engaged to you?" 
 
 "Lord if she only was!" he sighed. 
 
 "Then how can you say she wasn't true to you? Be 
 reasonable." 
 
 "I reckon now, Miss Nell, thet no one can be in love 
 an' act reasonable," rejoined the cowboy. "I don't 
 know how to explain, but the fact is I feel thet Bo has 
 played the the devil with me an' all the other fellars." 
 
 "You mean she has flirted?" 
 
 "I reckon." 
 
 "Las Vegas, I'm afraid you're right," said Helen, with 
 growing apprehension. "Go on. Tell me what's hap- 
 pened." 
 
 "Wal, thet Turner boy, who rides for Beasley, he was 
 hot after Bo," returned Carmichael, and he spoke as if 
 memory hurt him. "Reckon I've no use for Turner. 
 He's a fine-lookin', strappin', big cow-puncher, an' calcu- 
 lated to win the girls. He brags thet he can, an' I reckon 
 he's right. Wal, he was always hangin' round Bo. An' 
 he stole one of my dances with Bo. I only had three, an' 
 he comes up to say this one was his. Bo, very innocent 
 oh, she's a cute one! she says, 'Why, Mister Turner 
 is it really yours?' An* she looked so full of joy thet 
 when he says to me, 'Excoose us, friend Carmichael,' I 
 sat there like a locoed jackass an' let them go. But I 
 wasn't mad at thet. He was a better dancer than me an' 
 I wanted her to have a good time. What started the hell 
 was I seen him put his arm round her when it wasn't just 
 time, accordin' to the dance, an' Bo she didn't break 
 any records gettin' away from him. She pushed him 
 away after a little after I near died. Wal, on the way 
 home I had to tell her. I shore did. An' she said what 
 I'd love to forget. Then then, Miss Nell, I grabbed 
 her it was outside here by the porch an' all bright moon- 
 
 214 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 light I grabbed her an' hugged an' kissed her good. 
 "iVhen I let her go I says, sorta brave, but I was plumb 
 scared I says, 'Wai, are you goin' to marry me now?'" 
 
 He concluded with a gulp, and looked at Helen with 
 woe in his eyes. 
 
 "Oh! What did Bo do?" breathlessly queried Helen. 
 
 "She slapped me," he replied. "An' then she says, 
 'I did like you best, but now I hate you!' An' she 
 slammed the door in my face." 
 
 " I think you made a great mistake," said Helen, gravely. 
 
 "Wai, if I thought so I'd beg her forgiveness. But I 
 reckon I don't. What's more, I feel better than before. 
 I'm only a cowboy an' r ever was much good till I met her. 
 Then I braced. I got to havin' hopes, studyin' books, an' 
 you know how I've been lookin' into this ranchin' game. 
 I stopped drinkin' an' saved my money. Wai, she knows 
 all thet. Once she said she was proud of me. But it 
 didn't seem to count big with her. An' if it can't count 
 big I don't want it to count at all. I reckon the madder 
 Bo is at me the more chance I've got. She knows I love 
 her thet I'd die for her thet I'm a changed man. An' 
 she knows I never before thought of darin' to touch her 
 hand. An* she knows she flirted with Turner." 
 
 "She's only a child," replied Helen. "And all this 
 change the West the wildness and you boys making 
 much of her why, it's turned her head. But Bo will come 
 out of it true blue. She is good, loving. Her heart is gold." 
 
 "I reckon I know, an' my faith can't be shook,'' re- 
 joined Carmichael, simply. "But she ought to believe 
 thet she'll make bad blood out here. The West is the West. 
 Any kind of girls are scarce. An' one like Bo Lord! 
 we cowboys never seen none to compare with her. She'll 
 make bad blood an' some of it will be spilled." 
 
 "Uncle Al encourages her," said Helen, apprehensively. 
 "It tickles him to hear how the boys are after her. Oh, 
 she doesn't tell him. But he hears. And I, who must stand 
 in mother's place to her, what can I do?" 
 
 215 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Miss Nell, are you on my side?" asked the cowboy, 
 wistfully. He was strong and elemental, caught in the 
 toils of some power beyond him. 
 
 Yesterday Helen might have hesitated at that question. 
 But to-day Carmichael brought some proven quality of 
 loyalty, some strange depth of rugged sincerity, as if she 
 had learned his future worth. 
 
 "Yes, I am," Helen replied, earnestly. And she offered 
 her hand. 
 
 "Wai, then it '11 shore turn out happy," he said, 
 squeezing her hand. His smile was grateful, but there 
 was nothing in it of the victory he hinted at. Some 
 of his ruddy color had gone. "An' now I want to tell 
 you why I come." 
 
 He had lowered his voice. "Is Al asleep?" he 
 whispered. 
 
 "Yes," replied Helen. "He was a little while ago." 
 
 "Reckon I'd better shut his door." 
 
 Helen watched the cowboy glide across the room and 
 carefully close the door, then return to her with intent eyes. 
 She sensed events in his look, and she divined suddenly 
 that he must feel as if he were her brother. 
 
 "Shore I'm the one thet fetches all the bad news to 
 you," he said, regretfully. 
 
 Helen caught her breath. There had indeed been many 
 little calamities to mar her management of the ranch 
 loss of cattle, horses, sheep the desertion of herders to 
 Beasiey failure of freighters to arrive when most needed 
 fights among the cowboys and disagreements over 
 long-arranged deals. 
 
 "Your uncle Al makes a heap of this here Jeff Mulvey," 
 asserted Carmichael. 
 
 "Yes, indeed. Uncle absolutely relies on Jeff," replied 
 Helen. 
 
 "Wai, I hate to tell you, Miss Nell," said the cowboy, 
 bitterly, "thet Mulvey ain't the man he seems." 
 
 "Oh, what do you mean?" 
 
 216 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "When your uncle dies Mulvey is goin' over to 
 Beasley an' he's goin' to take all the fellars who'll 
 stick to him." 
 
 "Could Jeff be so faithless after so many years my 
 uncle's foreman? Oh, how do you know?" 
 
 "Reckon I guessed long ago. But wasn't shore. Miss 
 Nell, there's a lot in the wind lately, as poor old Al grows 
 weaker. Mulvey has been particular friendly to me an' 
 I've nursed him along, 'cept I wouldn't drink. An' his 
 pards have been particular friends with me, too, more an' 
 more as I loosened up. You see, they was shy of me when 
 I first got here. To-day the whole deal showed clear to 
 me like a hoof track in soft ground. Bud Lewis, who's 
 bunked with me, come out an* tried to win me over to 
 Beasley soon as Auchincloss dies. I palavered with Bud 
 an' I wanted to know. But Bud would only say he was 
 goin' along with Jeff an' others of the outfit. I told him 
 I'd reckon over it an' let him know. He thinks I'll come 
 round." 
 
 "Why why will these men leave me when when 
 Oh, poor uncle! They bargain on his death. But why tell 
 me why?" 
 
 "Beasley has worked on them won them over," replied 
 Carmichael, grimly. "After Al dies the ranch will go to 
 you. Beasley means to have it. He an' Al was pards 
 once, an' now Beasley has most folks here believin' he got 
 the short end of thet deal. He'll have papers shore 
 an' he'll have most of the men. So he'll just put you off 
 an' take possession. Thet's all, Miss Nell, an' you can 
 rely on its bein' true." 
 
 "I I believe you but I can't believe such such rob- 
 bery possible," gasped Helen. 
 
 "It's simple as two an' two. Possession is law out here. 
 Once Beasley gets on the ground it's settled. What could 
 you do with no men to fight for your property?" 
 
 "But, surely, some of the men will stay with me?" 
 
 "I reckon. But not enough." 
 16 217 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Then I can hire more. The Beeman boys. And Dale 
 would come to help me." 
 
 "Dale would come. An' he'd help a heap. I wish he 
 was here," replied Carmichael, soberly. "But there's no 
 way to get him. He's sno wed-up till May." 
 
 "I dare not confide in uncle," said Helen, with agita- 
 tion. "The shock might kill him. Then to tell him of 
 the unfaithfulness of his old men that would be cruel. 
 . . . Oh, it can't be so bad as you think." 
 
 "I reckon it couldn't be no worse. An' Miss Nell, 
 there's only one way to get out of it an' thet's the way 
 of the West." 
 
 "How?" queried Helen, eagerly. 
 
 Carmichael lunged himself erect and stood gazing down 
 at her. He seemed completely detached now from that 
 frank, amiable cowboy of her first impressions. The 
 redness was totally gone from his face. Something strange 
 and cold and sure looked out of his eyes. 
 
 "I seen Beasley go in the saloon as I rode past. Sup- 
 pose I go down there, pick a quarrel with him an' kill 
 him?" 
 
 Helen sat bolt-upright with a cold shock. 
 
 "Carmichael! you're not serious?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Serious? I shore am. Thet's the only way, Miss 
 Nell. An' I reckon it's what Al would want. An' 
 between you an* me it would be easier than ropin' a 
 calf. These fellars round Pine don't savvy guns. New, 
 I come from where guns mean somethin'. An' when I 
 tell you I can throw a gun slick an' fast, why I shore 
 ain't braggin'. You needn't worry none about mei 
 Miss Nell." 
 
 Helen grasped that he had taken the signs of hef 
 shocked sensibility to mean she feared for his life. But 
 what had sickened her was the mere idea of bloodshed in 
 her behalf. 
 
 "You'd kill Beasley just because there are rumors 
 of his treachery?" gasped Helen. 
 
 218 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Shore. It '11 have to be done, anyhow," replied the 
 cowboy. 
 
 "No! No! It's too dreadful to think of. Why, that 
 would be murder. I I can't understand how you speak 
 of it so so calmly." 
 
 "Reckon I ain't doin' it calmly. I'm as mad as hell," 
 said Carmichael, with a reckless smile. 
 
 "Oh, if you are serious then, I say no no no! I for- 
 bid you. I don't believe I'll be robbed of my property." 
 
 "Wai, supposin' Beasley does put you off an' takes 
 possession. What 're you goin* to say then?" demanded 
 the cowboy, in slow, cool deliberation. 
 
 "I'd say the same then as now," she replied. 
 
 He bent his head thoughtfully while his red hands 
 smoothed his sombrero. 
 
 "Shore you girls haven't been West very long," he 
 muttered, as if apologizing for them. "An' I reckon it 
 takes time to learn the ways of a country." 
 
 "West or no West, I won't have fights deliberately 
 picked, and men shot, even if they do threaten me," de- 
 clared Helen, positively. 
 
 "All right, Miss Nell, shore I respect your wishes," he 
 returned. "But I'll tell you this. If Beasley turns you 
 an' Bo out of your home wal, I'll look him up on my own 
 account." 
 
 Helen could only gaze at him as he backed to the door, 
 and she thrilled and shuddered at what seemed his loyalty 
 to her, his love for Bo, and that which was inevitable in 
 himself. 
 
 "Reckon you might save us all some trouble now 
 if yoti'd just get mad an' let me go after thet greaser." 
 
 ' ' Greaser ! Do you mean B easley ? ' ' 
 
 "Shore. He's a half-breed. He was born in Mag- 
 dalena, where I heard folks say nary one of his parents 
 was no good." 
 
 "That doesn't matter. I'm thinking of humanity- 
 of law and order. Of what is right." 
 
 219 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Wai, Miss Nell, I'll wait till you get real mad or till 
 Beasley " 
 
 "But, my friend, I'll not get mad," interrupted Helen. 
 "I'll keep my temper." 
 
 "I'll bet you don't," he retorted. "Mebbe you think 
 you've none of Bo in you. But I'll bet you could get so 
 mad once you started thet you'd be tumble. What 've 
 you got them eyes for, Miss Nell, if you ain't an Auchin- 
 closs?" 
 
 He was smiling, yet he meant every word. Helen felt 
 the truth as something she feared. 
 
 "Las Vegas, I won't bet. But you you will always 
 come to me first i there's trouble." 
 
 "I promise," he replied, soberly, and then went out. 
 
 Helen found that she was trembling, and that there 
 was a commotion in her breast. Carmichael had fright- 
 ened her. No longer did she hold doubt of the gravity 
 of the situation. She had seen Beasley often, several 
 times close at hand, and once she had been forced to meet 
 him. That time had convinced her that he had evinced 
 personal interest in her. And on this account, coupled 
 with the fact that Riggs appeared to have nothing else to 
 do but shadow her, she had been slow in developing her 
 intention of organizing and teaching a school for the 
 children of Pine. Riggs had become rather a doubtful 
 celebrity in the settlements. Yet his bold, apparent bad- 
 ness had made its impression. From all reports he spent 
 his time gambling, drinking, and bragging. It was no 
 longer news in Pine what his intentions were toward 
 Helen Rayner. Twice he had ridden up to the ranch- 
 house, upon one occasion securing an interview with 
 Helen. In spite of her contempt and indifference, he was 
 actually influencing her life there in Pine. And it began 
 to appear that the other man, Beasley, might soon direct 
 stronger significance upon the liberty of her actions. 
 
 The responsibility of the ranch had turned out to be a 
 heavy burden. It could not be managed, at least by her, 
 
 220 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 in the way Auchincloss wanted it done. He was old, 
 irritable, irrational, and hard. Almost all the neighbors 
 were set against him, and naturally did not take kindly 
 to Helen. 
 
 She had not found the slightest evidence of unfair deal- 
 ing on the part of her uncle, but he had been a hard driver. 
 Then his shrewd, far-seeing judgment had made all his 
 deals fortunate for him, which fact had not brought a 
 profit of friendship. 
 
 Of late, since Auchincloss had grown weaker and less 
 dominating, Helen had taken many decisions upon her- 
 self, with gratifying and hopeful results. But the wonderful 
 happiness that she had expected to find in the West still 
 held aloof. The memory of Paradise Park seemed only a 
 dream, sweeter and more intangible as time passed, and 
 fuller of vague regrets. Bo was a comfort, but also a very 
 considerable source of anxiety. She might have been a 
 help to Helen if she had not assimilated Western ways so 
 swiftly. Helen wished to decide things in her own way, 
 which was as yet quite far from Western. So Helen had 
 been thrown more and more upon her own resources, with 
 the cowboy Carmichael the only one who had come for- 
 ward voluntarily to her aid. 
 
 For an hour Helen sat alone in the room, looking out of 
 the window, and facing stern reality with a colder, graver, 
 Keener sense of intimacy than ever before. To hold her 
 property and to live her life in this community according 
 to her ideas of honesty, justice, and law might well be 
 beyond her powers. To-day she had been convinced that 
 she could not do so without fighting for them, and to 
 fight she must have friends. That conviction warmed her 
 toward Carmichael, and a thoughtful consideration of all 
 he had done for her proved that she had not fully appre- 
 ciated him. She would make up for her oversight. 
 
 There were no Mormons in her employ, for the good 
 reason that Auchincloss would not hire them. But in one 
 of his kindlier hours, growing rare now, he had admitted 
 
 221 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 that the Mormons were the best and the most sober, 
 faithful workers on the ranges, and that his sole ob- 
 jection to them was just this fact of their superiority. 
 Helen decided to hire the four Beemans and any of their 
 relatives or friends who would come; and to do this, if 
 possible, without letting her uncle know. His temper now, 
 as well as his judgment, was a hindrance to efficiency. 
 This decision regarding the Beemans brought Helen 
 back to Carmichael's fervent wish for Dale, and then 
 to her own. 
 
 Soon spring would be at hand, with its multiplicity of 
 range tasks. Dale had promised to come to Pine then, and 
 Helen knew that promise would be kept. Her heart beat 
 a little faster, in spite of her business-centered thoughts. 
 Dale was there, over the black-sloped, snowy-tipped 
 mountain, shut away from the world. Helen almost envied 
 him. No wonder he loved loneliness, solitude, the sweet, 
 wild silence and beauty of Paradise Park ! But he was self- 
 ish, and Helen meant to show him that. She needed his 
 help. When she recalled his physical prowess with animals, 
 and imagined what it must be in relation to men, sne 
 actually smiled at the thought of Beasley forcing her off 
 her property, if Dale were there. Beasley would only force 
 disaster upon himself. Then Helen experienced a quick 
 shock. Would Dale answer to this situation as Carmichael 
 had answered? It afforded her relief to assure herself to 
 the contrary. The cowboy was one of a blood-letting breed; 
 the hunter was a man of thought, gentleness, humanity. 
 This situation was one of the kind that had made him 
 despise the littleness of men. Helen assured herself that 
 he was different from her uncle and from the cowboy, in 
 all the relations 01 life which she had observed while with 
 him. But a doubt lingered in her mind. She remembered 
 his calm reference to Snake Anson, and that caused a 
 recurrence of the little shiver Carmichael had given her. 
 When the doubt augmented to a possibility that she might 
 not be able to control Dale, then she tried not to think of 
 
 32? 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 it any more. It confused and perplexed her that into hei 
 mind should flash a thought that, though it would be 
 dreadful for Carmichael to kill Beasley, for Dale to do 
 it would be a calamity a terrible thing. Helen did 
 not analyze that strange thought. She was as afraid 
 of it as she was of the stir in her blood when she 
 visualized *)ale. 
 
 Her meditation was interrupted by Bo, who entered 
 the room, rebellious-eyed and very lofty. Her manner 
 changed, which apparently owed its cause to the fact that 
 Helen was alone. 
 
 "Is that cowboy gone?" she asked. 
 "Yes. He left quite some time ago," replied Helen. 
 "I wondered if he made your eyes shine your color 
 burn so. Nell, you're just beautiful." 
 
 "Is my face burning?" asked Helen, with a little laugh. 
 "So it is. Well, Bo, you've no cause for jealousy. Las 
 Vegas can't be blamed for my blushes." 
 
 "Jealous! Me? Of that wild-eyed, soft-voiced, two-faced 
 cow-puncher? I guess not, Nell Rayner. What 'd he say 
 about me?" 
 
 "Bo, he said a lot," replied Helen, reflectively. "I'll 
 tell you presently. First I want to ask you has Car- 
 michael ever told you how he's helped me?" 
 
 "No! When I see him which hasn't been often lately' 
 he I Well, we fight. Nell, has he helped you?" 
 
 Helen smiled in faint amusement. She was going to be 
 sincere, but she meant to keep her word to the cowboy. 
 The fact was that reflection had acquainted her with her 
 indebtedness to Carmichael. 
 
 "Bo, you've been so wild to ride half -broken mustangs 
 and carry on with cowboys and read and sew and 
 keep your secrets that you've had no time for your sister 
 or her troubles." 
 
 "Nell!" burst out Bo, in amaze and pain. She flew to 
 Helen and seized her hands. "What 're you saying?" 
 "It's all true," replied Helen, thrilling and softening. 
 
 223 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 This sweet sister, once aroused, would be hard to resist. 
 Helen imagined she should hold to her tone of reproach 
 and severity, 
 
 "Sure it's true,'* cried Bo, fiercely. "But what's my 
 fooling got to do with the the rest you said? Nell, are 
 you keeping things from me?" 
 
 "My dear, I never get any encouragement to tell you 
 my troubles." 
 
 "But I've I've nursed uncle sat up with him just 
 the same as you," said Bo, with quivering lips. 
 "Yes, you've been good to him." 
 "We've no other troubles, have we, Nell?" 
 "You haven't, but I have/' responded Helen, reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 "Why why didn't you tell me?" cried Bo, passionately. 
 "What are they? Tell me now. You must think me a a 
 selfish, hateful cat." 
 
 "Bo, I've had much to worry me and the worst is yet 
 to come," replied Helen. Then she told Bo how com- 
 plicated and bewildering was the management of a big 
 ranch when the owner was ill, test} 7 , defective in mem- 
 ory, and hard as steel when he had hoards of gold and 
 notes, but could not or would not remember his obliga- 
 tions when the neighbor ranchers had just claims when 
 cowboys and sheep-herders were discontented, and 
 wrangled among themselves when great herds of cattle 
 and flocks of sheep had to be fed in winter when supplies 
 had to be continually freighted across a muddy desert 
 and lastly, when an enemy rancher was slowly winning 
 away the best hands with the end in view of deliberately 
 taking over the property when the owner died. Then 
 Helen told how she had only that day realized the extent 
 of Carmichael's advice and help and labor how, indeed, 
 he had been a brother to her how 
 
 But at this juncture Bo buried her face in Helen's 
 breast and began to cry wildly. 
 
 "I I don't want to hear any more," she sobbed. 
 
 224 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 ''Well, you've got to hear it," replied Helen, inexorably, 
 *'I want you to know how he's stood by me." 
 
 "But I hate him." 
 
 "Bo, I suspect that's not true." 
 
 "I do I do." 
 
 "Well, you act and talk very strangely then." 
 
 "Nell Rayner are you you sticking up for that - 
 that devil?" 
 
 "I am, yes, so far as it concerns my conscience," rejoined 
 Helen, earnestly. "I never appreciated him as he de- 
 served not until now. He's a man, Bo, every inch of 
 him. I've seen him grow up to that in three months. I'd 
 never have gotten along without him. I think he's fine, 
 manly, big. I " 
 
 "I'll bet he's made love to you, too," replied Bo, 
 woefully. 
 
 "Talk sense," said Helen, sharply. "He has been a 
 brother to me. But, Bo Rayner, if he had made love to 
 me I I might have appreciated it more than you." 
 
 Bo raised her face, flushed in part and also pale, with 
 tear-wet cheeks and the telltale blaze in the blue eyes. 
 
 "I've been wild about that fellow. But I hate him, 
 too," she said, with flashing spirit. "And I want to go 
 on hating him. So don't tell me any more." 
 
 Whereupon Helen briefly and graphically related how 
 Carmichael had offered to kill Beasley, as the only way 
 to save her property, and how, when she refused, that he 
 threatened he would do it anyhow. 
 
 Bo fell over with a gasp and clung to Helen. 
 
 "Oh Nell! Oh, now I love him more than ever," 
 she cried, in mingled rage and despair. 
 
 Helen clasped her closely and tried to comfort her as in 
 the old days, not so very far back, when troubles were 
 not so serious as now. 
 
 "Of course you love him," she concluded. "I guessed 
 that long .*go. And I'm glad. But you've been wilful 
 foolish. You wouldn't surrender to it. You wanted your 
 
 225 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 fling with the other boys. You're Oh, Bo, I fear you 
 have been a sad little flirt." 
 
 "I I wasn't very bad till till he got bossy. Why, 
 Nell, he acted right off just as if he owned me. But he 
 didn't. . . . And to show him I I really did flirt with 
 that Turner fellow. Then he he insulted me. . . . Oh, I 
 hate him!" 
 
 " Nonsense, Bo. You can't hate any one while you love 
 him," protested Helen. 
 
 "Much you know about that," flashed Bo. "You just 
 can! Look here. Did you ever see a cowboy rope and 
 throw and tie up a mean horse? " 
 
 "Yes, I have." 
 
 " Do you have any idea how strong a cowboy is how 
 *iis hands and arms are like iron?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm sure I know that, too." 
 
 "And how savage he is?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And how he goes at anything he wants to do?" 
 
 "I must admit cowboys are abrupt," responded Helen, 
 with a smile. 
 
 "Well, Miss Rayner, did you ever when you were 
 standing quiet like a lady did you ever have a cowboy 
 dive at you with a terrible lunge grab you and hold you 
 so you couldn't move or breathe or scream hug you till 
 all your bones cracked and kiss you so fierce and so hard 
 that you wanted to kill him and die? " 
 
 Helen had gradually drawn back from this blazing- 
 eyed, eloquent sister, and when the end of that remark- 
 able question came it was impossible to reply. 
 
 "There! I see you never had that done to you," 
 resumed Bo, with satisfaction. "So don't ever talk 
 to me." 
 
 "I've heard his side of the story," said Helen, con- 
 strainedly. 
 
 With a start Bo sat up straighter, as if better to defend 
 herself. 
 
 226 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Oh! So you have? And I suppose you'll take his 
 part even about that that bearish trick." 
 
 "No. I think that rude and bold. But, Bo, I don't 
 believe he meant to be either rude or bold. From what he 
 confessed to me I gather that he believed he'd lose you 
 outright or win you outright by that violence. It seems 
 girls can't play at love out here in this wild West. He 
 said there would be blood shed over you. I begin to 
 realize what he meant. He's not sorry for what he did. 
 Think how strange that is. For he has the instincts of a 
 gentleman. He's kind, gentle, chivalrous. Evidently he 
 had tried every way to win your favor except any familiar 
 advance. He did that as a last resort. In my opinion 
 his motives were to force you to accept or refuse him, and 
 in case you refused him he'd always have those forbidden 
 stolen kisses to assuage his self-respect when he thought 
 of Turner or any one else daring to be familiar with you. 
 Bo, I see through Carmichael, even if I don't make him 
 clear to you. You've got to be honest with yourself. 
 Did that act of his win or lose you? In other words, do 
 you love him or not?" 
 
 Bo hid her face. 
 
 "Oh, Nell! it made me see how I loved him and that 
 made me so so sick I hated him. . . . But now the hate 
 is all gone." 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 WHEN spring came at last and the willows drooped 
 green and fresh over the brook and the range 
 rang with bray of burro and whistle of stallion, old Al 
 Auchincloss had been a month in his grave. 
 
 To Helen it seemed longer. The month had been 
 crowded with work, events, and growing, more hopeful 
 duties, so that it contained a world of living. The uncle 
 had not been forgotten, but the innumerable restrictions 
 to development and progress were no longer manifest. 
 Beasley had not presented himself or any claim upon 
 Helen; and she, gathering confidence day by day, began 
 to believe all that purport of trouble had been exaggerated. 
 
 In this time she had come to love her work and all that 
 pertained to it. The estate was large. She had no ac- 
 curate knowledge of how many acres she owned, but it 
 was more than two thousand. The fine, old, rambling 
 ranch-house, set like a fort on the last of the foot-hills, 
 corrals and fields and barns and meadows, and the rolling 
 green range beyond, and innumerable sheep, horses, cattle 
 all these belonged to Helen, to her ever-wondering 
 realization and ever-growing joy. Still, she was afraid 
 to let herseff go and be perfectly happy. Always there 
 Was the fear that had been too deep and strong to forget 
 so soon. 
 
 This bright, fresh morning, in March, Helen came out 
 upon the porch to revel a little in the warmth of sunshine 
 and the crisp, pine-scented wind that swept down from 
 the mountains. There was never a morning that she did 
 not gaze mountainward, trying to see, with a folly she 
 *ealized, if the snow had melted more perceptibly away 
 
 228 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 on the bold white ridge. For all she could see it had not 
 melted an inch, and she would not confess why she sighed. 
 The desert had become green and fresh, stretching away 
 there far below her range, growing dark and purple in 
 the distance with vague buttes rising. The air was full 
 of sound notes of blackbirds and the baas of sheep, and 
 blasts from the corrals, and the clatter of light hoofs on 
 the court below. 
 
 Bo was riding in from the stables. Helen loved to 
 watch her on one of those fiery little mustangs, but the 
 sight was likewise given to rousing apprehensions. This 
 morning Bo appeared particularly bent on frightening 
 Helen. Down the lane Carmichael appeared, waving his 
 arms, and Helen at once connected him with Bo's mani- 
 fest desire to fly away from that particular place. Since 
 that day, a month back, when Bo had confessed her love 
 for Carmichael, she and Helen had not spoken of it or of 
 the cowboy. The boy and girl were still at odds. But 
 this did not worry Helen. Bo had changed much for the 
 better, especially in that she devoted herself to Helen and 
 to her work. Helen knew that all would turn out well 
 in the end, and so she had been careful of her rather pre- 
 carious position between these two young firebrands. 
 
 Bo reined in the mustang at the porch steps. She wore 
 a buckskin riding-suit which she had made herself, and 
 its soft gray with the touches of red beads was mightily 
 becoming to her. Then she had grown considerably during 
 the winter and now looked too flashing and pretty to re- 
 semble a boy, yet singularly healthy and strong and lithe. 
 Red spots shone in her cheeks and her eyes held that 
 ever-dangerous blaze. 
 
 "Nell, did you give me away to that cowboy?" she 
 demanded. 
 
 "Give you away!" exclaimed Helen, blankly. 
 
 "Yes. You know I told you awhile back that I 
 was wildly in low with him. Did you give me away 
 tell on me?" 
 
 229 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 She might have been furious, but she certainly was not 
 confused. 
 
 "Why, Bo! How could you? No. I did not," re- 
 plied Helen. 
 
 "Never gave him a hint?" 
 
 " Not even a hint. You have my word for that. Why? 
 What's happened?" 
 
 "He makes me sick." 
 
 Bo would not say any more, owing to the near approach 
 of the cowboy. 
 
 "Mawnin', Miss Nell," he drawled. "I was just tellin' 
 this here Miss Bo-Peep Rayner " 
 
 "Don't call me that!" broke in Bo, with fire in her 
 voice. 
 
 "Wai, I was just tellin' her thet she wasn't goin' off on 
 any more of them long rides. Honest now, Miss Nell, it 
 ain't safe, an' " 
 
 "You're not my boss," retorted Bo. 
 
 "Indeed, sister, I agree with him. You won't obey 
 me." 
 
 "Reckon some one's got to be your boss," drawled 
 Carmichael. "Shore I ain't hankerin' for the job. You 
 could ride to Kingdom Come or off among the Apaches 
 or over here a ways" at this he grinned knowingly "oi 
 anywheres, for all I cared. But I'm workin' for Miss 
 Nell, an' she's boss. An' if she says you're not to take 
 them rides you won't. Savvy that, miss?" 
 
 It was a treat for Helen to see Bo look at the cowboy. 
 
 "Mis-ter Carmichael, may I ask how you are going to 
 prevent me from riding where I like? " 
 
 "Wai, if you're goin' worse locoed this way I'll keep 
 you off'n a hoss if I have to rope you an' tie you up. By 
 golly, I will!" 
 
 His dry humor was gone and manifestly he meant what 
 he said. 
 
 "Wai," she drawled it very softly and sweetly, but 
 venomously, "if you ever touch me again!" 
 
 230 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 At this he flushed, then made a quick, passionate ges- 
 ture with his hand, expressive of heat and shame. 
 
 "You an' me will never get along," he said, with a dig- 
 nity full of pathos. "I seen thet a month back when you 
 changed sudden-like to me. But nothin' I say to you has 
 any reckonin' of mine. I'm talkin' for your sister. It's 
 for her sake. An' your own. ... I never told her an' I 
 never told you thet I've seen Riggs sneakin' after you 
 twice on them desert rides. Wai, I tell you now." 
 
 The intelligence apparently had not the slightest effect 
 on Bo. But Helen was astonished and alarmed. 
 
 "Riggs! Oh, Bo, I've seen him myself riding around. 
 He does not mean well. You must be careful." 
 
 "If I ketch him again," went on Carmichael, with his 
 mouth lining hard, "I'm goin' after him." 
 
 He gave her a cool, intent, piercing look, then he dropped 
 his head and turned away, to stride back toward the corrals. 
 
 Helen could make little of the manner in which her 
 sister watched the cowboy pass out of sight. 
 
 "A month back when I changed sudden-like," mused 
 Bo. "I wonder what he meant by that. . . . Nell, did 
 I change right after the talk you had with me about 
 him?" 
 
 "Indeed you did, Bo," replied Helen. "But it was for 
 the better. Only he can't see it. How proud and sensitive 
 he is! You wouldn't guess it at first. Bo, your reserve has 
 wounded him more than your flirting. He thinks it's in- 
 difference." 
 
 " Maybe that '11 be good for him," declared Bo. " Does 
 he expect me to fall on his neck ? He's that thick-headed I 
 Why, he's the locoed one, not me." 
 
 "I'd like to ask you, Bo, if you've seen how he has 
 changed?" queried Helen, earnestly. "He's older. He's 
 worried. Either his heart is breaking for you or else he 
 fears trouble for us. I fear it's both. How he watches 
 you! Bo, he knows all you do where you go. That about 
 Riggs sickens me." 
 
 231 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "If Riggs follows me and tries any of his four-flush 
 desperado games he'll have his hands full," said Bo, 
 grimly. "And that without my cowboy protector! But 
 I just wish Riggs would do something. Then we'll see what 
 Las Vegas Tom Carmichael cares. Then we'll see!" 
 
 Bo bit out the last words passionately and jealously, 
 then she lifted her bridle to the spirited mustang. 
 
 "Nell, don't you fear for me," she said. "I can take 
 care of myself." 
 
 Helen watched her ride away, all but willing to confess 
 that there might be truth in what Bo said. Then Helen 
 went about her work, which consisted of routine duties as 
 well as an earnest study to familiarize herself with con- 
 tinually new and complex conditions of ranch life. Every 
 day brought new problems. She made notes of all that 
 she observed, and all that was told her, which habit she 
 had found, after a few weeks of trial, was going to be ex- 
 ceedingly valuable to her. She did not intend always to be 
 dependent upon the knowledge of hired men, however 
 faithful some of them might be. 
 
 This morning on her rounds she had expected develop- 
 ments of some kind, owing to the presence of Roy Beeman 
 and two of his brothers, who had arrived yesterday. And 
 she was to discover that Jeff Mulvey, accompanied by six 
 of his co-workers and associates, had deserted her without 
 a word or even sending for their pay. Carmichael had 
 predicted this. Helen had half doubted. It was a relief 
 now to be confronted with facts, however disturbing. She 
 had fortified herself to withstand a great deal more trouble 
 than had happened. At the gateway of the main corral, 
 a huge inclosure fenced high with peeled logs, she met 
 Roy Beeman, lasso in hand, the same tall, lean, limping 
 figure she remembered so well. Sight of him gave her an 
 inexplicable thrill a flashing memory of an unforgetable 
 night ride. Roy was to have charge of the horses on the 
 ranch, of which there were several hundred, not counting 
 many lost on range and mountain, or the unbranded colts. 
 
 232 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Roy took off his sombrero and greeted her. This Moiv 
 mon had a courtesy for women that spoke well for him, 
 Helen wished she had more employees like him. 
 
 "It's jest as Las Vegas told us it 'd be," he said, regret- 
 fully. "Mulvey an' his pards lit out this mornin'. I'm 
 sorry, Miss Helen. Reckon thet's all because I come over." 
 
 "I heard the news," replied Helen. "You needn't be 
 sorry, Roy, for I'm not. I'm glad. I want to know whom 
 I can trust." 
 
 "Las Vegas says we're shore in for it now." 
 
 "Roy, what do you think?" 
 
 "I reckon so. Still, Las Vegas is powerful cross these 
 days an' always lookin' on the dark side. With us boys, 
 now, it's sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. But, 
 Miss Helen, if Beasley forces the deal there will be serious 
 trouble. I've seen thet happen. Four or five years ago 
 Beasley rode some greasers off their farms an' no one ever 
 knowed if he had a just claim." 
 
 "Beasley has no claim on my property. My uncle 
 solemnly swore that on his death-bed. And I find nothing 
 in his books or papers of those years when he employed 
 Beasley. In fact, Beasley was never uncle's partner. The 
 truth is that my uncle took Beasley up when he was a 
 poor, homeless boy." 
 
 "So my old dad says," replied Roy. "But what's right 
 don't always prevail in these parts." 
 
 "Roy, you're the keenest man I've met since I came 
 West. Tell me what you think will happen." 
 
 Beeman appeared flattered, but he hesitated to reply. 
 Helen had long been aware of the reticence of these outdoor 
 men. 
 
 " I reckon you mean cause an* effect, as Milt Dale would 
 say," responded Roy, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Yes. If Beasley attempts to force me off my ranch 
 what will happen?" 
 
 Roy looked up and met her gaze. Helen remembered 
 that singular stillness, intentness of his face. 
 16 233 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Wai, if Dale an' John get here in time I reckon we can 
 bluff thet Beasley outfit." 
 
 "You mean my friends my men would confront 
 Beasley refuse his demands and if necessary fight 
 him off?" 
 
 "I shore do," replied Roy. 
 
 "But suppose you're not all here? Beasley would be 
 smart enough to choose an opportune time. Suppose he 
 did put me off and take possession? What then?" 
 
 "Then it 'd only be a matter of how soon Dale or Car- 
 michael or I got to Beasley." 
 
 "Roy! I feared just that. It haunts me. Carmichael 
 asked me to let him go pick a fight with Beasley. Asked 
 me, just as he would ask me about his work ! I was shocked. 
 And now you say Dale and you " 
 
 Helen choked in her agitation. 
 
 "Miss Helen, what else could you look for? Las Vegas 
 is in love with Miss Bo. Shore he told me so. An' 
 Dale's in love with you ! . . . Why, you couldn't stop them 
 any more 'n you could stop the wind from blowin' down 
 a pine, when it got ready. . . . Now, it's some different with 
 me. I'm a Mormon an' I'm married. But I'm Dale's 
 pard, these many years. An' I care a powerful sight for 
 you an' Miss Bo. So I reckon I'd draw on Beasley th 
 first chance I got." 
 
 Helen strove for utterance, but it was denied her. 
 Roy's simple statement of Dale's love had magnified her 
 emotion by completely changing its direction. She for- 
 got what she had felt wretched about. She could not 
 look at Roy. 
 
 "Miss Helen, don't feel bad," he said, kindly. "Shore 
 you're not to blame. Your comin' West hasn't made 
 any difference in Beasley's fate, except mebbe to hurry 
 it a little. My dad is old, an' when he talks it's like 
 history. He looks back on happenin's. Wai, it's the 
 nature of happenin's that Beasley passes away before his 
 prime. Them of his breed don't live old in the West. . . . 
 
 234 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 So I reckon you needn't feel bad or worry. You've got 
 friends." 
 
 Helen incoherently thanked him, and, forgetting her 
 usual round of corrals and stables, she hurried back toward 
 the house, deeply stirred, throbbing and dim-eyed, with a 
 feeling she could not control. Roy Beeman had made a 
 statement that had upset her equilibrium. It seemed 
 simple and natural, yet momentous and staggering. To 
 hear that Dale loved her to hear it spoken frankly, 
 earnestly, by Dale's best friend, was strange, sweet, ter- 
 rifying. But was it true? Her own consciousness had 
 admitted it. Yet that was vastly different from a man's 
 open statement. No longer was it a dear dream, a secret 
 that seemed hers alone. How she had lived on that 
 secret hidden deep in her breast! 
 
 Something burned the dimness from her eyes as she 
 looked toward the mountains and her sight became clear, 
 telescopic with its intensity. Magnificently the moun- 
 tains loomed. Black inroads and patches on the slopes 
 showed where a few days back all had been white. The 
 snow was melting fast. Dale would soon be free to ride 
 down to Pine. And that was an event Helen prayed for, 
 yet feared as she had never feared anything. 
 
 The noonday dinner-bell startled Helen from a reverie 
 that was a pleasant aftermath of her unrestraint. How 
 the hours had flown! This morning at least must be 
 credited to indolence. 
 
 Bo was not in the dining-room, nor in her own room, 
 nor was she in sight from window or door. This absence 
 had occurred before, but not particularly to disturb Helen. 
 In this instance, however, she grew worried. Her nerves 
 presaged strain. There was an overcharge of sensibility 
 in her feelings or a strange pressure in the very atmosphere. 
 She ate dinner alone, looking her apprehension, which was 
 not mitigated by the expressive fears of old Maria, the 
 Mexican woman who served her. 
 
 235 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 After dinner she sent word to Roy and Carmichael that 
 they had better ride out to look for Bo. Then Helen 
 applied herself resolutely to her books until a rapid clatter 
 of hoofs out in the court caused her to jump up and hurry 
 to the porch. Roy was riding in. 
 
 "Did you find her?" queried Helen, hurriedly. 
 
 "Wasn't no track or sign of her up the north range," 
 replied Roy, as he dismounted and threw his bridle. "An* 
 I was ridin' back to take up her tracks from the corral an* 
 trail her. But I seen Las Vegas comin' an' he waved his 
 sombrero. He was comin' up from the south. There he 
 is now." 
 
 Carmichael appeared swinging into the lane. He was 
 mounted on Helen's big black Ranger, and he made the 
 dust fly. 
 
 "Wai, he's seen her, thet's shore," vouchsafed Roy, 
 with relief, as Carmichael rode up. 
 
 "Miss Nell, she's comin'," said the cowboy, as he reined 
 in and slid down with his graceful single motion. Then 
 in a violent action, characteristic of him, he slammed his 
 sombrero down on the porch and threw up both arms. 
 "I've a hunch it's come off!" 
 
 "Oh, what?" exclaimed Helen. 
 
 "Now, Las Vegas, talk sense," expostulated Roy. 
 "Miss Helen is shore nervous to-day. Has anythin* 
 happened?" 
 
 "I reckon, but I don't know what," replied Carmichael, 
 drawing a long breath. "Folks, I must be gettin' old. 
 For I shore felt orful queer till I seen Bo. She was ridin' 
 down the ridge across the valley. Ridin' some fast, too, 
 an' she'll be here right off, if she doesn't stop in the village." 
 
 "Wai, I hear her comin' now," said Roy. "An' if 
 you asked me I'd say she was ridin' some fast." 
 
 Helen heard the light, swift, rhythmic beat of hoofs, 
 and then out on the curve of the road that led down to 
 Pine she saw Bo's mustang, white with lather, coming on 
 a dead run. 
 
 236 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Las Vegas, do you see any Apaches?" asked Roy/ 
 quizzingly. 
 
 The cowboy made no reply, but he strode out from the 
 porch, directly in front of the mustang. Bo was pulling 
 hard on the bridle, and had him slowing down, but not 
 controlled. When he reached the house it could easily be 
 seen that Bo had pulled him to the limit of her strength, 
 which was not enough to halt him. Carmichael lunged 
 for the bridle and, seizing it, hauled him to a standstill. 
 
 At close sight of Bo Helen uttered a startled cry. Bo 
 was white; her sombrero was gone and her hair undone; 
 there were blood and dirt on her face, and her riding-suit 
 was torn and muddy. She had evidently sustained a fall. 
 Roy gazed at her in admiring consternation, but Car- 
 michael never looked at her at all. Apparently he was 
 examining the horse. "Well, help me off somebody, ** 
 cried Bo, peremptorily. Her voice was weak, but not net- 
 spirit. 
 
 Roy sprang to help her off, and when she was down it 
 developed that she was lame. 
 
 "Oh, Bo! You've had a tumble," exclaimed Helen, 
 anxiously, and she ran to assist Roy. They led her up 
 the porch and to the door. There she turned to look at 
 Carmichael, who was still examining the spent mustang. 
 
 "Tell him to come in," she whispered. 
 
 " Hey, there, Las Vegas !" called Roy. " Rustle hyar, will 
 you?" 
 
 WTien Bo had been led into the sitting-room and seated 
 in a chair Carmichael entered. His face was a study, as 
 slowly he walked up to Bo. 
 
 "Girl, you ain't hurt?" he asked, huskily. 
 
 "It's no fault of yours that I'm not crippled or dead 
 or worse," retorted Bo. "You said the south range was 
 the only safe ride for me. And there I it happened." 
 
 She panted a little and her bosom heaved. One of her 
 gauntlets was gone, and the bare hand, that was bruised 
 and bloody, trembled as she held it out. 
 
 237 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Dear, tell us are you badly hurt?" queried Helen; 
 with hurried gentleness. 
 
 "Not much. I've had a spill," replied Bo. "But oh! 
 I'm mad I'm boiling!" 
 
 She looked as if she might have exaggerated her 
 doubt of injuries, but certainly she had not over- 
 estimated her state of mind. Any blaze Helen had 
 heretofore seen in those quick eyes was tame compared 
 to this one. It actually leaped. Bo was more than 
 pretty then. Manifestly Roy was admiring her looks, 
 but Carmichael saw beyond her charm. And slowly he 
 was growing pale. 
 
 "I rode out the south range as I was told," began Bo, 
 breathing hard and trying to control her feelings. "That's 
 the ride you usually take, Nell, and you bet if you'd 
 taken it to-day you'd not be here now. . . . About 
 three miles out I climbed off the range up that cedar slope. 
 I always keep to high ground. When I got up I saw two 
 horsemen ride out of some broken rocks of* tc the east. 
 They rode as if to come between me and. home. I didn't 
 like that. I circled south. About a mile farther on I spied 
 another horseman and he showed up directly in front of 
 me and came along slow. That I liked still less. It might 
 have been accident, but it looked to me as if those riders 
 had some intent. All I could do was head off to the south- 
 east and ride. You bet I did ride. But I got into rough 
 ground where I'd never been before. It was slow going, 
 At last I made the cedars and here I cut loose, believing 
 I could circle ahead of those strange riders and come 
 round through Pine. I had it wrong." 
 
 Here she hesitated, perhaps for breath, for she had 
 spoken rapidly, or perhaps to get better hold on her sub- 
 ject. Not improbably the effect she was creating on her 
 listeners began to be significant. Roy sat absorbed, per- 
 fectly motionless, eyes keen as steel, his mouth open. 
 Carmichael was gazing over Bo's head, out of the 
 window, and it seemed that he must know the rest of 
 
 238 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 her narrative. Helen knew that her own wide-eyed at- 
 tention alone would have been all-compelling inspiration 
 o Bo Rayner. 
 
 "Sure I had it wrong," resumed Bo. "Pretty soon I 
 neard a horse behind. I looked back. I saw a big bay 
 riding down on me. Oh, but he was running! He just 
 tore through the cedars. ... I was scared half out of my 
 senses. But I spurred and beat my mustang. Then began 
 a race! Rough going thick cedars washes and gullies! 
 I had to make him run to keep my saddle to pick my 
 way. Oh-h-h ! but it was glorious ! To race for fun that's 
 one thing; to race for your life is another! My heart was 
 in my mouth choking me. I couldn't have yelled. I was 
 as cold as ice dizzy sometimes blind others then my 
 stomach turned and I couldn't get my breath. Yet the 
 wild thrills I had! . . . But I stuck on and held my own 
 for several miles to the edge of the cedars. There the 
 big horse gained on me. He came pounding closer per- 
 haps as close as a hundred yards I could hear him plain 
 enough. Then I had my spill. Oh, my mustang tripped 
 threw me 'way over his head. I hit light, but slid far 
 and that's what scraped me so. I know my knee is raw. 
 . . . When I got to my feet the big horse dashed up, 
 throwing gravel all over me and his rider jumped off. 
 . . . Now who do you think he was?" 
 
 Helen knew, but she did not voice her conviction. 
 Carmichael knew positively, yet he kept silent. Roy was 
 smiling, as if the narrative told did not seem so alarming 
 to him. 
 
 "Wai, the fact of you bein' here, safe an' sound, sorta 
 makes no difference who thet son-of-a-gun was," he said. 
 
 "Riggs! Harve Riggs!" blazed Bo. "The instant I 
 recognized him I got over my scare. And so mad I burned 
 all through like fire. I don't know what I said, but it was 
 wild and it was a whole lot, you bet. 
 "You sure can ride,' he said. 
 
 "I demanded why he had dared to chase me, and he 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Said he had an important message for Nell. This was its 
 *Tell your sister that Beasley means to put her off an' 
 take the ranch. If she'll marry me I'll block his deal. If 
 she won't marry me, I'll go in with Beasley.' Then he 
 told me to hurry home and not to breathe a word to any 
 one except Nell. Well, here I am and I seem to have 
 been breathing rather fast." 
 
 She looked from Helen to Roy and from Roy to Las 
 Vegas. Her smile was for the latter, and to any one not 
 overexcited by her story that smile would have told 
 volumes. 
 
 "Wai, I'll be doggoned!" ejaculated Roy, feelingly. 
 
 Helen laughed. 
 
 " Indeed, the working of that man's mind is beyond me. 
 ttd . Marry him to save my ranch? I wouldn't marry him 
 to save my life!" 
 
 Carmichael sudden 1 y broke his silence. 
 
 "Bo, did you see the other men?" 
 
 "Yes. I was coming to that," she replied. "I caught a 
 glimpse of them back in the cedars. The three were to- 
 gether, or, at least, three horsemen were there. They had 
 halted behind some trees. Then on the way home I began 
 to think. Even in my fury I had received impressions. 
 Riggs was surprised when I got up. I'll bet he had not 
 expected me to be who I was. He thought I was Nell! 
 ... I look bigger in this buckskin outfit. My hair was 
 up till I lost my hat, and that was when I had the tumble. 
 He took me for Nell. Another thing, I remember he 
 made some sign some motion while I was calling him 
 names, and I believe that was to keep those other men 
 back. ... I believe Riggs had a plan with those other 
 men to waylay Nell and make off with her. I absolutely 
 know it." 
 
 "Bo, you're so so you jump at wild ideas so," pro- 
 tested Helen, trying to believe in her own assurance. But 
 inwardly she was trembling. 
 
 " Miss Helen, that ain't a wild idee," said Roy, seriously, 
 
 240 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 04 1 reckon your sister is pretty close on the trail. Las 
 
 Vegas, don't you savvy it thet way?" 
 
 Carmi chad's answer was to stalk out of the room. 
 
 "Call him back!" cried Helen, apprehensively. 
 
 "Hold on, boy!" called Roy, sharply. 
 
 Helen reached the door simultaneously with Roy. The 
 cowboy picked up his sombrero, jammed it on his head, 
 gave his belt a vicious hitch that made the gun-sheath 
 jump, and then in one giant step he was astride Ranger. 
 
 "Carmichael! Stay!" cried Helen. 
 
 The cowboy spurred the black, and the stones rang un- 
 der iron-shod hoofs. 
 
 "Bo! Call him back! Please call him back!" importuned 
 Helen, in distress. 
 
 "I won't," declared Bo Rayner. Her face shone whiter 
 now and her eyes were like fiery flint. That was her 
 answer to a loving, gentle-hearted sister; that was her 
 answer to the call of the West. 
 
 "No use," said Roy, quietly. "An* I reckon I'd better 
 trail him up." 
 
 He, too, strode out and, mounting his horse, galloped 
 swiftly away. 
 
 It turned out that Bo was more bruised and scraped 
 and shaken than she had imagined. One knee was rather 
 badly cut, which injury alone would have kept her from 
 riding again very soon. Helen, who was somewhat skilled 
 at bandaging wounds, worried a great deal over these sun- 
 dry blotches on Bo's fair skin, and it took considerable time 
 to wash and dress them. Long after this was done, and 
 during the early supper, and afterward, Bo's excitement 
 remained unabated. The whiteness stayed on her face 
 and the blaze in her eyes. Helen ordered and begged her to 
 go to bed, for the fact was Bo could not stand up and her 
 hands shook. 
 
 "Go to bed? Not much/' she said. "I want to know 
 he does to Riggs." 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 It was that possibility which had Helen in dreadful 
 suspense. If Carmichael killed Riggs, it seemed to Helen 
 that the bottom would drop out of this structure of West- 
 ern life she had begun to build so earnestly and fearfully. 
 She did not believe that he would do so. But the uncer- 
 tainty was torturing. 
 
 "Dear Bo," appealed Helen, "you don't want Oh! 
 you do want Carmichael to to kill Riggs?" 
 
 "No, I don't, but I wouldn't care if he did," replied 
 Bo, bluntly. 
 
 " Do you think he will?" 
 
 "Nell, if that cowboy really loves me he read my mind 
 right here before he left," declared Bo. "And he knew 
 what I thought he'd do." 
 
 "And what's that?" faltered Helen. 
 
 "I want him to round Riggs up down in the village 
 somewhere in a crowd. I want Riggs shown up as the cow- 
 ard, braggart, four-flush that he is. And insulted, slapped, 
 kicked driven out of Pine!" 
 
 Her passionate speech still rang throughout the room 
 when there came footsteps on the porch. Helen hurried to 
 raise the bar from the door and open it just as a tap 
 sounded on the door-post. Roy's face stood white out of 
 the darkness. His eyes were bright. And his smile made 
 Helen's fearful query needless. 
 
 "How are you-all this evenin'?" he drawled, as he 
 came in. 
 
 A fire blazed on the hearth and a lamp burned on the 
 table. By their light Bo looked white and eager-eyed as 
 she reclined in the big arm-chair. 
 
 "What 'd he do?" she asked, with all her amazing force. 
 
 "Wai, now, ain't you goin' to tell me how you are?" 
 
 "Roy, I'm all bunged up. I ought to be in bed, but I 
 ' just couldn't sleep till I hear what Las Vegas did. I'd 
 forgive anything except him getting drunk." 
 
 "Wai, I shore can ease your mind on thet," replied Roy. 
 "He never drank a drop." 
 
 242 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Roy was distractingly slow about beginning the tale 
 any child could have guessed he was eager to tell. For 
 once the hard, intent quietness, the soul of labor, pain, and 
 endurance so plain in his face was softened by pleasurable 
 emotion. He poked at the burning logs with the toe of his 
 boot. Helen observed that he had changed his boots and 
 now wore no spurs. Then he had gone to his quarters after 
 whatever had happened down in Pine. 
 
 "Where is he?" asked Bo. 
 
 "Who? Riggs? Wai, I don't know. But I reckon he's 
 somewhere out in the woods nursin' himself." 
 
 "Not Riggs. First tell me where he is." 
 
 "Shore, then, you must mean Las Vegas. I just left 
 him down at the cabin. He was gettin' ready for bed, 
 early as it is. All tired out he was an' thet white you 
 wouldn't have knowed him. But he looked happy at thet, 
 an' the last words he said, more to himself than to me, I 
 reckon, was, 'I'm some locoed gent, but if she doesn't call 
 me Tom now she's no good!'" 
 
 Bo actually clapped her hands, notwithstanding that 
 one of them was bandaged. 
 
 "Call him Tom? I should smile I will," she declared, in 
 delight. "Hurry now what 'd " 
 
 "It's shore powerful strange how he hates thet handle 
 Las Vegas," went on Roy, imperturbably. 
 
 "Roy, tell me what he did what Tom did or I'll 
 scream," cried Bo. 
 
 "Miss Helen, did you ever see the likes of thet girl?" 
 asked Roy, appealing to Helen. 
 
 "No, Roy, I never did," agreed Helen. "But please 
 please tell us what has happened." 
 
 Roy grinned and rubbed his hands together in a dark 
 delight, almost fiendish in its sudden revelation of a gulf 
 of strange emotion deep within him. Whatever had hap- 
 pened to Riggs had not been too much for Roy Beeman. 
 Helen remembered hearing her uncle say that a real 
 Westerner hated nothing so hard as the swaggering des- 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 perado, the make-believe gunman who pretended to sail 
 under the true, wild, and reckoning colors of the West. 
 
 Roy leaned his lithe, tall form against the stone mantel- 
 piece and faced the girls. 
 
 "When I rode out after Las Vegas I seen him 'way 
 down the road," began Roy, rapidly. "An' I seen an- 
 other man ridin* down into Pine from the other side. 
 Thet was Riggs, only I didn't know it then. Las Vegas 
 rode up to the store, where some fellars was hangin' 'round, 
 an' he spoke to them. When I come up they was all 
 headin' for Turner's saloon. I seen a dozen hosses hitched 
 to the rails. Las Vegas rode on. But I got off at Turner's 
 an' went in with the bunch. Whatever it was Las Vegas 
 said to them fellars, shore they didn't give him away. 
 Pretty soon more men strolled into Turner's an' there got 
 to be 'most twenty altogether, I reckon. Jeff Mulvey 
 was there with his pards. They had been drinkin' sorta 
 free. An' I didn't like the way Mulvey watched me. So 
 I went out an* into the store, but kept a-lookin' for Las 
 Vegas. He wasn't in sight. But I seen Riggs ridin' up. 
 Now, Turner's is where Riggs hangs out an' does his 
 braggin'. He looked powerful deep an' thoughtful, dis- 
 mounted slow without seem' the onusual number of hosses 
 there, an' then he slouches into Turner's. No more 'n a 
 minute after Las Vegas rode down there like a streak. 
 An' just as quick he was off an' through thet door." 
 
 Roy paused as if to gain force or to choose his words. 
 His tale now appeared all directed to Bo, who gazed at 
 him, spellbound, a fascinated listener. 
 
 "Before I got to Turner's door an' thet was only a 
 little ways I heard Las Vegas yell. Did you ever hear 
 him? Wai, he's got the wildest yell of any cow-puncher 
 I ever heard. Quicklike I opened the door an' slipped in. 
 There was Riggs an' Las Vegas alone in the center of the 
 big saloon, with the crowd edgin' to the walls an' slidin' 
 back of the bar. Riggs was whiter 'n a dead man. I 
 didn't hear an' I don't know what Las Vegas yelled at. 
 
 244 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 him. But Riggs knew an' so did the gang. All of a sud- 
 den every man there shore seen in Las Vegas what Riggs 
 had always bragged he was. Thet time comes to every 
 man like Riggs. 
 
 "'What 'd you call me?' he asked, his jaw shakin'. 
 
 '"I 'ain't called you yet,' answered Las Vegas. * I just 
 whooped.' 
 
 "'What d'ye want?* 
 
 "'You scared my girl.' 
 
 " ' The hell ye say ! Who's she ? ' blustered Riggs, an* he 
 began to take quick looks 'round. But he never moved 
 a hand. There was somethin' tight about the way he 
 stood. Las Vegas had both arms half out, stretched as if 
 he meant to leap. But he wasn't. I never seen Las 
 Vegas do thet, but when I seen him then I understood it. 
 
 '"You know. An' you threatened her an' her sister. 
 Go for your gun,' called Las Vegas, low an' sharp. 
 
 "Thet put the crowd right an' nobody moved. Riggs 
 turned green then. I almost felt sorry for him. He 
 began to shake so he'd dropped a gun if he had pulled one. 
 
 "'Hyar, you're off some mistake I 'ain't seen no 
 gurls I ' 
 
 " 'Shut up an' draw!' yelled Las Vegas. His voice just 
 pierced holes in the roof, an' it might have been a bullet 
 from the way Riggs collapsed. Every man seen in a 
 second more thet Riggs wouldn't an' couldn't draw. He 
 was afraid for his life. He was not what he had claimed 
 to be. I don't know if he had any friends there. But in 
 the West good men an' bad men, all alike, have no use for 
 Riggs's kind. An' thet stony quiet broke with haw-haw. 
 It shore was as pitiful to see Riggs as it was fine to see Las 
 Vegas. 
 
 "When he dropped his arms then I knowed there would 
 be no gun-play. An' then Las Vegas got red in the face. 
 He slapped Riggs with one hand, then with the other. 
 An' he began to cuss him. I shore never knowed thet 
 nice-spoken Las Vegas Carmichael could use such Ian- 
 
 245 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 guage. It was a stream of the baddest names known out 
 here, an' lots I never heard of. Now an' then I caught 
 somethin' like low-down an' sneak an' four-flush an' long- 
 haired skunk, but for the most part they was just the 
 cussedest kind of names. An* Las Vegas spouted them 
 till he was black in the face, an' foamin' at the mouth, an* 
 hoarser 'n a bawlin' cow. 
 
 "When he got out of breath from cussin' he punched 
 Riggs all about the saloon, threw him outdoors, knocked 
 him down an' kicked him till he got up, an' then kept 
 kickin* him down the road with the whole haw-hawin' 
 gang behind. An' he drove him out of town!" 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 FOR two days Bo was confined to her bed, suffering 
 considerable pain, and subject to fever, during which 
 she talked irrationally. Some of this talk afforded Helen 
 as vast an amusement as she was certain it would have 
 lifted Tom Carmichael to a seventh heaven. 
 
 The third day, however, Bo was better, and, refusing 
 to remain in bed, she hobbled to the sitting-room, where 
 she divided her time between staring out of the window 
 toward the corrals and pestering Helen with questions she 
 tried to make appear casual. But Helen saw through her 
 case and was in a state of glee. What she hoped most for 
 was that Carmichael would suddenly develop a little less 
 inclination for Bo. It was that kind of treatment the 
 young lady needed. And now was the great oppor- 
 tunity. Helen almost felt tempted to give the cowboy 
 a hint. 
 
 Neither this day, nor the next, however, did he put in 
 an appearance at the house, though Helen saw him twice 
 on her rounds. He was busy, as usual, and greeted her 
 as if nothing particular had happened. 
 
 Roy called twice, once in the afternoon, and again dur- 
 ing the evening. He grew more likable upon longer ac- 
 quaintance. This last visit he rendered Bo speechless 
 by teasing her about another girl Carmichael was going 
 to take to a dance. Bo's face showed that her vanity 
 could not believe this statement, but that her intelligence 
 of young men credited it with being possible. Roy evi- 
 dently was as penetrating as he was kind. He made a 
 dry, casual little remark about the snow never melting 
 
 247 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 on the mountains during the latter part of March; and 
 the look with which he accompanied this remark brought 
 a blush to Helen's cheek. 
 
 After Roy had departed Bo said to Helen: "Confound 
 that fellow! He sees right through me." 
 
 "My dear, you're rather transparent these days," mur- 
 mured Helen. 
 
 "You needn't talk. He gave you a dig," retorted Bo. 
 "He just knows you're dying to see the snow melt." 
 
 "Gracious! I hope I'm not so bad as that. Of course 
 I want the snow melted and spring to come, and flowers " 
 
 "Ha! Ha! Ha!" taunted Bo. "Nell Rayner, do you 
 see any green in my eyes? Spring to come! Yes, the 
 poet said in the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns 
 to thoughts of love. But that poet meant a young 
 woman." 
 
 Helen gazed out of the window at the white stars. 
 
 "Nell, have you seen him since I was hurt?" con- 
 tinued Bo, with an effort. 
 
 "Him? Who?" 
 
 "Oh, whom do you suppose? I mean Tom!" she re- 
 sponded, and the last word came with a burst. 
 
 "Tom? Who's he? Ah, you mean Las Vegas. Yes, 
 I've seen him." 
 
 "Well, did he ask a-about me?" 
 
 "I believe he did ask how you were something like 
 that." 
 
 "Humph! Nell, I don't always trust you." After 
 that she relapsed into silence, read awhile, and dreamed 
 awhile, looking into the fire, and then she limped over to 
 kiss Helen good night and left the room. 
 
 Next day she was rather quiet, seeming upon the verge 
 of one of the dispirited spells she got infrequently. Early 
 in the evening, just after the lights had been lit and she 
 had joined Helen in the sitting-room, a familiar step 
 sounded on the loose boards of the porch. 
 
 Helen went to the door to admit Carmichael. He was 
 
 248 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 clean-shaven, dressed in his dark suit, which presented 
 such marked contrast from his riding-garb, and he wore 
 a flower in his buttonhole. Nevertheless, despite all this 
 style, he seemed more than usually the cool, easy, careless 
 cowboy. 
 
 "Evenin', Miss Helen," he said, as he stalked in. 
 "Evenin', Miss Bo. How are you-all ? " 
 
 Helen returned his greeting with a welcoming smile. 
 
 "Good evening Tom" said Bo, demurely. 
 
 That assuredly was the first time she had ever called 
 him Tom. As she spoke she looked distractingly pretty 
 and tantalizing. But if she had calculated to floor Car- 
 michael with the initial, half -promising, wholly mock- 
 ing use of his name she had reckoned without cause. The 
 cowboy received that greeting as if he had heard her use 
 it a thousand times or had not heard it at all. Helen 
 decided if he was acting a part he was certainly a clever 
 actor. He puzzled her somewhat, but she liked his look, 
 and his easy manner, and the something about him that 
 must have been his unconscious sense of pride. He had 
 gone far enough, perhaps too far, in his overtures to Bo. 
 
 "How are you feelin'?" he asked. 
 
 "I'm better to-day," she replied, with downcast eyes. 
 'But I'm lame yet." 
 
 "Reckon that bronc piled you up. Miss Helen said 
 there shore wasn't any joke about the cut on your knee. 
 Now, a fellar's knee is a bad place to hurt, if he has to 
 keep on ridin'." 
 
 "Oh, I'll be well soon. How's Sam? I hope he wasn't 
 crippled." 
 
 "Thet Sam why, he's so tough he never knowed he 
 had a fall." 
 
 "Tom I I want to thank you for giving Riggs what 
 he deserved." 
 
 She spoke it earnestly, eloquently, and for once she had 
 no sly little intonation or pert allurement, such as was 
 her wont to use on this infatuated young mat). 
 17 249 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Aw, you heard about that," replied Carmichael, with 
 a wave of his hand to make light of it. "Nothin' much. 
 It had to be done. An' shore I was afraid of Roy. He'd 
 been bad. An' so would any of the other boys. I'm 
 sorta lookin' out for all of them, you know, actin' as Miss 
 Helen's foreman now." 
 
 Helen was unutterably tickled. The effect of his speech 
 upon Bo was stupendous. He had disarmed her. He 
 had, with the finesse and tact and suavity of a diplomat, 
 removed himself from obligation, and the detachment of 
 self, the casual thing he apparently made out of his mag- 
 nificent championship, was bewildering and humiliating 
 to Bo. She sat silent for a moment or two while Helen 
 tried to fit easily into the conversation. It was not likely 
 that Bo would long be at a loss for words, and also it was 
 immensely probable that with a flash of her wonderful 
 spirit she would turn the tables on her perverse lover in 
 a twinkling. Anyway, plain it was that a lesson had sunk 
 deep. She looked startled, hurt, wistful, and finally 
 sweetly defiant. 
 
 "But you told Riggs I was your girl!" Thus Bo un- 
 masked her battery. And Helen could not imagine how 
 Carmichael would ever resist that and the soft, arch glance 
 which accompanied it. 
 
 Helen did not yet know the cowboy, any more than 
 did Bo. 
 
 "Shore. I had to say thet. I had to make it strong 
 before thet gang. I reckon it was presumin' of me, an* 
 I shore apologize." 
 
 Bo stared at him, and then, giving a little gasp, she 
 drooped. 
 
 "Wai, I just run in to say howdy an' to inquire after 
 you-all," said Carmichael. "I'm goin' to the dance, an' 
 as Flo lives out of town a ways I'd shore better rustle. 
 . . . Good night, Miss Bo; I hope you'll be ridin' Sam 
 soon. An' good night, Miss Helen." 
 
 Bo roused to a very friendly and laconic little speech, 
 
 250 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 much overdone. Carmichael strode out, and Helen, bid- 
 ding him good-by, closed the door after him. 
 
 The instant he had departed Bo's transformation was 
 tragic. 
 
 "Flo! He meant Flo Stubbs that ugly, cross-eyed, 
 bold, little frump!" 
 
 "Bo!" expostulated Helen. "The young lady is not 
 beautiful, I grant, but she's very nice and pleasant. I 
 liked her/' 
 
 "Nell Rayner, men are no good! And cowboys are the 
 worst!" declared Bo, terribly. 
 
 "Why didn't you appreciate Tom when you had him?" 
 asked Helen. 
 
 Bo had been growing furious, but now the allusion, in 
 past tense, to the conquest she had suddenly and amaz- 
 ingly found dear quite broke her spirit. It was a very pale, 
 unsteady, and miserable girl who avoided Helen's gaze 
 and left the room. 
 
 Next day Bo was not approachable from any direction. 
 Helen found her a victim to a multiplicity of moods, 
 ranging from woe to dire, dark broodings, from them to 
 wistfulness, and at last to a pride that sustained her. 
 
 Late in the afternoon, at Helen's leisure hour, when she 
 and Bo were in the sitting-room, horses tramped into the 
 court and footsteps mounted the porch. Opening to a 
 loud knock, Helen was surprised to see Beasley. And out 
 in the court were several mounted horsemen. Helen's 
 heart sank. This visit, indeed, had been foreshadowed. 
 
 "Afternoon, Miss Rayner," said Beasley, doffing his 
 sombrero. " I've called on a little business deal. Will you 
 see me?" 
 
 Helen acknowledged his greeting while she thought 
 rapidly. She might just as well see him and have that 
 inevitable interview done with. 
 
 " Come in," she said, and when he had entered she closed 
 the door. "My sister, Mr. Beaslev." 
 
 251 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "How d' you do, Miss?" said the rancher, in bluff, loud 
 voice. 
 
 Bo acknowledged the introduction with a frigid little 
 bow. 
 
 At close range Beasley seemed a forceful personality as 
 well as a rather handsome man of perhaps thirty-five, 
 heavy of build, swarthy of skin, and sloe-black of eye, like 
 that of the Mexicans whose blood was reported to be in 
 him. He looked crafty, confident, and self -centered. If 
 Helen had never heard of him before that visit she would 
 have distrusted him. 
 
 "I'd called sooner, but I was waitin' for old Jose, the 
 Mexican who herded for me when I was pardner to your 
 uncle," said Beasley, and he sat down to put his huge 
 gloved hands on his knees. 
 
 "Yes?" queried Helen, interrogatively. 
 
 " Jose* rustled over from Magdalena, an' now I can back 
 up my claim. . . . Miss Rayner, this hyar ranch ought 
 to be mine an' is mine. It wasn't so big or so well stocked 
 when Al Auchincloss beat me out of it. I reckon I'll allow 
 for thet. I've papers, an* old Jos for witness. An' I 
 calculate you'll pay me eighty thousand dollars, or else I'll 
 take over the ranch." 
 
 Beasley spoke in an ordinary, matter-of-fact tone that 
 certainly seemed sincere, and his manner was blunt, but 
 perfectly natural. 
 
 "Mr. Beasley, your claim is no news to me," responded 
 Helen, quietly. " I've heard about it. And I questioned my 
 uncle. He swore on his death-bed that he did not owe you 
 a dollar. Indeed, he claimed the indebtedness was yours 
 to him. I could find nothing in his papers, so I must repu- 
 diate your claim. I will not take it seriously." 
 
 "Miss Rayner, I can't blame you for takin' Al's word 
 against mine," said Beasley. "An* your stand is natural. 
 But you're a stranger here an' you know nothin' of stock 
 deals in these ranges. It ain't fair to speak bad of the dead, 
 but the truth is thet Al Auchincloss got his start by stealii?' 
 
 252 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 sheep an* unbranded cattle. Thet was the start of every 
 rancher I know. It was mine. An* we none of us ever 
 thought of it as rustlin'." 
 
 Helen could only stare her surprise and doubt at this 
 statement. 
 
 "Talk's cheap anywhere an' in the West talk ain't 
 much at all," continued Beasley. "I'm no talker. I jest 
 want to tell my case an' make a deal if you'll have it. I 
 can prove more in black an' white, an' with witness, than 
 you can. Thet's my case. The deal I'd make is this. . . . 
 Let's marry an' settle a bad deal thet way." 
 
 The man's direct assumption, absolutely without a 
 qualifying consideration for her woman's attitude, was 
 amazing, ignorant, and base; but Helen was so well pre- 
 pared for it that she hid her disgust. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Beasley, but I can't accept your 
 offer," she replied. 
 
 "Would you take time an' consider?" he asked, spread- 
 ing wide his huge gloved hands. 
 
 "nosolutely no." 
 
 Beasley rose to his feet. He showed no disappointment 
 or chagrin, but the bold pleasantness left his face, and, 
 slight as that change was, it stripped him of the only re- 
 deeming quality he showed. 
 
 "Thet means I'll force you to pay me the eighty thou- 
 sand or put you off," he said. 
 
 "Mr. Beasley, even if I owed you that, how could I 
 raise so enormous a sum? I don't owe it. And I certainly 
 won't be put off my property. You can't put me off." 
 
 "An' why can't I?" he demanded, with lowering, dark 
 gaze. 
 
 " Because your claim is dishonest. And I can prove it," 
 declared Helen, forcibly. 
 
 "Who 're you goin' to prove it to thet I'm dishonest?" 
 
 "To my men to your men to the people of Pine to 
 everybody. There's not a person who won't believe me." 
 
 He seemed curious, discomfited, surlily annoyed, and 
 
 253 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 yet fascinated by her statement or else by the quality 
 and appearance of her as she spiritedly defended hei 
 cause. 
 
 "An' how 're you goin' to prove all thet?" he growled. 
 
 "Mr. Beasley, do you remember last fall when you 
 met Snake Anson with his gang tip in the woods and 
 hired him to make off with me?" asked Helen, in swift, 
 ringing words. 
 
 The dark olive of Beasley's bold face shaded to a dirty 
 white. 
 
 "Wha-at?" he jerked out, hoarsely. 
 
 "I see you remember. Well, Milt Dale was hidden in 
 the loft of that cabin where you met Anson. He heard 
 every word of your deal with the outlaw." 
 
 Beasley swung his arm in sudden violence, so hard that 
 he flung his glove to the floor. As he stooped to snatch 
 it up he uttered a sibilant hiss. Then, stalking to the 
 door, he jerked it open, and slammed it behind him. Hu 
 loud voice, hoarse with passion, preceded the scrape and 
 crack of hoofs. 
 
 Shortly after supper that day, when Helen was just 
 recovering her composure, Carmichael presented himself 
 at the open door. Bo was not there. In the dimming 
 twilight Helen saw that the cowboy was pale, somber, 
 grim. 
 
 "Oh, what's happened?" cried Helen. 
 
 "Roy's been shot. It come off in Turner's saloon. 
 But he ain't dead. We packed him over to Widow Cass's. 
 An' he said for me to tell you he'd pull through." 
 
 "Shot! Pull through!" repeated Helen, in slow, un- 
 realizing exclamation. She was conscious of a deep inter- 
 nal tumult and a cold checking of blood in all her external 
 body. 
 
 "Yes, shot," replied Carmichael, fiercely. "An 1 , what- 
 ever he says, I reckon he won't pull through." 
 
 " O Heaven, how terrible ! " burst out Helen. " He wa3 
 
 254 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 so good such a man! What a pity! Oh, he must have 
 met that in my behalf. Tell me, what happened? Who 
 shot him?" 
 
 4 'Wai, I don't know. An* thet's what's made me 
 hoppin' mad. I wasn't there when it come off. An* he 
 won't tell me.'* 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I don't know thet, either. I reckoned first it was 
 because he wanted to get even. But, afte r thinkin' it 
 over, I guess he doesn't want me lookin' up any one right 
 now for fear I might get hurt. An' you're goin' to need 
 your friends. Thet's all I can make of Roy." 
 
 Then Helen hurriedly related the event of Beasley's 
 call on ber that afternoon and all that had occurred. 
 
 "Wai, the half-breed son-of-a-greaser ! " ejaculated Car- 
 michael, in utter confoundment. "He wanted you to 
 marry him " 
 
 "He certainly did. L must say it was a a rather 
 abrupt proposal." 
 
 Carmichael appeared to be laboring with speech that 
 had to be smothered behind his teeth. At last he let out 
 an explosive breath. 
 
 "Miss Nell, I've shore felt in my bones thet I'm the boy 
 slated to brand thet big bull." 
 
 "Oh, he must have shot Roy. He left here in a rage." 
 
 "I reckon you can coax it out of Roy. Fact is, all I 
 could learn was thet Roy come in the saloon alone. 
 Beasley was there, an Riggs " 
 
 "Riggs!" interrupted B-len. 
 
 " Shore, Riggs. He come back again. But he'd better 
 keep out of my way. ... An : Jeff Mulvey with his outfit. 
 Turner told me he heard an argument an* then a shot. 
 The gang cleared out, leavin' Roy on the floor. I come 
 in a little later. Roy was still layin' there. Nobody was 
 doin' anythin' for him. An' nobody had. I hold that 
 against Turner. Wai, I got help an' packed Roy over to 
 Widow Cass's. Roy seemed all right. But he was too 
 
 255 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 bright an* talky to suit me. The bullet hit his lung f 
 thet's shore. An' he lost a sight of blood before we 
 stopped it. Thet skunk Turner might have lent a hand, 
 An* if Roy croaks I reckon I'll " 
 
 "Tom, why must you always be reckoning to kill some- 
 body?" demanded Helen, angrily. 
 
 " 'Cause somebody's got to be killed 'round here. Thet's 
 why!" he snapped back. 
 
 "Even so -should you risk leaving Bo and me without 
 a friend?" asked Helen, reproachfully. 
 
 At that Carmichael wavered and lost something of his 
 sullen deadliness. 
 
 ' ' Aw, Miss Nell, I'm only mad. If you'll just be patient 
 
 with me an' mebbe coax me But I can't see no other 
 
 way out." 
 
 "Let's hope and pray," said Helen, earnestly. "You 
 spoke of my coaxing Roy to tell who shot him. When 
 can I see him?" 
 
 "To-morrow, I reckon. I'll come for you. Fetch Bo 
 along with you. We've got to play safe from now on. 
 An' what do you say to me an' Hal sleepin* here at the 
 ranch-house?" 
 
 " Indeed I'd feel safer," she replied. "There are rooms. 
 Please come." 
 
 "All right. An' now I'll be goin' to fetch Hal. Shore 
 wish I hadn't made you pale an' scared like this." 
 
 About ten o'clock next morning Carmichael drove 
 Helen and Bo into Pine, and tied up the team before 
 Widow Cass's cottage. 
 
 The peach- and apple-trees were mingling blossoms of 
 pink and white; a drowsy hum of bees filled the fragrant 
 air; rich, dark-green alfalfa covered the small orchard 
 fiat; a wood fire sent up a lazy column of blue smoke; 
 and birds were singing sweetly. 
 
 Helen could scarcely believe that amid all this tran- 
 quillity a man lay perhaps fatally injured. Assuredly 
 
 356 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Carmichael had been somber and reticent enough tfe 
 rouse the gravest fears. 
 
 Widow Cass appeared on the little porch, a gray, bent f 
 worn, but cheerful old woman whom Helen had come to 
 know as her friend. 
 
 "My land! I'm thet glad to see you, Miss Helen," 
 she said. "An* you've fetched the little lass as I've not 
 got acquainted with yet." 
 
 "Good morning, Mrs. Cass. How how is Roy?" re- 
 plied Helen, anxiously scanning the wrinkled face. 
 
 "Roy? Now don't you look so scared. Roy's 'most 
 ready to git on his hoss an' ride home, if I let him. He 
 knowed you was a-comin'. An' he made me hold a 
 lookin'-glass for him to shave. How's thet fer a man 
 with a bullet-hole through him! You can't kill them 
 Mormons, nohow." 
 
 She led them into a little sitting-room, where on a 
 couch underneath a window Roy Beeman lay. He was 
 wide awake and smiling, but haggard He lay partly 
 covered with a blanket. His gray shirt was open at the 
 neck, disclosing bandages. 
 
 "Mornin* girls," he drawled. "Shore is good of you, 
 now, comin' down." 
 
 Helen stood beside him, bent over him, in her earnest- 
 ness, as she greeted him. She saw a shade of pain in his 
 eyes and his immobility struck her, but he did not seem 
 badly off. Bo was pale, round-eyed, and apparently too 
 agitated to speak. Carmichael placed chairs beside the 
 couch for the girls. 
 
 "Wai, what's ailin' vou this nice mornin'?" asked Roy f 
 eyes on the cowboy. 
 
 " Huh ! Would you expect me to be wearin' the smile of 
 a fellar goin' to be married?" retorted Carmichael. 
 
 "Shore you haven't made up with Bo yet," returned 
 Roy. 
 
 Bo blushed rosy red, and the cowboy's face lost some 
 thing of its somber hue. 
 
 257 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 *'I all^w it's none of your d darn bizness if she 'ain^l 
 made up with me," he said. 
 
 "Las Vegas, you're a wonder with a hoss an' a rope, an c 
 I reckon with a gun, but when it comes to girls you shore 
 ain't there." 
 
 "I'm no Mormon, by golly! Come, Ma Cass, let's get 
 out of here, so they can talk." 
 
 "Folks, I was jest a-goin' to say thet Roy's got fever 
 an 1 he oughtn't t' talk too much," said the old woman* 
 Then she and Carmichael went into the kitchen and closed 
 the door. 
 
 Roy looked up at Helen with his keen eyes, more kindly 
 piercing than ever. 
 
 "My brother John was here. He'd just left when 
 you come. He rode home to tell my folks I'm not 
 so bad hurt, an* then he's goin' to ride a bee-line into 
 the mountains." 
 
 Helen's eyes asked what her lips refused to utter. 
 
 "He's goin' after Dale. I sent him. I reckoned we-all 
 orta needed sight of thet doggone hunter." 
 
 Roy had averted his gaze quickly to Bo. 
 
 "Don't you agree with me, lass?" 
 
 " I sure do," replied Bo, heartily. 
 
 All within Helen had been stilled for the moment of her 
 realization; and then came swell and beat of heart, and 
 inconceivable chafing of a tide at its restraint. 
 
 " Can John fetch Dale out when the snow's so deep?' 1 
 she asked, unsteadily. 
 
 "Shore. He's takin 1 two bosses up to the snow-line. 
 Then, if necessary, he'll go over the pass on snow-shoes. 
 But I bet him Dale would ride out. Snow's about gone 
 except on the north slopes an' on the peaks." 
 
 "Then when ma> I we expect to see Dale?" 
 
 "Three or four days, I reckon. I wish he was here 
 now. . . . Miss Helen, there's trouble afoot." 
 
 "I realize that. I'm ready. Did Las Vegas tell 
 ebout Beasley's visit to me?" 
 
 35? 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "No. You tell me," replied Roy. 
 
 Briefly Helen began to acquaint him with the circum- 
 stances of that visit, and before she had finished she made 
 sure Roy was swearing to himself. 
 
 "He asked you to marry him! Jerusalem! . . . Thet 
 I'd never have reckoned. The low-down coyote of a 
 greaser! . . . Wai, Miss Helen, when I met up with 
 Senor Beasley last night he was shore spoilin' from some- 
 thin'; now I see what thet was. An' I reckon I picked 
 out the bad time." 
 
 "For what? Roy, what did you do?" 
 
 "Wai, I'd made up my mind awhile back to talk ta 
 Beasley the first chance I had. An' thet was it. I was in 
 the store when I seen him go into Turner's. So I followed. 
 It was 'most dark. Beasley an' Riggs an' Mulvey an' some 
 more were drinkin' an' powwowin'. So I just braced him 
 right then." 
 
 "Roy! Oh, the way you boys court danger!" 
 
 "But, Miss Helen, thet's the only way. To be afraid 
 makes more danger. Beasley 'peared civil enough first off. 
 Him an' me kept edgin' off, an' his pards kept edgin' after 
 us, I'll we got over in a corner of the saloon. I don't 
 know all I said to him. Shore I talked a heap. I told him 
 what my old man thought. An* Beasley knowed as well 
 as I thet my old man's not only the oldest inhabitant here- 
 abouts, but he's the wisest, too. An' he wouldn't tell a 
 lie. Wai, I used all his savin's in my argument to show 
 Beasley thet if he didn't haul up short he'd end almost 
 as short. Beasley's thick-headed, an' powerful conceited. 
 Vain as a peacock! He couldn't see, an' he got mad. I 
 told him he was rich enough without robbin' you of your 
 ranch, an* wal, I shore put up a big talk for your side. 
 By this time he an' his gang had me crowded in a corner, 
 an* from their looks I begun to get cold feet. But I was 
 in it an' had to make the best of it. The argument worked 
 down to his pinnin' me to my word thet I'd fight for you 
 when thet fight come off. An' I shore told him for my own 
 
 259 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 sake I wished it 'd come off quick. . . . Then wal theft 
 somethin' did come off quick!" 
 
 " Roy, then he shot you !" exclaimed Helen, passionately. 
 
 "Now, Miss Helen, I didn't say who done it," replied 
 Roy, with his engaging smile. 
 
 "Tell me, then who did?" 
 
 "Wal, I reckon I sha'n't tell you unless you promise 
 not to tell Las Vegas. Thet cowboy is plumb off his head. 
 He thinks he knows who shot me an' I've been lyin' 
 somethin' scandalous. You see, if he learns then he'll go 
 gunnin'. An', Miss Helen, thet Texan is bad. He might 
 get plugged as I did an' there would be another man put 
 off your side when the big trouble comes." 
 
 "Roy, I promise you I will not tell Las Vegas," replied 
 Helen, earnestly. 
 
 "Wal, then it was Riggs!" Roy grew still paler as he 
 confessed this and his voice, almost a whisper, expressed 
 shame and hate. "Thet four-flush did it. Shot me from 
 behind Beasley! I had no chance. I couldn't even see 
 him draw. But when I fell an' lay there an' the others 
 dropped back, then I seen the smokin' gun in his band. 
 He looked powerful important. An' Beasley began to cuss 
 him an' was cussin' him as they all run out." 
 
 "Oh, coward! the despicable coward!" cried Helen. 
 "No wonder Tom wants to find out!" exclaimed Bo, low 
 and deep. "I'll bet he suspects Rifgs." 
 
 " Shore he does, but I wouldn't give him no satisfaction." 
 
 "Roy, you know that Riggs can't last out here." 
 
 "Wal, I hope he lasts till I get on my feet again." 
 
 ''There you go! Hopeless, all you boys! You must 
 spill blood!" murmured Helen, shudderingly. 
 
 "Dear Miss Helen, don't take on so. I'm like Dale 
 no man to hunt up trouble. But out here there's a sort 
 of unwritten law an eye for an eye a tooth for a 
 tooth. I believe in God Almighty, an' killin' is against 
 xny religion, but Riggs shot me the same as shootin' 
 me in the back." 
 
 260 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Roy, I'm only a woman I fear, faint-hearted and 
 unequal to this West." 
 
 "Wait till somethin' happens to you. Supposin' Beas- 
 ley conies an' grabs you with his own dirty big paws an', 
 after maulin' you some, throws you out of your home! 
 Or supposin' Riggs chases you into a corner!" 
 
 Helen felt the start of all her physical being a violent 
 leap of blood. But she could only judge of her looks from 
 the grim smile of the wounded man as he watched her with 
 his keen, intent eyes. 
 
 "My friend, anythin' can happen," he said. "But let's 
 hope it won't be the worst." 
 
 He had begun to show signs of weakness, and Helen, 
 rising at once, said that she and Bo had better leave him 
 then, but would come to see him the next day. At her 
 call Carmichael entered again with Mrs. Cass, and after a 
 few remarks the visit was terminated. Carmichael lingered 
 in the doorway. 
 
 "Wai, cheer up, you old Mormon!" he called. 
 
 "Cheer up yourself, you cross old bachelor!" retorted 
 Roy, quite unnecessarily loud. "Can't you raise enough 
 nerve to make up with Bo?" 
 
 Carmichael evacuated the doorway as if he had been 
 spurred. He was quite red in the face while he unhitched 
 the team, and silent during the ride up to the ranch-house. 
 There he got down and followed the girls into the sitting- 
 room. He appeared still somber, though not sullen, and 
 had fully regained his composure. 
 
 "Did you find out who shot Roy?" he asked, abruptly, 
 of Helen. 
 
 "Yes. But I promised Roy I would not tell," replied 
 Helen, nervously. She averted her eyes from his searching 
 gaze, intuitively fearing his next query. 
 
 "Wasitthet Riggs?" 
 
 " Las Vegas, don't ask me. I will not break my promise.' 9 
 
 He strode to the window and looked out a moment, and 
 presently, when he turned toward Bo, he seemed a stronger^ 
 
 261 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 loftier, more impelling man, with all his emotions under 
 control. 
 
 " Bo, will you listen to me if I swear to speak the truth 
 as I know it?" 
 
 "Why, certainly," replied Bo, with the color coming 
 gwiftly to her face. 
 
 "Roy doesn't want me to know because he wants to 
 meet thet fellar himself. An* I want to know because I 
 want to stop him before he can do more dirt to us or our 
 friends. Thet's Roy's reason an' mine. An' I'm askin* 
 you to tell me." 
 
 "But, Tom I oughtn't," replied Bo, haltingly. 
 
 "Did you promise Roy not to tell?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Or your sister?" 
 
 "No. I didn't promise either." 
 
 "Wai, then you tell me. I want you to trust me in this 
 here matter. But not because I love you an' once had a 
 wild dream you might care a little for me " 
 
 "Oh Tom!" faltered Bo. 
 
 "Listen. I want you to trust me because I'm the one 
 who knows what's best. I wouldn't lie an' I wouldn't say 
 so if I didn't know shore. I swear Dale will back me up. 
 But he can't be here for some days. An' thet gang has 
 got to be bluffed. You ought to see this. I reckon you've 
 been quick in sawyin' Western ways. I couldn't pay you 
 no higher compliment, Bo Rayner. . . . Now will you 
 tell me?" 
 
 "Yes, I will," replied Bo, with the blaze leaping to her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Oh, Bo please don't please don't. Wait !' ' implored 
 Helen. 
 
 "Bo it's between you an* me," said Carmichael. 
 
 "Tom, I'll tell you," whispered Bo. "It was a low- 
 down, cowardly trick. . . . Roy was surrounded and 
 shot from behind Beasley by that four-flush Riggs!" 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE memory of a woman had ruined Milt Dale's 
 peace, had confounded his philosophy of self-suffi- 
 cient, lonely happiness in the solitude of the wilds, had 
 forced him to come face to face with his soul and the fatal 
 significance of life. 
 
 When he realized his defeat, that things were not as 
 they seemed, that there was no joy for him in the coming 
 of spring, that he had been blind in his free, sensorial, 
 Indian relation to existence, he fell into an inexplicably 
 strange state, a despondency, a gloom as deep as the silence 
 of his home. Dale reflected that the stronger an animal, 
 the keener its nerves, the higher its intelligence, the greater 
 must be its suffering under restraint or injury. He thought 
 of himself as a high order of animal whose great physical 
 need was action, and now the incentive to action seemed 
 dead. He grew lax. He did not want to move. He per- 
 formed his diminishing duties under compulsion. 
 
 He watched for spring as a liberation, but not that he 
 could leave the valley. He hated the cold, he grew weary 
 of wind and snow; he imagined the warm sun, the park 
 once more green with grass and bright with daisies, the 
 return of birds and squirrels and deer to their old haunts, 
 would be the means whereby he could break this spell 
 upon him. Then he might gradually return to past con- 
 tentment, though it would never be the same. 
 
 But spring, coming early to Paradise Park, brought a 
 fever to Dale's blood a fire of unutterable longing. It 
 was good, perhaps, that this was so, because he seemed 
 driven to work, climb, tramp, and keen Ceaselessly on 
 
 263 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 the move from dawn till dark. Action strengthened his 
 lax muscles and kept him from those motionless, sense- 
 less hours of brooding. He at least need not be ashamed 
 of longing for that which cou d never be his the sweet- 
 ness of a woman a home full of light, joy, hope, the 
 meaning and beauty of children. But those dark moods 
 were sinkings into a pit of hell. 
 
 Dale had not kept track of days and weeks. He did 
 not know when the snow melted off three slopes of Para- 
 dise Park. All he knew was that an age had dragged over 
 his head and that spring had come. During his restless 
 waking hours, and even when he was asleep, there seemed 
 always in the back of his mind a growing consciousness 
 that soon he would emerge from this trial, a changed 
 man, ready to sacrifice his chosen lot, to give up his lonely 
 life of selfish indulgence in lazy affinity with nature, and 
 to go wherever his strong hands might perform some real 
 service to people. Nevertheless, he wanted to linger in 
 this mountain fastness until his ordeal was over until 
 he could meet her, and the world, knowing himself more 
 of a man than ever before. 
 
 One bright morning, while he was at his camp-fire, the 
 tame cougar gave a low, growling warning. Dale was 
 startled. Tom did not act like that because of a prowl- 
 ing grizzly or a straying stag. Presently Dale espied a 
 horseman riding slowly out of the straggling spruces. 
 And with that sight Dale's heart gave a leap, recalling 
 to him a divination of his future relation to his kind. 
 Never had he been so glad to see a man ! 
 
 This visitor resembled one of the Beemans, judging 
 from the way he sat his horse, and presently Dale recog- 
 nized him to be John. 
 
 At this juncture the jaded horse was spurred into a 
 trot, soon reaching the pines and the camp. 
 
 1 'Howdy, there, you ole b'ar-hunter ! " called John, wav- 
 ing his hand. 
 
 For all his hearty greeting his appearance checked a 
 
 264 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 like response from Dale. The horse was mud to hi& 
 flanks and John was mud to his knees, wet, bedraggled, 
 worn, and white. This hue of his face meant more than 
 fatigue. 
 
 "Howdy, John?" replied Dale. 
 
 They shook hands. John wearily swung his leg over 
 the pommel, but did not at once dismount. His clear 
 gray eyes were wonderingly riveted upon the hunter. 
 
 "Milt what 'n hell's wrong?" he queried. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Bust me if you ain't changed so I hardly loiowed you, 
 You've been sick all alone here!" 
 
 "Do I look sick?" 
 
 "Wai, I should smile. Thin an' pale an' down in the 
 mouth ! Milt, what ails you ? " 
 
 "I've gone to seed." 
 
 "You've gone off your head, jest as Roy said, livin' 
 alone here. You overdid it, Milt. An' you look sick." 
 
 "John, my sickness is here," replied Dale, soberly, as 
 he laid a hand on his heart. 
 
 "Lung trouble!" ejaculated John. "With thet chest, 
 an' up in this air? ... Get out!" 
 
 "No not lung trouble," said Dale. 
 
 "I savvy. Had a hunch from Roy, anyhow." 
 
 "What kind of a hunch?" 
 
 "Easy now, Dale, ole man. . . . Don't you reckon I'm 
 ridin' in on you pretty early? Look at thet hoss!" John 
 slid off and waved a hand at the drooping beast, then be- 
 gan to unsaddle him. "Wai, he done great. We bogged 
 some comin' over. An' I climbed the pass at night on 
 the frozen snow." 
 
 "You're welcome as the flowers in May. John, what 
 month is it?" 
 
 "By spades! are you as bad as thet? . . . Let's see. It's 
 the twenty-third of March." 
 
 "March! Well, I'm beat. I've lost my reckonin' 
 an' a lot more, maybe." 
 18 265 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Thar!" declared John, slapping the mustang. "You 
 can jest hang up here till my next trip. Milt, how 're 
 your hosses?" 
 
 "Wintered fine." 
 
 "Wai, thet's good. We'll need two big, strong hosses 
 right off." 
 
 "What for?" queried Dale, sharply. He dropped a 
 stick of wood and straightened up from the camp-fire. 
 
 "You're goin' to ride down to Pine with me thet's 
 what for." 
 
 Familiarly then came back to Dale the quiet, intent 
 suggestiveness of the Beemans in moments foreboding 
 trial. 
 
 At this certain assurance of John's, too significant to 
 be doubted, Dale's thought of Pine gave slow birth to a 
 strange sensation, as if he had been dead and was vibrat- 
 ing back to life. 
 
 "Tell what you got to tell ! " he broke out. 
 
 Quick as a flash the Mormon replied: " Roy's been shot. 
 But he won't die. He sent for you. Bad deal's afoot. 
 Beasley means to force Helen Rayner out an' steal her 
 ranch." 
 
 A tremor ran all through Dale. It seemed another 
 painful yet thrilling connection between his past and this 
 vaguely calling future. His emotions had been broodings 
 dreams, longings. This thing his friend said had the 
 sting of real life. 
 
 "Then old Al's dead?" he asked. 
 
 "Long ago I reckon around the middle of February. 
 The property went to Helen. She's been doin' fine. An' 
 many folks say it's a pity she'll lose it." 
 
 "She won't lose it," declared Dale. How strange his 
 voice sounded to his own ears! .It was hoarse and un- 
 real, as if from disuse. 
 
 "Wai, we-all have our idees. I say she will. My 
 father says so. Carmichael says so." 
 
 "Who's he?" 
 
 266 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Reckon you remember thet cow-puncher who came 
 up with Roy an' Auchincloss after the girls last fall?" 
 
 "Yes. They called him Las Las Vegas. I liked his 
 looks." 
 
 "Humph ! You'll like him a heap when you know him. 
 He's kept the ranch goin' for Miss Helen all along. But 
 the deal's comin' to a head. Beasley's got thick with 
 thet Riggs. You remember him?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Wai, he's been hangin' out at Pine all winter, watchin* 
 for some chance to get at Miss Helen or Bo. Everybody's 
 seen thet. An' jest lately he chased Bo on hossback 
 gave the kid a nasty fall. Roy says Riggs was after Miss 
 Helen. But I think one or t'other of the girls would do 
 thet varmint. Wai, thet sorta started goin's-on. Car- 
 michael beat Riggs an' drove him out of town. But he 
 come back. Beasley called on Miss Helen an' offered 
 to ttxarry her so's not to take the ranch from her, he 
 said." 
 
 Dale awoke with a thundering curse. 
 
 "Shore!" exclaimed John. "I'd say the same only 
 I'm religoos. Don't thet beady-eyed greaser's gall make 
 you want to spit all over yourself? My Gawd! but Roy 
 was mad! Roy's powerful fond of Miss Helen an' Bo. 
 . . . Wai, then, Roy, first chance he got, braced Beasley 
 an' give him some straight talk. Beasley was foamin' at 
 the mouth, Roy said. It was then Riggs shot Roy. Shot 
 him from behind Beasley when Roy wasn't lookin'! An* 
 Riggs brags of bein' a gun-fighter. Mebbe thet wasn't a 
 bad shot for him!" 
 
 " I reckon," replied Dale, as he swallowed hard. "Now, 
 just what was Roy's message to me?" 
 
 "Wai, I can't remember all Rcy said," answered John, 
 dubiously. "But Roy shore was excited an' dead in ear- 
 nest. He says: 'Tell Milt what's happened. Tell him 
 Helen Rayner's in more danger than she was last fall. 
 Tell him I've seen her look away acrost the mountains 
 
 267 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 toward Paradise Park with her heart in her eyes. Tell 
 him she needs him most of all!' " 
 
 Dale shook all over as with an attack of ague. He was 
 seized by a whirlwind of passionate, terrible sweetness of 
 sensation, when what he wildly wanted was to curse Roy 
 and John for their simple-minded conclusions. 
 
 " Roy's 'crazy!" panted Dale. 
 
 "Wai, now, Milt thet's downright surprisin* of you. 
 Roy's the level-headest of any fellars I know." 
 
 "Man! if he made me believe him an' it turned out 
 untrue I'd I'd kill him," replied Dale. 
 
 "Untrue! Do you think Roy Beeman would lie?" 
 
 "But, John you fellows can't see my case. Nell Rayner 
 wants me needs me! ... It can't be true!" 
 
 "Wai, my love-sick pard it jest is true!" exclaimed 
 John, feelingly. "Thet's the hell of life never knowin'. 
 But here it's joy for you. You can believe Roy Beeman 
 about women as quick as you'd trust him to track your 
 lost hoss. Roy's married three girls. I reckon he'll marry 
 some more. Roy's only twenty-eight an' he has two big 
 farms. He said he'd seen Nell Rayner's heart in her eyes, 
 lookin' for you an' you can jest bet your life thet's true. 
 An' he said it because he means you to rustle down there 
 an' fight for thet girl." 
 
 "I'll go," said Dale, in a shaky whisper, as he sat 
 down on a pine log near the fire. He stared unseeingly at 
 the bluebells in the grass by his feet while storm after 
 storm possessed his breast. They were fierce and brief 
 because driven by his will. In those few moments of con- 
 tending strife Dale was immeasurably removed from that 
 dark gulf of self which had made his winter a nightmare. 
 And when he stood erect again it seemed that the old 
 earth had a stirring, electrifying impetus for his feet. 
 Something black, bitter, melancholy, and morbid, always 
 unreal to him, had passed away forever. The great 
 moment had been forced upon him. He did not believe 
 Roy Beeman's preposterous hint regarding Helen; but 
 
 268 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 he had gone back or soared onward, as if by magic, 
 to his old true self. 
 
 Mounted on Dale's strongest horses, with only a light 
 pack, an ax, and their weapons, the two men had reached 
 the snow-line on the pass by noon that day. Tom, the tame 
 cougar, trotted along in the rear. 
 
 The crust of the snow, now half thawed by the sun, 
 would not hold the weight of a horse, though it upheld the 
 men on foot. They walked, leading the horses. Travel was 
 not difficult until the snow began to deepen; then progress 
 slackened materially. John had not been able to pick 
 out the line of the trail, so Dale did not follow his tracks. 
 An old blaze on the trees enabled Dale to keep fairly well 
 to the trail; and at length the height of the pass was 
 reached, where the snow was deep. Here the horses 
 labored, plowing through foot by foot. When, finally, they 
 sank to their flanks, they had to be dragged and goaded 
 on, and helped by thick flat bunches of spruce boughs 
 placed under their hoofs. It took three hours of breaking 
 toil to do the few hundred yards of deep snow on the height 
 of the pass. The cougar did not have great difficulty in 
 following, though it was evident he did not like such 
 traveling. 
 
 That behind them, the horses gathered heart and worked 
 on to the edge of the steep descent, where they had all 
 they could do to hold back from sliding and rolling. Fast 
 time was made on this slope, at the bottom of which began 
 a dense forest with snow still deep in places and windfalls 
 hard to locate. The men here performed Herculean labors, 
 but they got through to a park where the snow was gone. 
 The ground, however, soft and boggy, in places was more 
 treacherous than the snow; and the travelers had to skirt 
 the edge of the park to a point opposite, and then go on 
 through the forest. When they reached bare and solid 
 ground, just before dark that night, it was high time, for 
 
 the horses were ready to drop, and the men likewise. 
 
 ?6.o 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Camp was made in an open wood. Darkness fell and the 
 men were resting on bough beds, feet to the fire, with Tom 
 curled up close by, and the horses still drooping where they 
 had been unsaddled. Morning, however, discovered them 
 grazing on the long, bleached grass. John shook his head 
 when he looked at them. 
 
 "You reckoned to make Pine by nightfall. How far 
 is it the way you'll go?" 
 
 " Fifty mile or thereabouts," replied Dale. 
 
 " Wai, we can't ride it on them critters." 
 
 "John, we'd do more than that if we had to." 
 
 They were saddled and on the move before sunrise, 
 leaving snow and bog behind. Level parks and level forests 
 led one after another to long slopes and steep descents, 
 all growing sunnier and greener as the altitude diminished. 
 Squirrels and grouse, turkeys and deer, and less tame 
 denizens of the forest grew more abundant as the travel 
 advanced. In this game zone, however, Dale had trouble 
 with Tom. The cougar had to be watched and called often 
 to keep hin? off of trails. 
 
 "Tom doesn't like 9 long trip," said Dale. "But I'm 
 goin* to take him. Somfc way or other hf roay come in 
 
 handy." 
 
 "Sic him onto Beasley's gang," replied John. "Some t 
 men are powerful scared of cougars. But I never was." 
 
 "Nor me. Though I've had cougars give me a darn 
 uncanny feelin'." 
 
 The men talked but little. Dale led the way, with 
 Tom trotting noiselessly beside his horse. John followed 
 close behind. They loped the horses across parks, trotted 
 through the forests, walked slow up what few inclines they 
 met, and slid down the soft, wet, pine-matted descents. 
 So they averaged from six to eight miles an hour. The 
 horses held up well under that steady travel, and this with- 
 out any rest at noon, 
 
 Dale seemed to feel himself in an emotional trance. Yet, 
 despite this, the same old sensorial perceptions crowded 
 
 270 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 thick and fast upon him, strangely sweet and vivid after 
 the past dead months when neither sun nor wind nor cloud 
 nor scent of pine nor anything in nature could stir him. 
 His mind, his heart, his soul seemed steeped in an intoxi- 
 cating wine of expectation, while his eyes and ears and 
 nose had never been keener to register the facts of the 
 forest-land. He saw the black thing far ahead that resem- 
 bled a burned stump, but he knew was a bear before it 
 vanished ; he saw gray flash of deer and wolf and coyote, 
 and the red of fox, and the small, wary heads of old gob- 
 blers just sticking above the grass ; and he saw deep tracks 
 of game as well as the slow-rising blades of bluebells where 
 some soft-footed beast had just trod. And he heard the 
 melancholy notes of birds, the twitter of grouse, the sough 
 of the wind, the light dropping of pine-cones, the near 
 and distant bark of squirrels, the deep gobble of a turkey 
 close at hand and the challenge from a rival far away, the 
 cracking of twigs in the thickets, the murmur of running 
 water, the scream of an eagle and the shrill cry of a hawk, 
 and always the soft, dull, steady pads of the hoofs of the 
 horses. 
 
 The smells, too, were the sweet, stinging ones of 
 spring, warm and pleasant the odor of the clean, 
 fresh earth cutting its way through that thick, strong 
 fragrance of pine, the smell of logs rotting in the sun, 
 and of fresh new grass and flowers along a brook of 
 snow-water. 
 
 "I smell smoke," said Dale, suddenly, as he reined in, 
 and turned for corroboration from his companion. 
 
 John sniffed the warm air. 
 
 "Wai, you're more of an Injun than me," he replied, 
 shaking his head. 
 
 They traveled on, and presently came out upon the rim 
 of the last slope. A long league of green slanted below 
 them, breaking up into straggling lines of trees and groves 
 that joined the cedars, and these in turn stretched on and 
 down in gray-black patches to the desert, that glittering 
 
 27* 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 and bare, with streaks of somber hue, faded in the obscur- 
 ity of distance. 
 
 The village of Pine appeared to nestle in a curve of the 
 edge of the great forest, and the cabins looked like tiny 
 white dots set in green. 
 
 "Look there," said Dale, pointing. 
 
 Some miles to the right a gray escarpment of rock 
 cropped out of the slope, forming a promontory; and from 
 it a thin, pale column of smoke curled upward to be lost 
 from sight as soon as it had no background of green. 
 
 "Thet's your smoke, shore enough/' replied John, 
 thoughtfully. "Now, I jest wonder who's campin' there. 
 No water near or grass for hosses." 
 
 "John, that point's been used for smoke signals many 
 a time." 
 
 "Was jest thinkin' of thet same. Shall we ride around 
 there an' take a peek?" 
 
 "No. But we'll remember that. If Beasley's got his 
 deep scheme goin', he'll have Snake Anson's gang some- 
 where close." 
 
 "Roy said thet same. Wai, it's some three hours till 
 sundown. The hosses keep up. I reckon I'm fooled, for 
 we'll make Pine all right. But old Tom there, he's tired 
 or lazy." 
 
 The big cougar was lying down, panting, and his half- 
 shut eyes were on Dale. 
 
 " Tom's only lazy an' fat. He could travel at this gait for 
 a week. But let's rest a half-hour an' watch that smoke 
 before movin' on. We can make Pine before sundown." 
 
 When travel had been resumed, half-way down the slope 
 Dale's sharp eyes caught a broad track where shod horses 
 had passed, climbing in a long slant toward the promon- 
 tory. He dismounted to examine it, and John, coming up, 
 proceeded with alacrity to get off and do likewise. Dale 
 made his deductions, after which he stood in a brown study 
 beside his horse, waiting for John. 
 
 272 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Wai, what 'd you make of these here tracks?" asked 
 that worthy. 
 
 "Some horses an' a pony went along here yesterday, an' 
 to-day a single horse made that fresh track." 
 
 "Wai, Milt, for a hunter you ain't so bad at hoss tracks," 
 observed John. "But how many hosses went yesterday?*' 
 
 " I couldn't make out several maybe four or five." 
 
 "Six hosses an' a colt or little mustang, unshod, to be 
 strict correct. Wai, supposin' they did. What's it mean 
 to us?" 
 
 "I don't know as I'd thought anythin' unusual, if it 
 hadn't been for that smoke we saw off the rim, an' then 
 this here fresh track made along to-day. Looks queer 
 to me." 
 
 "Wish Roy was here," replied John, scratching his head. 
 " Milt, I've a hunch, if he was, he'd foller them tracks." 
 
 " Maybe. But we haven't time for that. We can back- 
 trail them, though, if they keep clear as they are here, 
 An' we'll not lose any time, either." 
 
 That broad track led straight toward Pine, down to the 
 edge of the cedars, where, amid some jagged rocks, evi- 
 dences showed that men had camped there for days. 
 Here it ended as a broad trail. But from the north came 
 the single fresh track made that very day, and from the 
 east, more in a line with Pine, came two tracks made the 
 day before. And these were imprints of big and little hoofs. 
 Manifestly these interested John more than they did Dale, 
 who had to wait for his companion. 
 
 "Milt, it ain't a colt's thet little track," avowed John. 
 
 "Why not an' what if it isn't?" queried Dale. 
 
 "Wai, it ain't, because a colt always straggles back, 
 an' from one side to t'other. This little track keeps 
 close to the big one. An', by George! it was made by 
 a led mustang." 
 
 John resembled Roy Beeman then with that leaping, 
 intent fire in his gray eyes. Dale's reply was to spur his 
 horse into a trot and call sharply to the lagging cougar. 
 
 273 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 When they turned into the broad, blossom-bordered 
 road that was the only thoroughfare of Pine the sun was 
 setting red and gold behind the mountains. The horses 
 were too tired for any more than a walk. Natives of the 
 village, catching sight of Dale and Beeman, and the huge 
 gray cat following like a dog, called excitedly to one an- 
 other. A group of men in front of Turner's gazed intently 
 down the road, and soon manifested signs of excitement. 
 Dale and his comrade dismounted in front of Widow 
 Cass's cottage. And Dale called as he strode up the little 
 path. Mrs. Cass came out. She was white and shaking, 
 but appeared calm. At sight of her John Beeman drew a 
 sharp breath. 
 
 "Wai, now " he began, hoarsely, and left off. 
 
 "How's Roy?" queried Dale. 
 
 "Lord knows I'm glad to see you, boys! Milt, you're 
 thin an' strange-lookin'. Roy's had a little setback. He 
 got a shock to-day an' it thro wed him off. Fever an' now 
 he's out of his head. It won't do no good for you to waste 
 time seein' him. Take my word for it he's all right. But 
 there's others as For the land's sakes, Milt Dale, you 
 fetched thet cougar back! Don't let him near me!" 
 
 "Tom won't hurt you, mother," said Dale, as the 
 cougar came padding up the path. "You were savin' 
 somethin' about others. Is Miss Helen safe? Hurry!" 
 
 "Ride up to see her an' waste no more time here." 
 
 Dale was quick in the saddle, followed by John, but the 
 horses had to be severely punished to force them even to 
 a trot. And that was a lagging trot, which now did not 
 leave Tom behind. 
 
 The ride up to Auchincloss's ranch-house seemed endless 
 to Dale. Natives came out in the road to watch after he 
 had passed. Stern as Dale was in dominating his feelings, 
 he could not wholly subordinate his mounting joy to a 
 waiting terrible anticipation of catastrophe. But no mat- 
 ter what awaited nor what fateful events might hinge 
 upon this nameless circumstance about to be disclosed, 
 
 274 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 the wonderful and glorious fact of the present was that ia 
 a moment he would see Helen Rayner. 
 
 There were saddled horses in the courtyard, but no 
 riders. A Mexican boy sat on the porch bench, in the 
 seat where Dale remembered he had encountered Al 
 Auchincloss. The door of the big sitting-room was open. 
 The scent of flowers, the murmur of bees, the pounding of 
 hoofs came vaguely to Dale. His eyes dimmed, so that 
 the ground, when he slid out of his saddle, seemed far 
 below him. He stepped upon the porch. His sight sud- 
 denly cleared. A tight fullness at his throat mada inco- 
 herent the words he said to the Mexican boy. But they 
 were understood, as the boy ran back around the house. 
 Dale knocked sharply and stepped over the threshold. 
 
 Outside, John, true to his habits, was thinking, even in 
 that moment of suspense, about the faithful, exhausted 
 horses. As he unsaddled them he talked: "Per soft 
 an' fat hosses, winterin' high up, wal, you've done 
 somethin'!" 
 
 Then Dale heard a voice in another room, a step, a 
 creak of the door. It opened. A woman in white ap- 
 peared. He recognized Helen. But instead of the rich 
 brown bloom and dark-eyed beauty so hauntingly limned 
 on his memory, he saw a white, beautiful face, strained 
 and quivering in anguish, and eyes that pierced his heart. 
 He could not speak. 
 
 "Oh! my friend you've come!" she whispered. 
 
 Dale put out a shaking hand. But she did not see it. 
 She clutched his shoulders, as if to feel whether or not he 
 was real, and then her arms went up round his neck. 
 
 "Oh, thank God! I knew you would come!" she said, 
 and her head sank to his shoulder. 
 
 Dale divined what he had suspected. Helen's sister had 
 been carried off. Yet, while his quick mind grasped Helen's 
 broken spirit the unbalance that was reason for this 
 marvelous and glorious act he did not take other meaning 
 of the embrace to himself. He just stood there, trans-' 
 
 275 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 ported, charged like a tree struck by lightning, making 
 sure with all his keen senses, so that he could feel forever, 
 how she was clinging round his neck, her face over his 
 bursting heart, her quivering form close pressed to his. 
 
 4 'It's Bo," he said, unsteadily. 
 
 "She went riding yesterday and never came 
 back!" replied Helen, brokenly. 
 
 "I've seen her trail. She's been taken into the woods. 
 I'll find her. I'll fetch her back," he replied, rapidly. 
 
 With a shock she seemed to absorb his meaning. With 
 another shock she raised her face leaned back a little to 
 look at him. 
 
 "You'll find her fetch her back?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered, instantly. 
 
 With that ringing word it seemed to Dale she realized 
 how she was standing. He felt her shake as she dropped 
 her arms and stepped back, while the white anguish of her 
 face was flooded out by a wave of scarlet. But she was 
 brave in her confusion. Her eyes never fell, though they 
 changed swiftly, darkening with shame, amaze, and with 
 feelings he could not read. 
 
 "I'm almost out of my head," she faltered. 
 
 "No wonder. I saw that. . . . But now you must get 
 clear-headed. I've no time to lose." 
 
 He led her to the door. 
 
 "John, it's Bo that's gone," he called. "Since yester- 
 day. . . . Send the boy to get me a bag of meat an' bread. 
 You run to the corral an' get me a fresh horse. My old 
 horse Ranger if you can find him quick. An' rustle." 
 
 Without a word John leaped bareback on one of the horses 
 he had just unsaddled and spurred him across the courtyard. 
 
 Then the big cougar, seeing Helen, got up from where 
 he lay on the porch and came to her. 
 
 "Oh, it's Tom!" cried Helen, and as he rubbed against 
 her knees she patted his head with trembling hand. 
 "You big, beautiful pet! Oh, how I remember! Oh, how" 
 Bo would love to " 
 
 276 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Where's Carmichael?" interrupted Dale. "Out hunt- 
 in* Bo?" 
 
 "Yes. It was he who missed her first. He rode every- 
 where yesterday. Last night when he came back he was 
 wild. I've not seen him to-day. He made all the other 
 men but Hal and Joe stay home on the ranch." 
 
 "Right. An' John must stay, too," declared Dale. 
 "But it's strange. Carmichael ought to have found the 
 girl's tracks. She was ridin' a pony?'" 
 
 " Bo rode Sam. He's a little bronc, very strong and fast." 
 
 1 ' I come across his tracks. How 'd Carmichael miss them ?" 
 
 "He didn't. He found them trailed them all along 
 the north range. That's where he forbade Bo to go. You 
 see, they're in love with each other. They've been at odds. 
 Neither will give in. Bo disobeyed him. There's hard 
 ground off the north range, so he said. He was able to 
 follow her tracks only so far." 
 
 "Were there any other tracks along with hers?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Miss Helen, I found them 'way southeast of Pine Up 
 on the slope of the mountain. There were seven other 
 horses makin' that trail when we run across it. On tha 
 way down we found a camp where men had waited. An* 
 Bo's pony, led by a rider on a big horse, come into that 
 camp from the east maybe north a little. An' that tells 
 the story." 
 
 "Riggs ran her down made off with her!" cried Helen, 
 passionately. "Oh, the villain! He had men in waiting. 
 That's Beasley's work. They were after me." 
 
 "It may not be just what you said, but that's close 
 enough. An' Bo's in a bad fix. You must face that an* 
 try to bear up under fears of the worst." 
 
 " My friend! You will save her!" 
 
 "I'll fetch her back, alive or dead." 
 
 "Dead! Oh, my God!" Helen cried, and closed her 
 eyes an instant, to open them burning black. "But Bo 
 isn't dead. I know that I feel it. She'll not die very 
 
 277 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 easy. She's a little savage. She has no fear. She'd fight 
 like a tigress for her life. She's strong. You remember 
 how strong. She can stand anything. Unless they murder 
 her outright she'll live a long time through any ordeal. 
 ... So I beg you, my friend, don't lose an hour don't 
 ever give up!" 
 
 Dale trembled under the clasp of her hands. Loosing 
 his own from her clinging hold, he stepped out on the porch. 
 At that moment John appeared on Ranger, coming at a 
 gallop. 
 
 "Nell, I'll never come back without her," said Dale. 
 "I reckon you can hope only be prepared. That's all. 
 It's hard. But these damned deals are common out here 
 in the West." 
 
 "Suppose Beasley comes here!" exclaimed Helen, and 
 again her hand went out toward him. 
 
 "If he does, you refuse to get off," replied Dale. "But 
 don't let hi-*" or his greasers put a dirty hand on you. 
 Should he tL. .ten force why, pack some clothes an* 
 your valuables an' go down to Mrs. Cass's. An' wait 
 till I come back!" 
 
 "Wait till you come back!" she faltered, slowly turn- 
 ing white again. Her dark eyes dilated. "Milt you're 
 like Las Vegas. You'll kill Beasley!" 
 
 Dak heard his own laugh, very cold and strange, for- 
 eign to his ears. A grim, deadly hate of Beasley vied with 
 the tenderness and pity he felt for this distressed girl. It 
 was a sore trial to see her leaning there against the door 
 to be compelled to leave her alone. Abruptly he stalked 
 off the porch. Tom followed him. The black horse whin- 
 nied his recognition of Dale and snorted at sight of the 
 cougar. Just then the Mexican boy returned with a bag. 
 Dale tied this, with the small pack, behind the saddle. 
 
 "John, you stay here with Miss Helen," said Dale. 
 "An' if Carmichael comes back, keep him, too! An' to- 
 night, if any one rides into Pine from the way we come, 
 you be sure to spot him." 
 
 278 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "I'll do thet, Milt," responded John. 
 
 Dale mounted, and, turning for a last word to Helen, he 
 felt the words of cheer halted on his lips as he saw her 
 standing white and broken-hearted, with her hands to 
 her bosom. Hs could not look twice. 
 
 "Come on there, you Tom," he called to the cougar. 
 "Reckon on this track you'll pay me for all my trainin' of 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, my friend!" came Helen's sad voice, almost a 
 whisper to his throbbing ears. "Heaven help you to 
 save her! I" 
 
 Then Ranger started and Dale heard no more. He 
 could not look back. His eyes were full of tears and his 
 breast ached. By a tremendous effort he shifted that 
 emotion called on all the spiritual energy of his being to 
 the duty of this grim task before him. 
 
 He did not ride down through the village, but skirted 
 the northern border, and worked round to the south, 
 where, coming to the trail he had made an hour past, he 
 headed on it, straight for the slope now darkening in the 
 twilight. The big cougar showed more willingness to re- 
 turn on this trail than he had shown in the coming. Ranger 
 was fresh and wanted to go, but Dale held him in. 
 
 A cool wind blew down from the mountain with the 
 coming of n'ght. Against the brightening stars Dale saw 
 the promontory lift its bold outline. It was miles away. 
 It haunted him, strangely calling. A night, and perhaps 
 a day, separated him from the gang that held Bo Rayner 
 prisoner. Dale had no plan as yet. He had only a motive 
 as great as the love he bore Helen Rayner. 
 
 Beasley's evil genius had planned this abduction. Riggs 
 was a tool, a cowardly knave dominated by a stronger will. 
 Snake Anson and his gang had lain in wait at that cedar 
 camp; had made that broad hoof track leading up the 
 mountain. Beasley had been there with them that very 
 dp 7. All this was as assured to Dale as if he had seen tha 
 men. 
 
 279 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 But the matter of Dale's recovering the girl and dotng 
 it speedily strung his mental strength to its highest pitch. 
 Many outlines of action flashed through his mind as he 
 rode on, peering keenly through the night, listening with 
 practised ears. All were rejected. And at the outset of 
 every new branching of thought he would gaze down at 
 the gray form of the cougar, long, graceful, heavy, as he 
 padded beside the horse. From the first thought of return- 
 ing to help Helen Rayner he had conceived an undefined 
 idea of possible value in the qualities of his pet. Tom had 
 performed wonderful feats of trailing, but he had never 
 been tried on men. Dale believed he could make him trail 
 anything, yet he had no proof of this. One fact stood out 
 of all Dale's conjectures, and it was that he had known 
 men, and brave men, to fear cougars. 
 
 Far up on the slope, in a little hollow where water ran 
 and there was a little grass for Ranger to pick, Dale hal- 
 tered him and made ready to spend the night. He was 
 sparing with his food, giving Tom more than he took 
 himself. Curled close up to Dale, the big cat went to sleep. 
 
 But Dale lay awake for long. 
 
 The night was still, with only a faint moan of wind on 
 this sheltered slope. Dale saw hope in the stars. He did 
 not seem to have promised himself or Helen that he could 
 save her sister, and then her property. He seemed to have 
 stated something unconsciously settled, outside of his 
 thinking. Strange how this certainty was not vague, yet 
 irreconcilable with any plans he created ! Behind it, some- 
 how nameless with inconceivable power, surged all his 
 wonderful knowledge of forest, of trails, of scents, of night, 
 of the nature of men lying down to sleep in the dark, 
 lonely woods, of the nature of this great cat that lived its 
 every action in accordance with his will. 
 
 He grew sleepy, and gradually his mind stilled, with his 
 last conscious thought a portent that he would awaken 
 to accomplish his desperate task. 
 
 280 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 OUNG Burt possessed the keenest eyes of any man 
 in Snake Anson's gang, for which reason he was 
 given the post as lookout from the lofty promontory. His 
 instructions were to keep sharp watch over the open 
 slopes below and to report any sight of a horse. 
 
 A cedar fire with green boughs on top of dead wood 
 sent up a long, pale column of smoke. This signal-fire had 
 been kept burning since sunrise. 
 
 The preceding night camp had been made on a level 
 spot in the cedars back of the promontory. But manifestly 
 Anson did not expect to remain there long. For, after 
 breakfast, the packs had been made up and the horses 
 stood saddled and bridled. They were restless and uneasy, 
 tossing bits and fighting flies. The sun, now half-way to 
 meridian, was hot and no breeze blew in that sheltered 
 spot. 
 
 Shady Jones had ridden off early to fill the water-bags, 
 and had not yet returned. Anson, thinner and scalier and 
 more snakelike than ever, was dealing a greasy, dirty 
 deck of cards, his opponent being the square-shaped, 
 black-visaged Moze. In lieu of money the gamblers 
 wagered with cedar-berries, each of which berries repre- 
 sented a pipeful of tobacco. Jim Wilson brooded under a 
 cedar-tree, his unshaven face a dirty dust-hue, a smolder- 
 ing fire in his light eyes, a sullen set to his jaw. Every 
 little while he would raise his eyes to glance at Riggs, and 
 it seemed that a quick glance was enough. Riggs paced to 
 and fro in the open, coatless and hatless, his black-broad- 
 cloth trousers and embroidered vest dusty and torn. An 
 
 *9 28* 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 enormous gun bumped awkwardly in its sheath swinging 
 below his hip. Riggs looked perturbed. His face was 
 sweating freely, yet it was far from red in color. He did 
 not appear to mind the sun or the flies. His eyes were star- 
 ing, dark, wild, shifting in gaze from everything they 
 encountered. But often that gaze shot back to the captive 
 girl sitting under a cedar some yards from the man. 
 
 Bo Rayner's little, booted feet were tied together with 
 one end of a lasso and the other end trailed off over the 
 ground. Her hands were free. Her riding-habit was dusty 
 and disordered. Her eyes blazed defiantly out of a small, 
 pale face. 
 
 "Harve Riggs, I wouldn't be standing in those cheap 
 boots of yours for a million dollars," she said, sarcastically. 
 
 Riggs took no notice of her words. 
 
 "You pack that gun-sheath wrong end out. What have 
 you got the gun for, anyhow?" she added, tauntingly. 
 
 Snake Anson let out a hoarse laugh and Moze's black 
 visage opened in a huge grin. Jim Wilson seemed to drink 
 in the girl's words. Sullen and somber, he bent his lean 
 head, very still, as if listening. 
 
 "You'd better shut up," said Riggs, darkly. 
 
 "I will not shut up," declared Bo. 
 
 "Then I'll gag you," he threatened. 
 
 "Gag me! Why, you dirty, low-down, two-bit of a 
 bluff!" she exclaimed, hotly, "I'd like to see you try it. 
 I'll tear that long hair of yours right off your head." 
 
 Riggs advanced toward her with his hands catching, 
 as if eager to throttle her. The girl leaned forward, her 
 face reddening, her eyes fierce. 
 
 "You damned little cat!" muttered Riggs, thickly. 
 "I'll gag you if you don't stop squallin'." 
 
 "Come on. I dare you to lay a hand on me. . . . Harve 
 Riggs, I'm not the least afraid of you. Can't you savvy 
 that? You're a liar, a four-flush, a sneak! Why, you're 
 not fit to wipe the feet of any of these outlaws." 
 
 Riggs took two long strides and bent over her. his 
 
 282 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 teeth protruding in a snarl, and he cuffed her hard on the 
 side of the head. 
 
 Bo's head jerked back with the force of the blow, but 
 she uttered no cry. 
 
 "Are you goin' to keep ycur jaw shut?" he demanded, 
 stridently, and a dark tide of blood surged up into his 
 neck. 
 
 "I should smile I'm not/' retorted Bo, in cool, delib- 
 erate anger of opposition. ' ' You've roped me and you've 
 struck me! Now get a club stand off there out of my 
 reach and beat me ! Oh, if I only knew cuss words fit for 
 you I'd call you them!" 
 
 Snake Anson had stopped playing cards, and was watch- 
 ing, listening, with half-disgusted, half-amused expression 
 on his serpent-like face. Jim Wilson slowly rose to his 
 feet. If any one had observed him it would have been 
 to note that he now seemed singularly fascinated by this 
 scene, yet all the while absorbed in himself. Once he 
 loosened the neck-band of his blouse. 
 
 Riggs swung his arm more violently at the girl. But she 
 dodged. 
 
 "You dog!" she hissed. "Oh, if I only had a gun!" 
 
 Her face then, with its dead whiteness and the eyes of 
 flame, held a tragic, impelling beauty that stung Anson 
 into remonstrance. 
 
 "Aw, Riggs, don't beat up the kid," he protested. 
 *Thet won't do any good. Let her alone." 
 
 "But she's got tc sirut up," replied Riggs. 
 
 "How 'n hell air you goin' to shet her up? Mebbe if 
 you get out of her sight she'll be quiet. . . . How about 
 thet, girl?" 
 
 Anson gnawed his drooping mustache as he eyed Bo. 
 
 "Have I made any kick to you or your men yet?" she 
 queried. 
 
 "It strikes me you 'ain't," replied Anson. 
 
 "You won t hear me make any so long as I'm treated 
 decent," said Bo. "I don't know what you've got to do 
 
 283 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 with Riggs. He ran me down roped me dragged me 
 to your camp. Now I've a hunch you're waiting for 
 Beasley." 
 
 "Girl, your hunch 's correct," said Anson. 
 
 " Well, do you know I'm the wrong girl?" 
 
 "What's thet? I reckon you're Nell Rayner, who got 
 left all old Auchincloss's property." 
 
 " No. I'm Bo Rayner. Nell is my sister. She owns the 
 ranch. Beasley wanted her." 
 
 Anson cursed deep and low. Under his sharp, bristling 
 eyebrows he bent cunning green eyes upon Riggs. 
 
 "Say, you! Is what this kid says so?" 
 
 "Yes. She's Nell Rayner's sister," replied Riggs, dog- 
 gedly. 
 
 "A-huh! Wai, why in the hell did you drag her into 
 my camp an' off up here to signal Beasley? He ain't 
 wantin' her. He wants the girl who owns the ranch. Did 
 you take one fer the other same as thet day we was with 1 
 you?" 
 
 "Guess I must have," replied Riggs, sullenly. 
 
 "But you knowed her from her sister afore you come 
 to my camp?" 
 
 Riggs shook his head. He was paler now and sweating 
 more freely. The dank hair hung wet over his forehead. 
 His manner was that of a man suddenly realizing he had 
 gotten into a tight place. 
 
 " Oh, he's a liar !" exclaimed Bo, with contemptuous ring 
 in her voice. "He comes from my country. He has known 
 Nell and me for years." 
 
 Snake Anson turned to look at Wilson. 
 
 "Jim, now hyar's a queer deal this feller has rung in 
 on us. I thought thet kid was pretty young. Don't you 
 remember Beasley told us Nell Rayner was a handsome 
 woman?" 
 
 "Wai, pard Anson, if this heah gurl ain't handsome my 
 eyes have gone pore," drawled Wilson. 
 
 "A-huh! So your Texas chilvaree over the ladies is 
 
 284 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 some operatin'," retorted Anson, with fine sarcasm. "But 
 thet ain't tellin' me what you think?" 
 
 "Wai, I ain't tellin' you what I think yet. But I know 
 thet kid ain't Nell Rayner. For I've seen her." 
 
 Anson studied his right-hand man for a moment, then, 
 taking out his tobacco-pouch, he sat himself down upon a 
 stone and proceeded leisurely to roll a cigarette. He put 
 it between his thin lips and apparently forgot to light it. 
 For a few moments he gazed at the yellow ground and 
 some scant sage-brush. Riggs took to pacing up and 
 down. Wilson leaned as before against the cedar. The 
 girl slowly recovered from her excess of anger. 
 
 "Kid, see hyar," said Anson, addressing the girl; "if 
 Riggs knowed you wasn't Nell an' fetched you along any- 
 how what 'd he do thet fur?" 
 
 "He chased me caught me. Then he saw some one 
 after us and he hurried to your camp. He was afraid 
 the cur!" 
 
 Riggs heard her reply, for he turned a malignant glance 
 upon her. 
 
 "Anson, I fetched her because I know Nell Rayner will 
 give up anythin' on earth for her," he said, in loud voice. 
 
 Anson pondered this statement with an air of consider* 
 ing its apparent sincerity. 
 
 " Don't you believe him," declared Bo Rayner, bluntly, 
 " He's a liar. He's double-crossing Beasley and all of you." 
 
 Riggs raised a shaking hand to clench it at her. "Keep 
 still or it '11 be the worse for you." 
 
 "Riggs, shut up yourself," put in Anson, as he leisurely 
 rose. " Mebbe it 'ain't occurred to you thet she might have 
 some talk interestin* to me. An' I'm runnin' this hyar 
 camp. . . . Now, kid, talk up an' say what you like." 
 
 " I said he was double-crossing you all," replied the girl, 
 instantly. "Why, I'm surprised you'd be caught in his 
 company! My uncle Al and my sweetheart Ca michael 
 and my friend Dale they've all told me what Western 
 men are, even down to outlaws, robbers, cutthroat rascals 
 
 285 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 like you. And I know the West well enough now to be sure 
 that four-flush doesn't belong here and can't last here. 
 He went to Dodge City once and when he came back he 
 made a bluff at being a bad man. He was a swaggering, 
 bragging, drinking gun-fighter. He talked of the men 
 he'd shot, of the fights he'd had. He dressed like some of 
 those gun-throwing gamblers. . . . He was in love with 
 my sister Nell. She hated him. He followed us out West 
 and he has hung on our actions like a sneaking Indian. 
 Why, Nell and I couldn't even walk to the store in the 
 village. He rode after me out on the range chased me. 
 , . . For that Carmichael called Riggs's bluff down in 
 Turner's saloon. Dared him to draw! Cussed him every 
 name on the range! Slapped and beat and kicked him! 
 Drove him out of Pine! . . . And now, whatever he has 
 said to Bcasley or you, it's a dead sure bet he's playing 
 his own game. That's to get hold of Nell, and if not her 
 then me! . . . Oh, I'm out of breath and I'm out of 
 Aames to call him. If I talked forever I'd never be able 
 to do him justice. But lend me a gun a minute!" 
 
 Jim Wilson's quiet form vibrated with a start. Anson 
 with his admiring smile pulled his gun and, taking a couple 
 of steps forward, held it out butt first. She stretched 
 eagerly for it and he jerked it away. 
 
 ''Hold on there!" yelled Riggs, in alarm. 
 
 "Damme, Jim, if she didn't mean biznessl" exclaimed 
 the outlaw. 
 
 "Wai, now see heah, Miss. Would you bore him if 
 you hed a gun?" inquired Wilson, with curious interest. 
 There was more of respect in his demeanor than admira- 
 tion. 
 
 " No. I don't want his cowardly blood on my hands/' 
 replied the girl. "But I'd make him dance I'd make 
 him run." 
 
 "Shore you can handle a gun?" 
 
 She nodded her answer while her eyes flashed hate and 
 her resolute lips twitched. 
 
 286 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Then Wilson made a singularly swift motion and his 
 gun was pitched butt first to within a foot of her hand. 
 She snatched it up, cocked it, aimed it, all before Anson 
 could move. But he yelled: 
 
 "Drop thet gun, you little devil!" 
 
 Riggs turned ghastly as the big blue gun lined on him. 
 He also yelled, but that yell was different from Anson's. 
 
 "Run or dance!" cried the girl. 
 
 The big gun boomed and leaped almost out of her hand. 
 She took both hands, and called derisively as she fired 
 again. The second bullet hit at Riggs's feet, scattering 
 the dust and fragments of stone all over him. He bounded 
 here there then darted for the rocks. A third time the 
 heavy gun spoke and this bullet must have ticked Riggs, 
 for he let out a hoarse bawl and leaped sheer for the pro- 
 tection of a rock. 
 
 "Plug him! Shoot off a leg!" yelled Snake Anson, 
 whooping and stamping, as Riggs got out of sight. 
 
 Jim Wilson watched the whole performance with the 
 same quietness that had characterized his manner toward 
 the girl. Then, as Riggs disappeared, Wilson stepped 
 forward and took the gun from the girl's trembling hands. 
 She was whiter than ever, but still resolute and defiant. 
 Wilson took a glance over in the direction Riggs had 
 hidden and then proceeded to reload the gun. Snake 
 Anson's roar of laughter ceased rather suddenly. 
 
 "Hyar, Jim, she might have held up the whole gang 
 with thet gun," he protested. 
 
 "I reckon she 'ain't nothin* ag'in' us," replied Wilson. 
 
 "A-huh! You know a lot about wirnmen now, don't 
 you? But thet did my heart good. Jim, what 'n earth 
 would you have did if thet 'd been you instead of 
 
 The query seemed important and amazing. Wilson 
 pondered. 
 
 "Shore I'd stood there stock-still an' never moved 
 an eye- winker." 
 
 2&7 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Arf let her shoot!" ejaculated Anson, nodding his 
 longhead. "Me, too!" 
 
 So these rough outlaws, inured to all the violence and 
 baseness of their dishonest calling, rose to the challenging 
 courage of a slip of a girl. She had the one thing they 
 respected nerve. 
 
 Just then a halloo from the promontory brought Anson 
 up with a start. Muttering to himself, he strode out 
 toward the jagged rocks that hid the outlook. Moze 
 shuffled his burly form after Anson. 
 
 "Miss, it shore was grand thet performance of Mister 
 Gunman Riggs," remarked Jim Wilson, attentively study- 
 ing the girl. 
 
 "Much obliged to you for lending me your gun," she 
 replied. "I I hope I hit him a little." 
 
 "Wai, if you didn't sting him, then Jim Wilson knows 
 nothin' about lead." 
 
 "Jim Wilson? Are you the man the outlaw my uncle 
 Alknew?" 
 
 "Reckon I am, miss. Per I knowed Al shore enough. 
 What 'd he say aboot me?" 
 
 "I remember once he was telling me about Snake An- 
 son's gang. He mentioned you. Said you were a real 
 gun-fighter. And what a shame it was you had to be an 
 outlaw." 
 
 "Wai! An* so old Al spoke thet nice of me. . . . It's 
 tolerable likely I'll remember. An' now, miss, can I do 
 anythin' for you?" 
 
 Swift as a flash she looked at him. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Wai, shore I don't mean much, I'm sorry to say. 
 Nothin' to make you look like thet. ... I hev to be an 
 outlaw, shore as you're born. But mebbe there's a dif- 
 ference in outlaws." 
 
 She understood him and paid him the compliment not 
 to voice her sudden upflashing hope that he might be one 
 to betray his leader. 
 
 288 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 " Please take this rope off my feet. Let me walk a little. 
 Let me have a a little privacy. That fool watched every 
 move I made. I promise not to run away. And, oh! 
 I'm thirsty." 
 
 " Shore you've got sense." He freed her feet and helped 
 her get up. "There'll be some fresh water any minit 
 now, if you'll wait." 
 
 Then he turned his back and walked over to where 
 Riggs sat nursing a bullet-burn on his leg. 
 
 "Say, Riggs, I'm takin' the responsibility of loosin' the 
 girl for a little spell. She can't get away. An' there 
 ain't any sense in bein' mean." 
 
 Riggs made no reply, and went on rolling down his 
 trousers leg, tapped a fold over at the bottom and pulled 
 on his boot. Then he strode out toward the promontory. 
 Half-way there he encountered Anson tramping back. 
 
 "Beasley's comin' one way an' Shady 's comin' another. 
 We'll be off this hot point of rock by noon," said the out- 
 law leader. 
 
 Riggs went on to the promontory to look for himself. 
 
 "Where's the girl?" demanded Anson, in surprise, when 
 he got back to the camp. 
 
 "Wai, she's walkin' 'round between heah an* Pine," 
 drawled Wilson. 
 
 "Jim, you let her loose?" 
 
 ''Shore I did. She's been hawg-tied all the time. An* 
 she said she'd not run off. I'd take thet girl's word even 
 to a sheep-thief." 
 
 "A-huhi So would I, for all of thet. But, Jim, some- 
 thin's workin' in you. Ain't you sort of rememberin' a 
 time when you was young an' mebbe knowed pretty 
 kids like this one?" 
 
 "Wai, if I am it 11 shore turn out bad fer somebody." 
 
 Anson gave him a surprised stare and suddenly lost the 
 bantering tone. 
 
 "A-huh! So thet's how it's workin'," he replied, and 
 flung himself down in the shade. 
 
 280 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Young Burt made his appearance then, wiping his sal 
 Sow face. His deep-set, hungry eyes, upon which his com- 
 fades set such store, roved around the camp. 
 
 "Whar's the gurl?" he queried. 
 
 "Jim let her go out fer a stroll, " replied Anson. 
 
 "I seen Jim was gittin' softy over her. Haw! Haw! 
 Haw!" 
 
 But Snake Anson did not crack a smile. The atmos- 
 phere appeared not to be congenial for jokes, a fact Burt 
 rather suddenly divined. Riggs and Moze returned from 
 the promontory, the latter reporting that Shady Jcnes 
 was riding up close. Then the girl walked slowly into 
 sight and approached to find a seat within ten yards of 
 the group. They waited in silence until the expected 
 horseman rode up with water-bottles slung on both sides 
 of his saddle. His advent was welcome. All the men 
 were thirsty. Wilson took water to the girl before drink- 
 ing himself. 
 
 "Thet's an all-fired hot ride fer water," declared the 
 outlaw Shady, who somehow fitted his name in color and 
 impression. "An', boss, if it's the same to you I won't 
 take it ag'in." 
 
 " Cheer up, Shady. We'll be rustlin* back in the moun* 
 tains before sundown," said Anson. 
 
 "Hang me if that ain't the cheerfulest news I've hed ID' 
 some days. Hey, Moze?" 
 
 The black-faced Moze nodded his shaggy head. 
 
 "I'm sick an' sore of this deal," broke out Burt, evi- 
 dently encouraged by his elders. ' ' Ever since last fall we've 
 been hangin' 'round till jest lately freezin' in camps no 
 money no drink no grub wuth havin ' . All on promises ! ' ' 
 
 Not improbably this young and reckless member of the 
 gang had struck the note of discord. Wilson seemed most 
 detached from any sentiment prevailing there. Some 
 strong thoughts were revolving in his brain. 
 
 "Burt, you ain't insinuatin' thet I made promises?'* 
 inquired Anson, onrnously. 
 
 290 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 11 No, boss, I ain't. You allus said we might hit it rich. 
 But them promises was made to you. An' it 'd be jest 
 like thet greaser to go back on his word now we got the 
 gurl." 
 
 "Son, it happens we got the wrong one. Our long- 
 haired pard hyar Mister Riggs him with the big gun 
 he waltzes up with this sassy kid instead of the woman 
 Beasley wanted." 
 
 Burt snorted his disgust while Shady Jones, roundly 
 swearing, pelted the smoldering camp-fire with stones. 
 Then they all lapsed into surly silence. The ob;ect of 
 their growing scorn, Riggs, sat a little way apart, facing 
 none of them, but maintaining as bold a front as appar- 
 ently he could muster. 
 
 Presently a horse shot up his ears, the first indication 
 of scent or sound imperceptible to the men. But with 
 this cue they all, except Wilson, sat up attentively. Soon 
 the crack of iron-shod hoofs on stone broke the silence. 
 Riggs nervously rose to his feet. And the others, still 
 excepting Wilson, one by one followed suit. In another 
 moment a rangy bay horse trotted out of the cedars, up 
 to the camp, and his rider jumped off nimbly for so heavy 
 a man. 
 
 "Howdy, Beasley?" was Anson's greeting. 
 
 "Hello, Snake, old man!" replied Beasley, as his bold, 
 snapping black eyes swept the group. He was dusty and 
 hot, and wet with sweat, yet evidently too excited to feel 
 discomfort. "I seen your smoke signal first off an* 
 jumped my hoss quick. But I rode north of Pine before 
 T headed 'round this way. Did you corral the girl or did 
 Riggs? Say! you look queer! . . . What's wrong here? 
 You haven't signaled me for nothin'?" 
 
 Snake Anson beckoned to Bo. 
 
 " Come out of the shade. Let him look you over." 
 
 The girl walked out from under the spreading cedar 
 that had hidden her from sight. 
 
 Beasley stared aghast his jaw dropped. 
 
 291 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Thet's the kid sister of the woman I wanted!" he 
 ejaculated. 
 
 "So we've jest been told." 
 
 Astonishment still held Beasley. 
 
 "Told?" he echoed. Suddenly his big body leaped 
 with a start. "Who got her? Who fetched her?" 
 
 "Why, Mister Gunman Riggs hyar," replied Anson, 
 with a subtle scorn. 
 
 "Riggs, you got the wrong girl," shouted Beasley. 
 "You made thet mistake once before. What 're you 
 up to?" 
 
 " I chased her an' when I got her, seein' it wasn't Nell 
 Rayner why I kept her, anyhow," replied Riggs. "An* 
 I've got a word for your ear alone." 
 
 'Man, you're crazy queerin' my deal thet way!" 
 roared Beasley. "You heard my plans. . . . Riggs, this 
 girl-stealin' can't be done twice. Was you drinkin' or 
 locoed or what?" 
 
 "Beasley, he was giving you the double-cross," cut in 
 Bo Rayner 's cool voice. 
 
 The rancher stared speechlessly at her, then at Anson, 
 then at Wilson, and last at Riggs, when his brown visage 
 shaded dark with rush of purple blood. With one lunge 
 he knocked Riggs flat, then stood over him with a con- 
 vulsive hand at his gun. 
 
 "You white-livered card-sharp! I've a notion to bore 
 you. . . . They told me you had a deal of your own, an' now 
 I believe it." 
 
 "Yes I had," replied Riggs, cautiously getting up. 
 He was ghastly. "But I wasn't double-crossin' you. 
 Your deal was to get the girl away from home so you 
 could take possession of her property. An' I wanted 
 her." 
 
 "What for did you fetch the sister, then?" demanded 
 Beasley, his big jaw bulging. 
 
 "Because I've a plan to " 
 
 "Plan hell! You've spoiled my plan an* I've seen 
 
 292 
 
THE MAN OF 'iHE FOREST 
 
 about enough of you." Beasley breathed hard; his 
 lowering gaze boded an uncertain will toward the man 
 who had crossed him; his hand still hung low and 
 clutching. 
 
 "Beasley, tell them to get my horse. I want to go 
 home/' said Bo Rayner. 
 
 Slowly Beasley turned. Her words enjoined a silence. 
 What to do with her now appeared a problem. 
 
 " I had nothin' to do with fetchin' you here an' I'll have 
 nothin' to do with sendin' you back or whatever's done 
 with you," declared Beasley. 
 
 Then the girl's face flashed white again and her eyes 
 changed to fire. 
 
 "You're as big a liar as Riggs," she cried, passionately. 
 "And you're a thief, a bully who picks on defenseless 
 girls. Oh, we know your game! Milt Dale heard your 
 plot with this outlaw Anson to steal my sister. You 
 ought to be hanged you half-breed greaser!" 
 
 "I'll cut out your tongue!" hissed Beasley. 
 
 "Yes, I'll bet you would if you had me alone. But 
 these outlaws these sheep-thieves these tools you hire 
 are better than you and Riggs. . . . What do you suppose 
 Carmichael will do to you ? Carmichael ! He's my sweet- 
 heart that cowboy. You know what he did to Riggs. 
 Have you brains enough to know what he'll do to you?" 
 
 "He'll not do much," growled Beasley. But the thick 
 purplish blood was receding from his face. "Your cow- 
 puncher " 
 
 "Bah!" she interrupted, and she snapped her fingers in 
 his face. "He's from Texas! He's from Texas! 11 
 
 "Supposin' he is from Texas?" demanded Beasley, in 
 angry irritation. "What's thet? Texans are all over. 
 There's Jim Wilson, Snake Anson's right-hand man. He's 
 from Texas. But thet ain't scarin' any one." 
 
 He pointed toward Wilson, who shifted uneasily from 
 foot to foot. The girl's flaming glance followed his hand. 
 
 "Are you from Texas?" she asked. 
 
 293 
 
THE M4N OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Yes, Miss, I am an' I reckon I don't deserve it," 
 replied Wilson. It was certain that a vague shame at- 
 tended his confession. 
 
 "Oh! I believed even a bandit from Texas would 
 fight for a helpless girl!" she replied, in withering scorn of 
 disappointment. 
 
 Jim Wilson dropped his head. If any one there sus- 
 pected a serious turn to Wilson's attitude toward that 
 situation it was the keen outlaw leader. 
 
 "Beasley, you're courtin' death," he broke in. 
 
 "You bet you are!" added Bo, with a passion that made 
 her listeners quiver. "You've put me at the mercy of a 
 gang of outlaws ! You may force my sister out of her home ! 
 But your day will come: Tom Carmichael will kill you." 
 
 Beasley mounted his horse. Sullen, livid, furious, he sat 
 shaking in the saddle, to glare down at the outlaw leader. 
 
 "Snake, thet's no fault of mine the deal's miscarried. 
 I was square. I made my offer for the workin' out of my 
 plan. It 'ain't been done. Now there's hell to pay an* 
 I'm through." 
 
 "Beasley, I reckon I couldn't hold you to anythin'," 
 replied Anson, slowly. "But if you was square you ain't 
 square now. We've hung around an' tried hard. My men 
 are all sore. An' we're broke, with no outfit to speak of. 
 Me an' you never fell out before. But I reckon we might." 
 
 "Do I owe you any money accordin' to the deal?" 
 demanded Beasley. 
 
 "No, you don't," responded Anson, sharply. 
 
 "Then thet's square. I wash my hands of the whole 
 deal. Make Riggs pay up. He's got money an' he's got 
 plans. Go in with him." 
 
 With that Beasley spurred his horse, wheeled and rode 
 away. The outlaws gazed after him until he disappeared 
 in the cedars. 
 
 "What 'd you expect from a greaser?" queried Shady 
 Jones. 
 
 "Anson, didn't I say so?" added Burt. 
 
 204, 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 The black-visaged Moze rolled his eyes like a mad bull 
 and Jim Wilson studiously examined a stick he held in 
 his hands. Riggs showed immense relief. 
 
 " Anson, stake me to some of your outfit an f I'll ride off 
 with the girl," he said, eagerly. 
 
 "Where 'd you go now?" queried Anson, curiously. 
 
 Riggs appeared at a loss for a quick answer; his wits 
 were no more equal to this predicament than his nerve. 
 
 "You're no woodsman. An' onless you're plumb locoed 
 you'd never risk goin' near Pine or Show Down. There'll 
 be real trackers huntin' your trail." 
 
 The listening girl suddenly appealed to Wilson. 
 
 "Don't let him take me off alone in the woods!" she 
 faltered. That was the first indication of her weakening 
 
 Jim Wilson broke into gruff reply. "I'm not bossin* 
 this gang." 
 
 "But you're a man!" she importuned. 
 
 "Riggs, you fetch along your precious firebrand an* 
 come with us," said Anson, craftily. "I'm particular curi- 
 ous to see her brand you." 
 
 "Snake, lemme take the girl back to Pine," said Jim 
 Wilson. 
 
 Anson swore his amaze. 
 
 "It's sense," continued Wilson. "We've shore got our 
 own troubles, an' keepin' her '11 only add to them. I've 
 a hunch. Now you know I ain't often givin' to buckin* 
 your say-so. But this deal ain't tastin' good to me. Thet 
 girl ought to be sent home." 
 
 " But mebbe there's somethin' in it for us. Her sister 'd 
 pay to git her back." 
 
 "Wai, I shore hope you'll recollect I offered thet's 
 all," concluded Wilson. 
 
 "Jim, if we wanted to git rid of her we'd let Riggs take 
 her off," remonstrated the outlaw leader. He was per- 
 turbed and undecided. Wilson worried him. 
 
 The long Texan veered around full faced. What subtle 
 transformation in him ! 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Like hell we would!" he said. 
 
 It could not have been the tone that caused Anson to 
 quail. He might have been leader here, but he was not 
 the greater man. His face clouded. 
 
 "Break camp," he ordered. 
 
 Riggs had probably not heard that last exchange be- 
 tween Anson and Wilson, for he had walked a few rods 
 aside to get his horse. 
 
 In a few moments when they started off, Burt, Jones, 
 and Moze were in the lead driving the pack-horses, 
 Anson rode next, the girl came between him and Riggs, 
 and significantly, it seemed, Jim Wilson brought up the 
 rear. 
 
 This start was made a little after the noon hour. They 
 zigzagged up the slope, took to a deep ravine, and followed 
 it up to where it headed in the level forest. From there 
 travel was rapid, the pack-horses being driven at a jog- 
 trot. Once when a troop of deer burst out of a thicket into 
 a glade, to stand with ears high, young Burt halted the 
 cavalcade. His well-aimed shot brought down a deer. 
 Then the men rode on, leaving him behind to dress and 
 pack the meat. The only other halt made was at the cross- 
 ing of the first water, a clear, swift brook, where both 
 horses and men drank thirstily. Here Burt caught up 
 with his comrades. 
 
 They traversed glade and park, and wended a crooked 
 trail through the deepening forest, and climbed, bench 
 after bench, to higher ground, while the sun sloped to 
 the westward, lower and redder. Sunset had gone, and 
 twilight was momentarily brightening to the afterglow 
 when Anson, breaking his silence of the afternoon, ordered 
 a halt. 
 
 The place was wild, dismal, a shallow vale between 
 dark slopes of spruce. Grass, fire-wood, and water were 
 there ki abundance. All the men were off, throwing sad- 
 dles and packs, before the tired girl made an effort to get 
 <own. Riggs, observing her, made a not ungentle move 
 
 296 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 to pull her off. She gave him a sounding slap with her 
 gloved hand. 
 
 "Keep your paws to yourself," she said. No evidence of 
 exhaustion was there in her spirit. 
 
 Wilson had observed this by-play, but Anson had not. 
 
 "What come off?" he asked. 
 
 "Wai, the Honorable Gunman Riggs jest got caressed 
 by the lady as he was doin' the elegant," replied Moze, 
 who stood nearest. 
 
 "Jim, was you watchin'?" queried Anson. His curiosity 
 had held through the afternoon. 
 
 "He tried to yank her off an' she biffed him," replied 
 Wilson. 
 
 "That Riggs is jest daffy or plain locoed," said Snake, 
 in an aside to Moze. 
 
 "Boss, you mean plain cussed. Mark my words, he'll 
 hoodoo this outfit. Jim was figgerin' correct." 
 
 "Hoodoo " cursed Anson, under his breath. 
 
 Many hands made quick work. In a few moments a 
 fire was burning brightly, water was boiling, pots were 
 steaming, the odor of venison permeated the cool air. 
 The girl had at last slipped off her saddle to the 
 ground, where she sat while Riggs led the horse away. 
 She sat there apparently forgotten, a pathetic droop to 
 her head. 
 
 Wilson had taken an ax and was vigorously wielding it 
 among the spruces. One by one they fell with swish and 
 soft crash. Then the sliding ring of the ax told how he 
 was slicing off the branches with long sweeps. Presently 
 he appeared in the semi-darkness, dragging half -trimmed 
 spruces behind him. He made several trips, the last of 
 which was to stagger under a huge burden of spruce 
 boughs. These he spread under a low, projecting branch 
 of an aspen. Then he leaned the bushy spruces slantingly 
 against this branch on both sides, quickly improvising a 
 V-shaped shelter with narrow aperture in front. Next 
 from one of the packs he took a blanket and threw that 
 20 2 97 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 inside the shelter. Then, touching the girl on the shoulder, 
 he whispered : 
 
 "When you're ready, slip in there. An' don't lose no 
 sleep by worryin', fer I'll be layin' right here." 
 
 He made a motion to indicate his length across the front 
 of the narrow aperture. 
 
 "Oh, thank you! Maybe you really are a Texan," she 
 whispered back. 
 
 "Mebbe," was his gloomy reply. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE girl refused to take food proffered her by Riggs, 
 but she ate and drank a little that Wilson brought 
 her, then she disappeared in the spruce lean-to. 
 
 Whatever loquacity and companionship had previously 
 existed in Snake Anson's gang were not manifest in this 
 camp. Each man seemed preoccupied, as if pondering the 
 dawn in his mind of an ill omen not clear to him yet and 
 not yet dreamed of by his fellows. They all smoked. Then 
 Moze and Shady played cards awhile by the light of the 
 fire, but it was a dull game, in which either seldom spoke. 
 Riggs sought his blanket first, and the fact was significant 
 that he lay down some distance from the spruce shelter 
 which contained Bo Rayner. Presently young Burt went 
 off grumbling to his bed. And not long afterward the card- 
 players did likewise. 
 
 Snake Anson and Jim Wilson were left brooding in 
 silence beside the dying camp-fire. 
 
 The night was dark, with only a few stars showing. A 
 fitful wind moaned unearthly through the spruce. An 
 occasional thump of hoof sounded from the dark woods. 
 No cry of wolf or coyote or cat gave reality to the wildness 
 of forest-land. 
 
 By and by those men who had rolled in their blankets 
 were breathing deep and slow in heavy slumber. 
 
 "Jim, I take it this hyar Riggs has queered our deal, r 
 said Snake Anson, in low voice. 
 
 "I reckon," replied Wilson. 
 
 "An* I'm feared he's queered this hyar White Mountain 
 country fer us." 
 
 209 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 " Shore I 'ain't got so far as thet. What d' ye mean 
 Snake?" 
 
 "Damme if I savvy," was the gloomy reply. "I only 
 know what was bad looks growin' wuss. Last fall an' 
 winter an' now it's near April. We've got no outfit to 
 make a long stand in the woods. . . . Jim, jest how strong 
 is thet Beasley down in the settlements?" 
 
 "I've a hunch he ain't half as strong as he bluffs." 
 
 41 Me, too. I got thet idee yesterday. He was scared of 
 the kid when she fired up an' sent thet hot-shot about 
 her cowboy sweetheart killin' him. Hell do it, Jim. I 
 seen that Carmichael at Magdalena some years ago. Then 
 he was only a youngster. But, whew! Mebbe he wasn't 
 bad after toyin' with a little red liquor." 
 
 "Shore. He was from Texas, she said." 
 
 "Jim, I savvied your feelin's was hurt by thet talk 
 about Texas an' when she up an' asked you." 
 
 Wilson had no rejoinder for this remark. 
 
 "Wai, Lord knows, I ain't wonderin'. You wasn't a 
 hunted outlaw all your life. An' neither was I. ... Wil- 
 son, I never was keen on this girl deal now, was I?" 
 
 "I reckon it's honest to say no to thet," replied Wilson. 
 "But it's done. Beasley '11 get plugged sooner or later. 
 Thet won't help us any. Chasin' sheep-herders out of the 
 country an' stealin' sheep thet ain't stealin' gurls by a 
 long sight. Beasley '11 blame that on us, an' be greaser 
 enough to send some of his men out to hunt us. For Pine 
 an' Show Down won't stand thet long. There's them 
 Mormons. They'll be hell when they wake up. Suppose 
 Carmichael got thet hunter Dale an' them hawk-eyed 
 Beemans on our trail?" 
 
 "Wai, we'd cash in quick," replied Anson, gruffly. 
 
 " Then why didn't you let me take the gurl back home?" 
 
 "Wai, come to think of thet, Jim, I'm sore, an' I need 
 jnoney an' I knowed you'd never take a dollar from her 
 sister. An' I've made up my mind to git somethin' out of 
 
 her." 
 
 300 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Snake, you're no fool. How'll you do thet same an* 
 floit quick?" 
 
 " 'Ain't reckoned it out yet." 
 
 "Wai, you got aboot to-morrer an' thet's all," returned 
 Wilson, gloomily. 
 
 "Jim, what's ailin' you?" 
 
 "I'll let you figger thet out." 
 
 "Wai, somethin' ails the whole gang," declared Anson, 
 savagely. "With them it's nothin' to eat no whisky 
 no money to bet with no tobacco! . . . But thet's not 
 what's ailin' you, Jim Wilson, nor me!" 
 
 "Wai, what is, then?" queried Wilson 
 
 "With me it's a strange feelin' thet my day's over on 
 these ranges. I can't explain, but it jest feels so. Some- 
 thin' in the air. I don't like them dark shadows out there 
 under the spruces. Savvy? . . . An' as fer you, Jim 
 wal, you allus was half decent, an' my gang's got too low- 
 down fer you." 
 
 "Snake, did I ever fail you?" 
 
 "No, you never did. You're the best pard I ever 
 knowed. In the years we've rustled together we never 
 had a contrary word till I let Beasley fill my ears with 
 his promises. Thet's my fault. But, Jim, it's too late." 
 
 "It mightn't have been too late yesterday." 
 
 "Mebbe not. But it is now, an' I'll hang on to the girl 
 or git her worth in gold," declared the outlaw, grimly. 
 
 "Snake, I've seen stronger gangs than yours come an' 
 go. Them Big Bend gangs in my country them rustlers 
 they were all bad men. You have no likes of them 
 gangs out heah. If they didn't get wiped out by Rangers 
 or cowboys, why they jest naturally wiped out themselves, 
 Thet's a law I recognize in relation to gangs like them. 
 An' as for yours why, Anson, it wouldn't hold water 
 against one real gun-slinger." 
 
 " A-huh! Then if we run up ag'in' Carmichael or some 
 such fellar would you be suckin' your finger like a 
 baby?" 
 
 301 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Wai, I wasn't takin' count of myself. I was takin* 
 generalities." 
 
 "Aw, what 'n hell are them?" asked Anson, disgustedly. 
 "Jim, I know as well as you thet this hyar gang is hard 
 put. We're goin' to be trailed an' chased. We've got 
 to hide be on the go all the time here an' there all 
 over, in the roughest woods. An' wait our chance to 
 work south." 
 
 "Shore. But, Snake, you ain't takin' no count of the 
 feelin's of the men an' of mine an' yours. . . . I'll bet you 
 my hoss thet in a day or so this gang will go to pieces." 
 
 "I'm feared you spoke what's been crowdin' to git in 
 my mind," replied Anson. Then he threw up his hands 
 in a strange gesture of resignation. The outlaw was 
 brave, but all men of the wilds recognized a force stronger 
 than themselves. He sat there resembling a brooding 
 snake with basilisk eyes upon the fire. At length he arose, 
 and without another word to his comrade he walked 
 wearily to where lay the dark, quiet forms of the sleepers. 
 
 Jim Wilson remained beside the flickering fire. He was 
 reading something in the red embers, perhaps the past. 
 Shadows were on his face, not all from the fading flames 
 or the towering spruces. Ever and anon he raised his 
 head to listen, not apparently that he expected any un- 
 usual sound, but as if involuntarily. Indeed, as Anson 
 had said, there was something nameless in the air. The 
 black forest breathed heavily, in fitful moans of wind. 
 It had its secrets. The glances Wilson threw on all 
 sides betrayed that any hunted man did not love the dark 
 night, though it hid him. Wilson seemed fascinated by 
 the life inclosed there by the black circle of spruce. He 
 might have been reflecting on the strange reaction hap- 
 pening to every man in that group, since a girl had been 
 brought among them. Nothing was clear, however; the 
 forest kept its secret, as did the melancholy wind; the 
 outlaws were sleeping like tired beasts, with their dark 
 secrets locked in their hearts. 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 After a while Wilson put some sticks on the red embers, 
 then pulled the end of a log over them. A blaze sput- 
 tered up, changing the dark circle and showing the 
 sleepers with their set, shadowed faces upturned. Wilson 
 gazed on all of them, a sardonic smile on his lips, and then 
 his look fixed upon the sleeper apart from the others 
 Riggs. It might have been the false light of flame and 
 shadow that created Wilson's expression of dark and 
 terrible hate. Or it might have been the truth, expressed 
 in that lonely, unguarded hour, from the depths of a man 
 born in the South a man who by his inheritance of race 
 had reverence for all womanhood by whose strange, 
 wild, outlawed bloody life of a gun-fighter he must hate 
 with the deadliest hate this type that aped and mocked 
 his fame. 
 
 It was a long gaze Wilson rested upon Riggs as strange 
 and secretive as the forest wind moaning down the great 
 aisles and when that dark gaze was withdrawn Wilson 
 stalked away to make his bed with the stride of one in 
 whom spirit had liberated force. 
 
 He laid his saddle in front of the spruce shelter where 
 the girl had entered, and his tarpaulin and blankets like- 
 wise, and then wearily stretched his long length to rest. 
 
 The camp-fire blazed up, showing the exquisite green 
 and brown-flecked festooning of the spruce branches, 
 symmetrical and perfect, yet so irregular, and then it 
 burned out and died down, leaving all in the dim gray 
 starlight. The horses were not moving around ; the moan 
 of night wind had grown fainter; the low hum of insects 
 was dying away; even the tinkle of the brook had di- 
 minished. And that growth toward absolute silence con- 
 tinued, yet absolute silence was never attained. Life 
 abided in the forest; only it had changed its form for the 
 dark hours. 
 
 Anson's gang did not bestir themselves at the usual 
 early sunrise hour common to all woocLmen, hunters, or 
 
 303 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 outlaws, to whom the break of day was welcome. These 
 companions Anson and Riggs included might have 
 hated to see the dawn come. It meant only another 
 meager meal, then the weary packing and the long, long 
 ride to nowhere in particular, and another meager meal 
 all toiled for without even the necessities of satisfactory 
 living, and assuredly without the thrilling hopes that 
 made their life significant, and certainly with a growing 
 sense of approaching calamity. 
 
 The outlaw leader rose surly and cross-grained. He 
 had to boot Burt to drive him out for the horses. Riggs 
 followed him. Shady Jones did nothing except grumble. 
 Wilson, by common consent, always made the sour-dough 
 bread, and he was slow about it this morning. Anson 
 and Moze did the rest of the work, without alacrity. The 
 girl did not appear. 
 
 "Is she dead?" growled Anson. 
 
 "No, she ain't," replied Wilson, looking up. "She's 
 sleepin'. Let her sleep. She'd shore be a sight better 
 off if she was daid." 
 
 "A-huh! So would all of this hyar outfit," was An- 
 son's response. 
 
 "Wai, Sna-ake, I shore reckon we'll all be thet there 
 soon," drawled Wilson, in his familiar cool and irritating 
 tone that said so much more than the content of the 
 words. 
 
 .Anson did not address the Texas member of his party 
 again. 
 
 Burt rode bareback into camp, driving half the number 
 of the horses; Riggs followed shortly with several more. 
 But three were missed, one of them being Anson's favorite. 
 He would not have budged without that horse. During 
 breakfast he growled about his lazy men, and after the 
 meal tried to urge them off. Riggs went unwillingly, 
 Burt refused to go at all. 
 
 "Nix. I footed them hills all I'm a-goin' to," he said. 
 "An' from now on I rustle my own hoss." 
 
 304 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 The leader glared his reception of this opposition. Per- 
 haps his sense of fairness actuated him once more, for he 
 ordered Shady and Moze out to do their share. 
 
 "Jim, you're the best tracker in this outfit. Suppose 
 you go," suggested Anson. "You allus used to be the 
 first one off." 
 
 "Times has changed, Snake," was the imperturbable 
 reply. 
 
 "Wai, won't you go?" demanded the leader, im- 
 patiently. 
 
 "I shore won't." 
 
 Wilson did not look or intimate in any way that he 
 would not leave the girl in camp with one or any or all 
 of Anson's gang, but the truth was as significant as if he 
 had shouted it. The slow-thinking Moze gave Wilson a 
 sinister look. 
 
 "Boss, ain't it funny how a pretty wench ?" began 
 Shady Jones, sarcastically. 
 
 "Shut up, you fool!" broke in Anson. "Come on, I'll 
 help rustle them hosses." 
 
 After they had gone Burt took his rifle and strolled off 
 into the forest. Then the girl appeared. Her hair was 
 down, her face pale, with dark shadows. She asked for 
 water to wash her face. Wilson pointed to the brook, 
 and as she walked slowly toward it he took a comb and a 
 clean scarf from his pack and carried them to her. 
 
 Upon her return to the camp-fire she looked very dif- 
 ferent with her hair arranged and the red stains in her 
 cheeks. 
 
 "Miss, air you hungry?" asked Wilson. 
 
 "Yes, I am," she replied. 
 
 He helped her to portions of bread, venison and gravy, 
 and a cup of coffee. Evidently she relished the meat, 
 but she had to force down the rest. 
 
 "Where are they all?" she asked. 
 
 "Rustlin' the hosses." 
 
 Probably she divined that he did not want to talk, fof 
 
 305 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 the fleeting glance she gave him attested to a thought that 
 his voice or demeanor had changed. Presently she sought 
 a seat under the aspen-tree, out of the sun, and the smoke 
 continually blowing in her face; and there she stayed, a 
 forlorn little figure, for all the resolute lips and defiant 
 eyes. 
 
 The Texan paced to and fro beside the camp-fire with 
 bent head, and hands locked behind him. But for the 
 swinging gun he would have resembled a lanky farmer, 
 coatless and hatless, with his brown vest open, his trousers 
 Stuck in the top of the high boots. 
 
 And neither he nor the girl changed their positions, 
 relatively for a long time. At length, however, after 
 peering into the woods, and listening, he remarked to the 
 girl that he would be back in a moment, and then walked 
 off around the spruces. 
 
 No sooner had he disappeared in fact, so quickly after- 
 ward that it presupposed design instead of accident than 
 Riggs came running from the opposite side of the glade. 
 He ran straight to the girl, who sprang to her feet. 
 
 "I hid two of the horses," he panted, husky with 
 excitement. "I'll take two saddles. You grab some 
 grub. We'll run for it." 
 
 "No," she cried, stepping back. 
 
 "But it's not safe for us here," he said, hurriedly, 
 glancing all around. "I'll take you home. I swear. 
 . . . Not safe I tell you this gang's after me. Hurry!" 
 
 He laid hold of two saddles, one with each hand. The 
 moment had reddened his face, brightened his eyes, made 
 his action strong. 
 
 "I'm safer here with this outlaw gang," she replied. 
 
 "You won't come!" His color began to lighten then, 
 and his face to distort. He dropped his hold on the 
 saddles. 
 
 "Harve Riggs, I'd rather become a toy and a rag foi 
 these ruffians than spend an hour alone with you," she 
 flashed at him, in unquenchable hate. 
 
 ^06 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "I'll drag you!" 
 
 He seized her, but could not hold her. Breaking away, 
 she screamed. 
 
 "Help!" 
 
 That whitened his face, drove him to frenzy. Leaping 
 forward, he struck her a hard blow across the mouth. It 
 staggered her, and, tripping on a saddle, she fell. His 
 hands flew to her throat, ready to choke her. But she 
 lay still and held her tongue. Then he dragged her to 
 her feet. 
 
 "Hurry now grab that pack an' follow me.' 1 Again 
 Riggs laid hold of the two saddles. A desperate gleam. 
 baleful and vainglorious, flashed over his face. He was 
 living his one great adventure. 
 
 The girl's eyes dilated. They looked beyond him. Her 
 lips opened. 
 
 "Scream again an' I'll kill you!" he cried, hoarsely 
 and swiftly. The very opening of her lips had terrified 
 
 "Reckon one scream was enough," spoke a voice, slow, 
 but without the drawl, easy and cool, yet incalculable in 
 some terrible sense. 
 
 Riggs wheeled with inarticulate cry. Wilson stood a 
 few paces off, with his gun half leveled, low down. His 
 face seemed as usual, only his eyes held a quivering, light 
 intensity, like boiling molten silver. 
 
 "Girl, what made thet blood on your mouth?'* 
 
 "Riggs hit me!" she whispered. Then at something 
 she feared or saw or divined she shrank back, dropped on 
 her knees, and crawled into the spruce shelter. 
 
 "Wai, Riggs, I'd invite you to draw if thet 'd be any 
 use," said Wilson. This speech was reflective, yet it 
 hurried a little. 
 
 Riggs could not draw nor move nor speak. He seemed 
 turned to stone, except his jaw, which slowly fell. 
 
 "Harve Riggs, gunman from down Missouri way," 
 continued the voice of incalculable intent, "reckon 
 
 307 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 you've looked into a heap of gun-barrels in your day. 
 Shore ! Wai, look in this heah one ! " 
 
 Wilson deliberately leveled the gun on a line with 
 Riggs's starting eyes. 
 
 "Wasn't you heard to brag in Turner's saloon thet you 
 could see lead comin' an' dodge it? Shore you must 
 be swift! . . . Dod?e this heah bullet!" 
 
 The gun spouted flame and boomed. One of Riggs's 
 starting, popping eyes the right one went out, like a 
 lamp. The other rolled horribly, then set in blank dead 
 fixedness. Riggs swayed in slow motion until a lost 
 balance felled him heavily, an inert mass. 
 
 Wilson bent over the prostrate form. Strange, violent 
 contrast to the cool scorn of the preceding moment! 
 Hissing, spitting, as if poisoned by passion, he burst with 
 the hate that his character had forbidden him to express 
 on a living counterfeit. Wilson was shaken, as if by a 
 palsy. He choked over passionate, incoherent invective. 
 It was class hate first, then the hate of real manhood for 
 a craven, then the hate of disgrace for a murder. No 
 man so fair as a gun-fighter in the Western creed of an 
 "even break"! 
 
 Wilson's terrible cataclysm of passion passed. Straight- 
 ening up, he sheathed his weapon and began a slow pace 
 before the fire. Not many moments afterward he jerked 
 his head high and listened. Horses were softly thudding 
 through the forest. Soon Anson rode into sight with his 
 men and one of the strayed horses. It chanced, too, that 
 young Burt appeared on the other side of the glade. He 
 walked quickly, as one who anticipated news. 
 
 Snake Anson as he dismounted espied the dead man. 
 
 "Jim I thought I heard a shot." 
 
 The others exclaimed and leaped off their horses to view 
 the prostrate form with that curiosity and strange fear 
 common to all men confronted by sight of sudden death. 
 
 That emotion was only momentary. 
 
 "Shot his lamp out!" ejaculated Moze. 
 
 308 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Wonder how Gunman Riggs liked thet plumb cente* 
 peg!" exclaimed Shady Jones, with a hard laugh. 
 
 "Back of his head all gone!" gasped young Burt. Not 
 improbably he had not seen a great many bullet-marked 
 men. 
 
 "Jim! the long-haired fool didn't try to draw on you!" 
 exclaimed Snake Anson, astounded. 
 
 Wilson neither spoke nor ceased his pacing. 
 
 "What was it over?" added Anson, curiously. 
 
 "He hit the gurl," replied Wilson. 
 
 Then there were long-drawn exclamations all around, 
 and glance met glance. 
 
 "Jim, you saved me the job," continued the outlaw 
 leader. "An' I'm much obliged. . . . Fellars, search 
 Riggs an' we'll diwy. . . . Thet all right, Jim?" 
 
 "Shore, an' you can have my share." 
 
 They found bank-notes in the man's pocket and consid- 
 erable gold worn in a money-belt around his waist. Shady 
 Jones appropriated his boots, and Moze his gun. Then 
 they left him as he had fallen. 
 
 "Jim, you'll have to track them lost hosses. Two still 
 missin' an' one of them's mine," called Anson as Wilson 
 paced to the end of his beat. 
 
 The girl heard Anson, for she put her head out of the 
 spruce shelter and called: "Riggs said he'd hid two of the 
 horses. They must be close. He came that way." 
 
 "Howdy, kid! Thet 's good news," replied Anson. His 
 spirits were rising. "He must hev wanted you to slope 
 with him?" 
 
 "Yes. I wouldn't go." 
 
 "An' then he hit you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Wai, recallin' your talk of yestiddy, I can't see as 
 Mister Riggs lasted much longer hyar than he'd hev 
 lasted in Texas. We've some of thet great country right 
 in our outfit." 
 
 The girl withdrew her white face. 
 
 309 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "It's break camp, boys," was the leader's order. "A 
 couple of you look up them hosses. They'll be hid in some 
 thick spruces. The rest of us '11 pack." 
 
 Soon the gang was on the move, heading toward the 
 height of land, and swerving from it only to find soft and 
 grassy ground that would not leave any tracks. 
 
 They did not travel more than a dozen miles during 
 the afternoon, but they climbed bench after bench until 
 they reached the timbered plateau that stretched in sheer 
 black slope up to the peaks. Here rose the great and 
 gloomy forest of firs and pines, with the spruce over- 
 shadowed and thinned out. The last hour of travel was 
 tedious and toilsome, a zigzag, winding, breaking, climbing 
 hunt for the kind of camp-site suited to Anson's fancy. 
 He seemed to be growing strangely irrational about select- 
 ing places to camp. At last, for no reason that could have 
 been manifest to a good woodsman, he chose a gloomy 
 bowl in the center of the densest forest that had been 
 traversed. The opening, if such it could have been called, 
 Was not a park or even a glade. A dark cliff, with strange 
 holes, rose to one side, but not so high as the lofty pines 
 that brushed it. Along its base babbled a brook, running 
 over such formation of rock that from different points- 
 near at hand it gave forth different sounds, some singing, 
 others melodious, and one at least of a hollow, weird, deep 
 sound, not loud, but strangely penetrating. 
 
 "Sure spooky I say," observed Shady, sentiently. 
 
 The little uplift of mood, coincident with the rifling 
 of Riggs's person, had rot worn over to this evening camp 
 What talk the outlav/s indulged in was necessary and con- 
 ducted in low tones. The place enjoined silence. 
 
 Wilson performed for the girl very much the same ser- 
 vice as he had the night before. Only he advised her not 
 to starve herself; she must eat to keep up her strength. 
 She c omplied at the expense of considerable effort. 
 
 A it had been a back-breaking day, in which all of 
 
 310 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 them, except the girl, had climbed miles on foot, they did 
 not linger awake long enough after supper to learn what a 
 wild, weird, and pitch-black spot the outlaw leader had 
 chosen. The little spaces of open ground between the 
 huge-trunked pine-trees had no counterpart up in the 
 lofty spreading foliage. Not a star could blink a wan ray 
 of light into that Stygian pit. The wind, cutting down 
 over abrupt heights farther up, sang in the pine-needles 
 as if they were strings vibrant with chords. Dismal creaks 
 were audible. They were the forest sounds of branch or 
 tree rubbing one another, but which needed the corrective 
 medium of daylight to convince any human that they were 
 other than ghostly. Then, despite the wind and despite 
 the changing murmur of the brook, there seemed to be a 
 silence insulating them, as deep and impenetrable as the 
 darkness. 
 
 But the outlaws, who were fugitives now, slept the sleep 
 of the weary, and heard nothing. They awoke with the 
 sun, when the forest seemed smoky in a golden gloom, 
 when light and bird and squirrel proclaimed the day. 
 
 The horses had not strayed out of this basin during the 
 night, a circumstance that Anson was not slow to appre- 
 ciate. 
 
 "It ain't no cheerful camp, but I never seen a safer 
 place to hole up in," he remarked to Wilson. 
 
 "Wai, yes if any place is safe," replied that ally, 
 dubiously. 
 
 "We can watch our back tracks. There ain't any other 
 way to git in hyar thet I see." 
 
 "Snake, we was tolerable fair sheep-rustlers, but we're 
 no good woodsmen." 
 
 Anson g-umbled h i 's disdain of this comrade who had 
 once been his mainstay. Then he sent Burt out to hunt 
 fresh meat and engaged his other men at cards. As they 
 now had the means to gamble, they at once became ab- 
 sorbed. Wilson smoked and divided his thoughtful gaze 
 between the gamblers and the drooping figure of the girl. 
 
 3" 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 The morning air was keen, and she, evidently not caring 
 to be near her captors beside the camp-fire, had sought 
 the only sunny spot in this gloomy dell. A couple of 
 hours passed; the sun climbed high; the air grew warmer. 
 Once the outlaw leader raised his head to scan the heavy- 
 timbered slopes that inclosed the camp. 
 
 "Jim, them hosses are strayin' off," he observed. 
 
 Wilson leisurely rose and stalked off across the small, 
 open patches, in the direction of the horses. They had 
 grazed around from the right toward the outlet of the 
 brook. Here headed a ravine, dense and green. Two of 
 the horses had gone down. Wilson evidently heard them, 
 though they were not in sight, and he circled somewhat so 
 as to get ahead of them and drive them back. The in- 
 visible brook ran down over the rocks with murmur and 
 babble. He halted with instinctive action. He listened. 
 Forest sounds, soft, lulling, came on the warm, pine- 
 scented breeze. It would have taken no keen ear to hear 
 soft and rapid padded footfalls. He moved on cautiously 
 and turned into a little open, mossy spot, brown-matted 
 and odorous, full of ferns and bluebells. In the middle 
 of this, deep in the moss, he espied a huge round track 
 of a cougar. He bent over it. Suddenly he stiffened, 
 then straightened guardedly. At that instant he received 
 a hard prod in the back. Throwing up his hands, he stood 
 still, then slowly turned. A tall hunter in gray buckskin, 
 gray-eyed and square-jawed, had him covered with a 
 cocked rifle. And beside this hunter stood a monster 
 cougar, snarling and blinking. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 "ITOWDY, Dale >" drawled Wilson. "Reckon you're 
 
 11 a little previous on me." 
 
 "Sssssh! Not so loud," said the hunter, in low voice. 
 "You're Jim Wilson?" 
 
 "Shore am. Say, Dale, you showed up soon. Or did 
 you jest happen to run acrost us?" 
 
 " I've trailed you. Wilson, I'm after the girl." 
 
 "I knowed thet when I seen you!" 
 
 The cougar seemed actuated by the threatening posi- 
 tion of his master, and he opened his mouth, showing great 
 yellow fangs, and spat at Wilson. The outlaw apparently 
 had no fear of Dale or the cocked rifle, but that huge, 
 snarling cat occasioned him uneasiness. 
 
 "Wilson, I've heard you spoken of as a white outlaw," 
 said Dale. 
 
 "Mebbe I am. But shore I'll be a scared one in a 
 minit. Dale, he's goin' to jump me!" 
 
 "The cougar won't jump you unless I make him. Wil- 
 son, if I let you go will you get the girl for me?" 
 
 ' ' Wai , lemme see . Supposin' I refuse ? ' ' queried Wilson, 
 shrewdly. 
 
 "Then, one way or another, it's all up with you." 
 
 " Reckon I 'ain't got much choice. Yes, I'll do it. But, 
 Dale, are you goin' to take my word for thet an' let me 
 go back to Anson ? " 
 
 "Yes, I am. You're no fool. An* I believe you're 
 square. I've got Anson and his gang corralled. You 
 can't slip me not in these woods. I could run off your 
 horses pick you off one by one or turn the cougar l^ose 
 on you at night." 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 11 Shore. It's your game. Anson dealt himself this hand. 
 . . . Between vou an' me, Dale, I never liked the deal." 
 
 " Who shot Riggs? ... I found his body." 
 
 "Wai, yours truly was around when thet come off," 
 replied Wilson, with an involuntary little shudder. Some 
 thought made him sick. 
 
 "The girl? Is she safe unharmed?" queried Dale, 
 hurriedly. 
 
 "She's shore jest as safe an' sound as when she was 
 home. Dale, she's the gamest kid thet ever breathed! 
 Why, no one could hev ever made me believe a girl, a kid 
 like her, could hev the nerve she's got. Nothin's hap- 
 pened to her 'cept Riggs hit her in the mouth. ... I killed 
 him for thet. . . . An', so help me, God, I believe it's been 
 workin' in me to save her somehow! Now it 11 not be 
 so hard." 
 
 "But how?" demanded Dale. 
 
 " Lemme see. . . . Wai, I've got to sneak her out of camp 
 an' meet you. Thet's all." 
 
 "It must be done quick." 
 
 "But, Dale, listen," remonstrated Wilson, earnestly. 
 " Too quick '11 be as bad as too slow. Snake is sore these 
 days, gittin' sorer all the time. He might savvy some- 
 thin', if I ain't careful, an' kill the girl or do her harm. 
 I know these fellars. They're all ready to go to pieces. 
 An' shore I must play safe. Shore io 'd be safer to have 
 a plan." 
 
 Wilson's shrewd, light eyes gleamed with an idea. He 
 was about to lower one of his upraised hands, evidently 
 to point to the cougar, when he thought better of that. 
 
 "Anson's scared of cougars. Mebbe we can scare him 
 an* the gang so it 'd be easy to sneak the girl off. Can 
 you make thet big brute do tricks? Rush the camp at 
 night an' squall an' chase off the horses?" 
 
 " I'll guarantee to scare Anson out of ten years' growth," 
 replied Dale. 
 
 "Shore it's a go, then," resumed Wilson, as if glad. 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 " I'll post the girl give her a hunch to do her part. You 
 sneak up to-night jest before dark. I'll hev the gang 
 worked up. An' then you put the cougar to his tricks, 
 whatever you want. When the gang gits wild 111 grab 
 the girl an* pack her off down heah or somewheres aboot 
 an' whistle fer you. . . . But mebbe thet ain't so good. If 
 thet cougar comes pilin' into camp he might jump me 
 instead of one of the gang. An' another hunch. He 
 might slope up on me in the dark when I was tryin' to 
 find you. Shore thet ain't appealin' to me." 
 
 " Wilson, this cougar is a pet," replied Dale. "You 
 think he's dangerous, but he's not. No more than a 
 kitten. He only looks fierce. He has never been hurt 
 by a person an' he's never fought anythin' himself but 
 deer an' bear. I can make him trail any scent. But 
 the truth is I couldn't make him hurt you or anybody. 
 All the same, he can be made to scare the hair off any one 
 who doesn't know him." 
 
 ''Shore thet settles me. I'll be havin' a grand joke 
 while them fellars is scared to death. . . . Dale, you can 
 depend on me. An' I'm beholdin' to you fer what '11 
 square me some with myself. . . . To-night, an' if it won't 
 work then, to-morrer night shore!" 
 
 Dale lowered the rifle. The big cougar spat again. 
 Wilson dropped his hands and, stepping forward, split the 
 green wall of intersecting spruce branches. Then he hur- 
 ried up the ravine toward the glen. Once there, in sight 
 of his comrades, his action and expression changed. 
 
 "Hosses all thar, Jim?" asked Anson, as he picked up 
 his cards. 
 
 "Shore. They act awful queer, them bosses," replied 
 Wilson. "They're afraid of somethin'." 
 
 "A-huh! Silvertip mebbe," muttered Anson. "Jim, 
 you jest keep watch of them hosses. We'd be done if 
 some tarnal varmint stampeded them." 
 
 "Reckon I'm elected to do all the work now," com- 
 plained Wilson, "while you card-sharps cheat each other. 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Rustle the hosses an' water an' fire-wood. Cook an* 
 wash. Hey?" 
 
 "No one I ever seen can do them camp tricks any bet* 
 ter 'n Jim Wilson," replied Anson. 
 
 "Jim, you're a lady's man an' thar's our pretty hoodoo 
 over thar to feed an' amoose," remarked Shady Jones, 
 with a smile that disarmed his speech. 
 
 The outlaws guffawed. 
 
 "Git out, Jim, you're breakin' up the game," said 
 Moze, who appeared loser. 
 
 "Wai, thet gurl would starve if it wasn't fer me," re- 
 plied Wilson, genially, and he walked over toward her, 
 beginning to address her, quite loudly, as he approached. 
 "Wai, miss, I'm elected cook an' I'd shore like to heah 
 what you fancy fer dinner." 
 
 The outlaws heard, for they guffawed again. "Haw! 
 Haw! if Jim ain't funny!" exclaimed Anson. 
 
 The girl looked up amazed. Wilson was winking at 
 her, and when he got near he began to speak rapidly and 
 low. 
 
 " I jest met Dale down in the woods with his pet cougar. 
 He's after you. I'm goin' to help him git you safe away. 
 Now you do your part. I want you to pretend you've 
 gone crazy. Savvy? Act out of your head! Shore I 
 don't care what you do or say, only act crazy. An' don't 
 be scared. We're goin' to scare the gang so I'll hev a 
 chance to sneak you away. To-night or to-morrow 
 shore." 
 
 Before he began to speak she was pale, sad, dull of eye. 
 Swiftly, with his words, she was transformed, and when 
 he had ended she did not appear the same girl. She gave 
 him one blazing flash of comprehension and nodded her 
 head rapidly. 
 
 "Yes, I understand. I'll do it!" she whispered. 
 
 The outlaw turned slowly away with the most abstract 
 air, confounded amid his shrewd acting, and he did not 
 collect himself until half-way back do his comrades Then, 
 
 316 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 beginning to hum an old darky tune, he stirred up and re- 
 plenished the fire, and set about preparation for the mid- 
 day meal. But he did not miss anything going on around 
 him. He saw the girl go into her shelter and come out 
 with her hair all down over her face. Wilson, back to his 
 comrades, grinned his glee, and he wagged his head as if 
 he thought the situation was developing. 
 
 The gambling outlaws, however, did not at once see 
 the girl preening herself and smoothing her long hair in 
 a way calculated to startle. 
 
 " Busted ! " ejaculated Anson, with a curse, as he slammed 
 down his cards. "If I ain't hoodooed I'm a two-bit of a 
 gambler!" 
 
 "Sartin you're hoodooed," said Shady Jones, in scorn. 
 "Is thet jest dawnin* on you?" 
 
 "Boss, you play like a cow stuck in the mud," remarked 
 Moze, laconically. 
 
 "Fellars, it ain't funny," declared Anson, with pathetic 
 gravity. "I'm jest gittin' on to myself. Somethin's 
 wrong. Since 'way last fall no luck nothin* but the wust 
 end of every thin'. I ain't blamin' anybody. I'm the 
 boss. It's me thet's off." 
 
 "Snake, shore it was the gurl deal you made," rejoined 
 Wilson, who had listened. "I told you. Our troubles 
 hev only begun. An' I can see the wind-up. Look!" 
 
 Wilson pointed to where the girl stood, her hair flying 
 wildly all over her face and shoulders. She was making 
 most elaborate bows to an old stump, sweeping the ground 
 with her tresses in her obeisance. 
 
 Anson started. He grew utterly astounded. His amaze 
 was ludicrous. And the other two men looked to stare, 
 to equal their leader's bewilderment. 
 
 " What 'n hell's come over her ? " asked Anson, dubiously. 
 "Must hev perked up. . . . But she ain't feelin' thet gay!" 
 
 Wilson tapped his forehead with a significant finger. 
 
 "Shore I was scared of her this mawnin'," he whispered. 
 
 "Naw!" exclaimed Anson, incredulously. 
 
 317 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "If she hain't queer I never seen no queer wimmin," 
 vouchsafed Shady Jones, and it would have been judged, 
 by the way he wagged his head, that he had been all his 
 days familiar with women. 
 
 Moze looked beyond words, and quite alarmed. 
 
 "I seen it comin'," declared Wilson, very much excited. 
 "But I was scared to say so. You-all made fun of me 
 aboot her. Now I shore wish I had spoken up." 
 
 Anson nodded solemnly. He did not believe the evi- 
 dence of his sight, but the facts seemed stunning. As if 
 the girl were a dangerous and incomprehensible thing, he 
 approached her step by step. Wilson followed, and the 
 others appeared drawn irresistibly. 
 
 "Hey thar kid!" called Anson, hoarsely. 
 
 The girl drew her slight form up haughtily. Through 
 her spreading tresses her eyes gleamed unnaturally upon 
 the outlaw leader. But she deigned not to reply. 
 
 "Hey thar you Rayner girl!" added Anson, lamely. 
 "What's ailin' you?" 
 
 "My lord! did you address me?" she asked, loftily. 
 
 Shady Jones got over his consternation and evidently 
 extracted some humor from the situation, as his dark 
 face began to break its strain. 
 
 "Aww!" breathed Anson, heavily. 
 
 "Ophelia awaits your command, my lord. I've been 
 gathering flowers," she said, sweetly, holding up her empty 
 hands as if they contained a bouquet. 
 
 Shady Jones exploded in convulsed laughter. But his 
 .merriment was not shared. And suddenly it brought dis- 
 aster upon him. The girl flew at him. 
 
 ' ' Why do you croak, you toad ? I will have you whipped 
 and put in irons, you scullion!" she cried, passionately. 
 
 Shady underwent a remarkable change, and stumbled 
 in his backward retreat. Then she snapped her fingers 
 in Moze's face. 
 
 " You black devil ! Get hence ! Avaunt ! " 
 
 Anson plucked up courage enough to touch her. 
 
 318 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Aww! Now, Ophelyar ' 
 
 Probably he meant to try to humor her, but she 
 screamed, and he jumped back as if she might burn him. 
 She screamed shrilly, in wild, staccato notes. 
 
 "You! You!" she pointed her finger at the outlaw 
 leader. "You brute to women! You ran off from your 
 wife!" 
 
 Anson turned plum-color and then slowly white. The 
 girl must have sent a random shot home. 
 
 "And now the devil's turned you into a snake. A long, 
 scaly snake with green eyes! Uugh! You'll crawl on 
 your belly soon when my cowboy finds you. And he'll 
 tramp you in the dust." 
 
 She floated away from them and began to whirl grace- 
 fully, arms spread and hair flying; and then, apparently 
 oblivious of the staring men, she broke into a low, sweet 
 song. Next she danced around a pine, then danced into 
 her little green inclosure. From which presently she sent 
 out the most doleful moans. 
 
 "Aww! What a shame!" burst out Anson. "Thet 
 fine, healthy, nervy kid ! Clean gone ! Daffy ! Crazy 'n 
 a bedbug!" 
 
 "Shore it's a shame," protested Wilson. "But it's 
 wuss for us. Lord ! if we was hoodooed before, what will 
 we be now? Didn't I tell you, Snake Anson? You was 
 warned. Ask Shady an' Moze they see what's up." 
 
 " No luck '11 ever come our way ag'in," predicted Shady, 
 mournfully. 
 
 " It beats me, boss, it beats me," muttered Moze. 
 
 "A crazy woman on my hands! If thet ain't the last 
 straw!" broke out Anson> tragically, as he turned away. 
 Ignorant, superstitious, worked upon by things as they 
 seemed, the outlaw imagined himself at last beset by 
 malign forces. When he flung himself down upon one 
 of the packs his big red-haired hands shook. Shady and 
 Moze resembled two other men at the end of their ropes. 
 
 Wilson's tense face twitched, and he averted it 7 as ap- 
 
 319 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 patently he fought off a paroxysm ot some nature. Just 
 then Anson swore a thundering oath. 
 
 "Crazy or not, I'll git gold out of thet kid!" he roared. 
 
 "But, man, talk sense. Are you gittin' daffy, too? I 
 declare this outfit's been eatin' loco. You can't git gold 
 fer her!" said Wilson, deliberately. 
 
 "Why can't I?" 
 
 "'Cause we're tracked. We can't make no dickers. 
 Why, in another day or so we'll be dodgin' lead." 
 
 "Tracked! Whar 'd you git thet idee? As soon as 
 this? " queried Anson, lifting his head like a striking snake. 
 His men, likewise, betrayed sudden interest. 
 
 "Shore it's no idee. I 'ain't seen any one. But I feel 
 it in my senses. I hear somebody comin' a step on our 
 trail all the time night in particular. Reckon there's 
 a big posse after us." 
 
 "Wai, if I see or hear anythin' I'll knock the girl on the 
 head an' we'll dig out of hyar," replied Anson, sullenly. 
 
 Wilson executed a swift forward motion, violent and 
 passionate, so utterly unlike what might have been looked 
 for from him, that the three outlaws gaped. 
 
 "Then you'll shore hev to knock Jim Wilson on the haid 
 first," he said, in voice as strange as his action. 
 
 "Jim! You wouldn't go back on me!" implored An- 
 son, with uplifted hands, in a dignity of pathos. 
 
 " I'm losin' my haid, too, an' you shore might as well 
 knock it in, an' you'll hev to before I'll stand you mur- 
 derin' thet pore little gurl you've drove crazy." 
 
 "Jim, I was only mad," replied Anson. "Fer thet 
 matter, I'm growin' daffy myself. Aw! we-all need a 
 good stiff drink of whisky." 
 
 So he tried to throw off gloom and apprehension, but he 
 failed. His comrades did not rally to his help. Wilson 
 walked away, nodding his head. 
 
 "Boss, let Jim alone," whispered Shady. "It's orful 
 the way you buck ag'in' him when you seen he's stirred 
 up. Jim's true blue. But you gotta be careful." 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Moze corroborated this statement by gloomy nods. 
 
 When the card-playing was resumed, Anson did not 
 join the game, and both Moze and Shady evinced little of 
 that whole-hearted obsession which usually attended their 
 gambling. Anson lay at length, his head in a saddle, 
 scowling at the little shelter where the captive girl kept 
 herself out of sight. At times a faint song or laugh, very 
 unnatural, was wafted across the space. Wilson plodded 
 at the cooking and apparently heard no sounds. Pres- 
 ently he called the men to eat, which office they surlily 
 and silently performed, as if it was a favor bestowed upon 
 the cook. 
 
 "Snake, hadn't I ought to take a bite of grub over to 
 the gurl?" asked Wilson. 
 
 ' ' Do you hev to ask me thet ? ' ' snapped Anson. ' ' She's 
 gotta be fed, if we hev to stuff it down her throat." 
 
 "Wai, I ain't stuck on the job," replied Wilson. "But 
 I'll tackle it, seein' you-all got cold feet." 
 
 With plate and cup he reluctantly approached the little 
 lean-to, and, kneeling, he put his head inside. The girl, 
 quick-eyed and alert, had evidently seen him coming. 
 At any rate, she greeted him with a cautious smile. 
 
 "Jim, was I pretty good?" she whispered. 
 
 " Miss, you was shore the finest aktress I ever seen," he 
 responded, in a low voice. "But you darn near overdid 
 it. I'm goin' to tell Anson you're sick now poisoned or 
 somethin* awful. Then we'll wait till night. Dale shore 
 will help us out." 
 
 "Oh, I'm on fire to get away," she exclaimed. "Jim 
 Wilson, I'll never forget you as long as I live!" 
 
 He seemed greatly embarrassed. 
 
 "Wai miss I I'll do my best licks. But I ain't 
 gamblin' none on results. Be patient. Keep your nerve. 
 Don't get scared. I reckon between me an' Dale you'll 
 git away from heah." 
 
 Withdrawing his head, he got up and returned to the 
 camp-fire, where Anson was waiting curiously. 
 
 321 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "I left the grub. But she didn't touch it. Seems sort 
 of sick to me, like she was poisoned." 
 
 "Jim, didn't I hear you talkin' ? " asked Anson. 
 
 "Shore. I was coaxin' her. Reckon she ain't so ranty 
 as she was. But she shore is doubled-up an* sickish." 
 
 "Wuss an' wuss all the time," said Anson, between his 
 teeth. "An' where's Burt? Hyar it's noon an' he left 
 early. He never was no woodsman. He's got lost." 
 
 "Either thet or he's run into somethin'," replied Wilson, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 Anson doubled a huge fist and cursed deep under his 
 breath the reaction of a man whose accomplices and part- 
 ners and tools, whose luck, whose faith in himself had 
 failed him. He flung himself down under a tree, and after 
 a while, when his rigidity relaxed, he probably fell asleep. 
 Moze and Shady kept at their game. Wilson paced to and 
 fro, sat down, and then got up to bunch the horses again, 
 walked around the dell and back to camp. The afternoon 
 hours were long. And they were waiting hours. The act of 
 waiting appeared on the surface of all these outlaws did. 
 
 At sunset the golden gloom of the glen changed to a 
 vague, thick twilight. Anson rolled over, yawned, and sat 
 up. As he glanced around, evidently seeking Burt, his 
 face clouded. 
 
 "No sign of Burt?" he asked. 
 
 Wilson expressed a mild surprise. "Wai, Snake, you 
 ain't expectin' Burt now?" 
 
 "I am, course I am. Why not?" demanded Anson. 
 "Any other time we'd look fer him, wouldn't we?" 
 
 "Any other time ain't now. . . . Burt won't ever come 
 back!" Wilson spoke it with a positive finality. 
 
 "A-huh! Some more of them queer feelin's of youro 
 operatin' again, hey? Them onnatural kind thet yoit 
 can't explain, hey?" 
 
 Anson's queries were bitter and rancorous. 
 
 "Yes. An', Snake, I tax you with this heah. Ain't 
 any of them queer feelin's operatin' in you? " 
 
 322 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "No!" rolled out the leader, savagely. But his pas- 
 sionate denial was a proof that he lied. From the moment 
 of this outburst, which was a fierce clinging to the old, 
 brave instincts of his character, unless a sudden change 
 marked the nature of his fortunes, he would rapidly de- 
 teriorate to the breaking-point. And in such brutal, un- 
 restrained natures as his this breaking-point meant a 
 desperate stand, a desperate forcing of events, a desperate 
 accumulation of passions that stalked out to deal and to 
 meet disaster and blood and death. 
 
 Wilson put a little wood on the fire and he munched a 
 biscuit. No one asked him to cook. No one made any 
 effort to do so. One by one each man went to the pack 
 to get some bread and meat. 
 
 Then they waited as men who knew not what they 
 waited for, yet hated and dreaded it. 
 
 Twilight in that glen was naturally a strange, veiled 
 condition of the atmosphere. It was a merging of shade 
 and light, which two seemed to make gray, creeping 
 shadows. 
 
 Suddenly a snorting and stamping of the horses startled 
 the men. 
 
 "Somethin' scared the hosses," said Anson, rising. 
 "Come on." 
 
 Moze accompanied him, and they disappeared in the 
 gloom. More trampling of hoofs was heard, then a crack- 
 ing of brush, and the deep voices of men. At length 
 the two outlaws returned, leading three of the horses, 
 which they haltered in the open glen. 
 
 The camp-fire light showed Anson's face dark and 
 serious. 
 
 "Jim, them hosses are wilder 'n deer," he said. "I 
 ketched mine, an' Moze got two. But the rest worked 
 away whenever we come close. Some varmint has scared 
 them bad. We all gotta rustle out thar quick." 
 
 Wilson rose, shaking his head doubtfully. And at that 
 moment the quiet air split to a piercing, horrid neigh of a 
 
 323 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 terrified horse. Prolonged to a screech, it broke and 
 ended. Then followed snorts of fright, pound and crack 
 and thud of hoofs, and crash of brush; then a gathering 
 thumping, crashing roar, split by piercing sounds. 
 
 "Stampede!" yelled Anson, and he ran to hold his own 
 horse, which he had haltered right in camp. It was big 
 and wild-looking, and now reared and plunged to break 
 away. Anson just got there in time, and then it took all 
 his weight to pull the horse down. Not until the crash- 
 ing, snorting, pounding mele'e had subsided and died away 
 Over the rim of the glen did Anson dare leave his fright- 
 ened favorite. 
 
 "Gone! Our horses are gone! Did you hear 'em?" 
 he exclaimed, blankly. 
 
 "Shore. They're a cut-up an' crippled bunch by now," 
 replied Wilson. 
 
 " Boss, we'll never git 'em back, not 'n a nundred years,'" 
 declared Moze. 
 
 "Thet settles us, Snake Anson," stridently added Shady 
 Jones. " Them hosses are gone! You can kiss your hand 
 to them. . . . They wasn't hobbled. They hed an orful 
 scare. They split on thet stampede an' they'll never git 
 together. . . . See what you've fetched us to!" 
 
 Under the force of this triple arraignment tne outlaw 
 leader dropped to his seat, staggered and silenced. In fact, 
 silence fell upon all the men and likewise enfolded the glen. 
 
 Night set in jet-black, dismal, lonely, without a star. 
 Faintly the wind moaned. Weirdly the brook babbled 
 through its strange chords to end in the sound that was 
 hollow. It was never the same a rumble, as if faint, 
 distant thunder a deep gurgle, as of water drawn into 
 a vortex a rolling, as of a stone in swift current. The 
 black cliff was invisible, yet seemed to have many weird 
 faces; the giant pines loomed spectral ; the shadows were 
 thick, moving, changing. Flickering lights from the 
 camp-fire circled the huge trunks and played fantastically 
 over the brooding men. This camp-fire did not burn or 
 
 324 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 blaze cheerily; it had no glow, no sputter, no white heart, 
 no red, living embers. One by one the outlaws, as if with 
 common consent, tried the:r hands at making the fire 
 burn aright. What little wood had been collected was 
 old; it would burn up with false flare, only to die quickly. 
 
 After a while not one of the outlaws spoke or stirred. 
 Not one smoked. Their gloomy eyes were fixed on the 
 fire. Each one was concerned with his own thoughts, 
 his own lonely soul unconsciously full of a doubt of the 
 future. That brooding hour severed him from comrade. 
 
 At night nothing seemed the same as it was by day. 
 With success and plenty, with full-blooded action past 
 and more in store, these outlaws were as different from 
 their present state as this black night was different from 
 the bright day they waited for. Wilson, though he played 
 a deep game of deceit for the sake of the helpless girl 
 and thus did not have haunting and superstitious fears on 
 her account was probably more conscious of impending 
 catastrophe than any of them. 
 
 The evil they had done spoke in the voice of nature, out 
 of the darkness, and was interpreted by each according 
 to his hopes and fears. Fear was their predominating 
 sense. For years they had lived with some species of fear 
 of honest men or vengeance, of pursuit, of starvation, 
 of lack of drink or gold, of blood and death, of stronger 
 men, of luck, of chance, of fate, of mysterious nameless 
 force. Wilson was the type of fearless spirit, but he en- 
 dured the most gnawing and implacable fear of all that 
 of himself that he must inevitably fall to deeds beneath 
 his manhood. 
 
 So they hunched around the camp-fire, brooding be- 
 cause hope was at lowest ebb ; listening because the weird, 
 black silence, with its moan of wind and hollow laugh of 
 brook, compelled them to hear; waiting for sleep, for the 
 hours to pass, for whatever was to come. 
 
 And it was Anson who caught the first intimation of an 
 impending doom. 
 
 325 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 " T ISTEN!" 
 
 LJ Anson whispered tensely. His poise was motion- 
 less, his eyes roved everywhere. He held up a shaking, 
 bludgy finger, to command silence. 
 
 A third and stranger sound accompanied the low, weird 
 moan of the wind, and the hollow mockery of the brook 
 and it seemed a barely perceptible, exquisitely delicate 
 wail or whine. It filled in the lulls between the other 
 sounds. 
 
 "If thet's some varmint he's close," whispered Anson. 
 
 "But shore, it's far off," said Wilson. 
 
 Shady Jones and Moze divided their opinions in the 
 same way. 
 
 All breathed freer when the wail ceased, relaxing to 
 their former lounging positions around the fire. An im- 
 penetrable wall of blackness circled the pale space lighted 
 by the camp-fire; and this circle contained the dark, 
 somber group of men in the center, the dying camp-fire, 
 and a few spectral trunks of pines and the tethered horses 
 on the outer edge. The horses scarcely moved from their 
 tracks, and their erect, alert heads attested to their sen- 
 sitiveness to the peculiarities of the night. 
 
 Then, at an unusually quiet lull the strange sound 
 gradually arose to a wailing whine. 
 
 "It's thet crazy wench cryin 1 ," declared the outlaw 
 leader. 
 
 Apparently his allies accepted that statement with as 
 much relief as they had expressed for the termination of 
 
 the sound. 
 
 326 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Shore, thet must be it," agreed Jim Wilson, gravely. 
 
 "We'll git a lot of sleep with thet gurl whinin* all 
 night," growled Shady Jones. 
 
 "She gives me the creeps," said Moze. 
 
 Wilson got up to resume his pondering walk, head bent, 
 hands behind his back, a grim, realistic figure of per- 
 turbation. 
 
 "Jim set down. You make me nervous," said Anson, 
 irritably. 
 
 Wilson actually laughed, but low, as if to keep his 
 strange mirth well confined. 
 
 "Snake, I'll bet you my hoss an* my gun ag'in' a bis- 
 cuit thet in aboot six seconds more or less I'll be stampedin' 
 like them hosses." 
 
 Anson's lean jaw dropped. The other two outlaws 
 stared with round eyes. Wilson was not drunk, they 
 evidently knew; but what he really was appeared a 
 mystery. 
 
 "Jim Wilson, are you showin' yellow?" queried Anson, 
 hoarsely. 
 
 "Mebbe. The Lord only knows. But listen heah. . . . 
 Snake, you've seen an' heard people croak?" 
 
 "You mean cash in die?" 
 
 "Shore." 
 
 "Wai, yes a couple or so," replied Anson, grimly. 
 
 "But you never seen no one die of shock of an orful 
 scare?" 
 
 "No, I reckon I never did." 
 
 "I have. An' thet's what's ailin' Jim Wilson," and he 
 resumed his dogged steps. 
 
 Anson and his two comrades exchanged bewildered 
 glances with one another. 
 
 "A-huh! Say, what's thet got to do with us hyar?" 
 asked Anson, presently. 
 
 "Thet gurl is dyin'!" retorted Wilson, in a voice crack- 
 ing like a whip. 
 
 The three outlaws stiffened in their seats, incredulous, 
 
 327 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 yet irresistibly swayed by emotions that stirred to this 
 dark, lonely, ill-omened hour. 
 
 Wilson trudged to the edge of the lighted circle, mut- 
 tering to himself, and came back again; then he trudged 
 farther, this time almost out of sight, but only to return; 
 the third time he vanished in the impenetrable wall of 
 night. The three men scarcely moved a muscle as they 
 watched the place where he had disappeared. In a few 
 moments he came stumbling back. 
 
 "Shore she's almost gone," he said, dismally. " It took 
 my nerve, but I felt of her face. . . . Thet orful wail is her 
 breath chokin' in her throat. . . . Like a death-rattle, only 
 long instead of short." 
 
 "Wai, if she's gotta croak it's good she gits it over 
 quick," replied Anson. " I 'ain't hed sleep fer three nights. 
 . . . An' what I need is whisky." 
 
 "Snake, thet's gospel you're spoutin'," remarked Shady 
 Jones, morosely. 
 
 The direction of sound in the glen was difficult to be 
 assured of, but any man not stirred to a high pitch of 
 excitement could have told that the difference in volume 
 of this strange wail must have been caused by different 
 distances and positions. Also, when it was loudest, it was 
 most like a whine. But these outlaws heard with their 
 consciences. 
 
 At last it ceased abruptly. 
 
 Wilson again left the group to be swallowed up by the 
 night. His absence was longer than usual, but he re- 
 turned hurriedly. 
 
 "She's daid!" he exclaimed, solemnly. "Thet inno- 
 cent kid who never harmed no one an' who'd make 
 any man better fer seein' her she's daid! . . . Anson, 
 you've shore a heap to answer fer when your time 
 comes." 
 
 "What's eatin' you?" demanded the leader, angriJy, 
 "Her blood ain't on my hands." 
 
 "It shore is," shouted Wilson, shaking his hand at 
 
 328 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Anson. "An' you'll hev to take your medicine. I felt 
 thet comin' all along. An' I feel some more." 
 
 "Aw! She's jest gone to sleep," declared Anson, shak- 
 ing his long frame as he rose. "Gimme a light." 
 
 "Boss, you're plumb off to go near a dead gurl thet's 
 jest died crazy," protested Shady Jones. 
 
 "Off! Haw! Haw! Who ain't off in this outfit, I'd like 
 to know?" Anson possessed himself of a stick blazing 
 at one end, and with this he stalked off toward the lean-to 
 where the girl was supposed to be dead. His gaunt figure, 
 lighted by the torch, certainly fitted the weird, black 
 surroundings. And it was seen that once near the girl's 
 shelter he proceeded more slowly, until he halted. He 
 bent to peer inside. 
 
 "SHE'S GONE!" he yelled, in harsh, shaken accents. 
 
 Then the torch burned out, leaving only a red glow. 
 He whirled it about, but the blaze did not rekindle. His 
 comrades, peering intently, lost sight of his tall form and 
 the end of the red-ended stick. Darkness like pitch 
 swallowed him. For a moment no sound intervened. 
 Again the moan of wind, the strange little mocking hol- 
 low roar, dominated the place. Then there came a rush 
 of something, perhaps of air, like the soft swishing of 
 spruce branches swinging aside. Dull, thudding footsteps 
 followed it. Anson came running back to the fire. His 
 aspect was wild, his face pale, his eyes were fierce and start- 
 ing from their sockets. He had drawn his gun. 
 
 "Did ye see er hear any thin'?" he panted, peering 
 back, then all around, and at last at his man. 
 
 "No. An' I shore was lookin' an' listenin'," replied 
 Wilson. 
 
 "Boss, there wasn't nothin'," declared Moze. 
 
 "I ain't so sartin," said Shady Jones, with doubtful, 
 staring eyes. " I believe I heerd a rustlin'." 
 
 "She wasn't there!" ejaculated Anson, in wondering 
 awe. "She's gone! . . . My torch went out. I couldn't 
 see. An' jest then I felt somethin' was passin'. Fast! 
 
 329 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 I jerked 'round. All was black, an 1 yet if I didn't see a 
 big gray streak I'm crazier 'n thet gurl. But I couldn't 
 swear to anythin' but a rushin' of wind. I felt thet." 
 
 "Gone!" exclaimed Wilson, in great alarm. "Fellars, 
 if thet's so, then mebbe she wasn't daid an' she wandered 
 off. ... But she was daid! Her heart hed quit beatin'. 
 I'll swear to thet." 
 
 "I move to break camp," said Shady Jones, gruffly, 
 and he stood up. Moze seconded that move by an ex- 
 pressive flash of his black visage. 
 
 "Jim, if she's dead an' gone what 'n hell's come 
 off?" huskily asked Anson. "It only seems thet way. 
 We're all worked up Let's talk sense." 
 
 "Anson, shore there's a heap you an' me don't know," 
 replied Wilson. " The world come to an end once. Wai, 
 it can come to another end. ... I tell you I ain't sur- 
 prised" 
 
 "Thar!" cried Anson, whirling, with his gun leaping 
 out. 
 
 Something huge, shadowy, gray against the black 
 rushed behind the men and trees; and following it came 
 a perceptible acceleration of the air. 
 
 "Shore, Snake, there wasn't nothin'," said Wilson, 
 presently. 
 
 "I heerd," whispered Shady Jones. 
 
 "It was only a breeze blowin' thet smoke," rejoined 
 Moze. 
 
 "I'd bet my soul somethin' went back of me," declared 
 Anson, glaring into the void. 
 
 "Listen an' let's make shore," suggested Wilson. 
 
 The guilty, agitated faces of the outlaws showed plain 
 enough in the flickering light for each to see a convicting 
 dread in his fellow. Like statues they stood, watching 
 and listening. 
 
 Few sounds stirred in the strange silence. Now and 
 then the horses heaved heavily, but stood still; a dismal, 
 dreary note of the wind in the pines vied with a hollow 
 
 330 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 laugh of the brook. And these low sounds only fastened 
 attention upon the quality of the silence. A breathing, 
 lonely spirit of solitude permeated the black dell. Like 
 a pit of unplumbed depths the dark night yawned. An 
 evil conscience, listening there, could have heard the most 
 peaceful, beautiful, and mournful sounds of nature only 
 as strains of a calling hell. 
 
 Suddenly the silent, oppressive, surcharged air split to 
 a short, piercing scream. 
 
 Anson's big horse stood up straight, pawing the air, 
 and came down with a crash. The other horses shook 
 with terror. 
 
 "Wasn't thet a cougar?" whispered Anson, thickly. 
 
 "Thet was a woman's scream," replied Wilson, and he 
 appeared to be shaking like a leaf in the wind. 
 
 "Then I figgered right the kid's alive wanderin' 
 around an* she let out thet orful scream," said Anson. 
 
 "Wanderin' 'round, yes but she's daid!" 
 
 "My Gawd! it ain't possible!" 
 
 "Wai, if she ain't wanderin' round daid she's almost 
 daid," replied Wilson. And he began to whisper to him- 
 self. 
 
 "If I'd only knowed what thet deal meant I'd hev 
 plugged Beasley instead of listenin'. . . . An' I ought to 
 hev knocked thet kid on the head an' made sartin she'd 
 croaked. If she goes screamin' 'round thet way " 
 
 His voice failed as there rose a thin, splitting, high-* 
 pointed shriek, somewhat resembling the first scream, 
 only less wild. It came apparently from the cliff. 
 
 From another point in the pitch-black glen rose the 
 wailing, terrible cry of a woman in agony. Wild, haunt- 
 ing, mournful wail! 
 
 Anson's horse, loosing the halter, plunged back, almost 
 falling over a slight depression in the rocky ground. The 
 outlaw caught him and dragged him nearer the fire. The 
 other horses stood shaking and straining. Moze ran be- 
 tween them and held them. Shady Jones threw green 
 
 331 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 brush on the fire. With sputter and crackle a blaze 
 started, showing Wilson standing tragically, his arms out, 
 facing the black shadows. 
 
 The strange, live shriek was not repeated. But the 
 cry, like that of a woman in her death-throes, pierced the 
 silence again. It left a quivering ring that softly died 
 away. Then the stillness clamped down once more and 
 the darkness seemed to thicken. The men waited, and 
 when they had begun to relax the cry burst out appallingly 
 close, right behind the trees. It was human the per- 
 sonification of pain and terror the tremendous struggle 
 of precious life against horrible death. So pure, so ex- 
 quisite, so wonderful was the cry that the listeners 
 writhed as if they saw an innocent, tender, beautiful 
 girl torn frightfully before their eyes. It was full of 
 suspense; it thrilled for death; its marvelous potency 
 was the wild note that beautiful and ghastly note of 
 self-preservation. 
 
 In sheer desperation the outlaw leader fired his gun at 
 the black wall whence the cry came. Then he had to 
 fight his horse to keep him from plunging away. Follow- 
 ing the shot was an interval of silence; the horses became 
 tractable; the men gathered closer to the fire, with the 
 halters still held firmly. 
 
 " If it was a cougar thet 'd scare him off," said Anson. 
 
 "Shore, but it ain't a cougar," replied Wilson. "Wait 
 an' see!" 
 
 They all waited, listening with ears turned to different 
 points, eyes roving everywhere, afraid of their very 
 shadows. Once more the moan of wind, the mockery of 
 brook, deep gurgle, laugh and babble, dominated the 
 silence of the glen. 
 
 "Boss, let's shake this spooky hole," whispered Moze. 
 
 The suggestion attracted Anson, and he pondered it 
 while slowly shaking his head. 
 
 "We've only three hosses. An' mine '11 take ridin' 
 after them squalls," replied the leader. "We've got 
 
 332 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 packs, too. An* hell 'ain't nothin' on this place fer bein r 
 dark." 
 
 "No matter. Let's go. I'll walk an' lead the way," 
 said Moze, eagerly. "I got sharp eyes. You f ellars can 
 ride an' carry a pack. We'll git out of here an' come back 
 in daylight fer the rest of the outfit." 
 
 "Anson, I'm keen fer thet myself," declared Shady 
 Jones. 
 
 "Jim, what d'ye say to thet?" queried Anson. "Rus- 
 tlin' out of this black hole?" 
 
 "Shore it's a grand idee," agreed Wilson. 
 
 "Thet was a cougar," avowed Anson, gathering courage 
 as the silence remained unbroken. "But jest the same it 
 was as tough on me as if it hed been a woman screamin* 
 over a blade twistin' in her gizzards." 
 
 "Snake, shore you seen a woman heah lately?" de- 
 liberately asked Wilson. 
 
 "Reckon I did. Thet kid," replied Anson, dubiously. 
 
 "Wai, you seen her go crazy, didn't you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "An' she wasn't heah when you went huntin' fer her?" 
 
 "Correct." 
 
 "Wai, if thet's so, what do you want to blab about 
 cougars fer?" 
 
 Wilson's argument seemed incontestable. Shady and 
 Moze nodded gloomily and shifted restlessly from foot to 
 foot. Anson dropped his head. 
 
 "No matter if we only don't hear " he began, sud- 
 denly to grow mute. 
 
 Right upon them, from some place, just out the circle 
 of light, rose a scream, by reason of its proximity the most 
 piercing and agonizing yet heard, simply petrifying the 
 group until the peal passed. Anson's huge horse reared, 
 and with a snort of terror lunged in tremendous leap, 
 straight out. He struck Anson with thudding impact, 
 knocking him over the rocks into the depression back of 
 the camp-fire, and plunging after him. Wilson had made 
 
~THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 a flying leap just in time to avoid being struck, and he 
 turned to see Anson go down. There came a crash, a 
 groan, and then the strike and pound of hoofs as the 
 horse struggled up. Apparently he had rolled over his 
 master. 
 
 "Help, fellars!" yelled Wilson, quick to leap down over 
 the little bank, and in the dim light to grasp the halter. 
 The three men dragged the horse out and securely tied 
 him close to a tree. That done, they peered down into 
 the depression. Anson's form could just barely be dis- 
 tinguished in the gloom. He lay stretched out. Another 
 groan escaped him. 
 
 "Shore I'm scared he's hurt," said Wilson. 
 
 "Hoss rolled right on top of him. An' thet boss's 
 heavy," declared Moze. 
 
 They got down and knelt beside their leader. In the 
 darkness his face looked dull gray. His breathing was 
 not right. 
 
 "Snake, old man, you ain't hurt?" asked Wilson, 
 with a tremor in his voice. Receiving no reply, he said 
 to his comrades, "Lay hold an' we'll heft him up where 
 we can see." 
 
 The three men carefully lifted Anson up on the bank 
 and laid him near the fire in the light. Anson was con- 
 scious. His face was ghastly. Blood showed on his lips. 
 
 Wilson knelt beside him. The other outlaws stood up, 
 and with one dark gaze at one another damned Anson's 
 chance of life. And on the instant rose that terrible dis- 
 tressing scream of acute agony like that of a woman 
 being dismembered. Shady Jones whispered something 
 to Moze. Then they stood up, gazing down at their 
 fallen leader. 
 
 "Tell me where you're hurt?" asked Wilson. 
 
 "He smashed my chest," said Anson, in a broken, 
 strangled whisper. 
 
 Wilson's deft hands opened the outlaw's shirt and felt 
 of his chest. 
 
 334 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "No. Shore your breast-bone ain't smashed," replied 
 Wilson, hopefully. And he began to run his hand around 
 one side of Anson's body and then the other. Abruptly 
 he stopped, averted his gaze, then slowly ran the hand all 
 along that side. Anson's ribs had been broken and crushed 
 in by the height of the horse. He was bleeding at the 
 mouth, and his slow, painful expulsions of breath brought 
 a bloody froth, which showed that the broken bones had 
 penetrated the lungs. An injury sooner or later fatal! 
 
 "Pard, you busted a rib or two," said Wilson. 
 
 "Aw, Jim it must be wuss 'n thet!" he whispered. 
 "I'm in orful pain. An' I can't git any breath." 
 
 "Mebbe you'll be better," said Wilson, with a cheer- 
 fulness his face belied. 
 
 Moze bent close over Anson, took a short scrutiny of 
 that ghastly face, at the blood-stained lips, and the lean 
 hands plucking at nothing. Then he jerked erect. 
 
 "Shady, he's goin* to cash. Let's clear out of this." 
 
 "I'm yours pertickler previous," replied Jones. 
 
 Both turned away. They untied the two horses and 
 led them up to where the saddles lay. Swiftly the blankets 
 went on, swiftly the saddles swung up, swiftly the cinches 
 snapped. Anson lay gazing up at Wilson, comprehend- 
 ing this move. And Wilson stood strangely grim and 
 silent, somehow detached coldly from that self of the past 
 few hours. 
 
 "Shady, you grab some bread an* 111 pack a hunk of 
 meat," said Moze. Both men came near the fire, into the 
 light, within ten feet of where the leader lay. 
 
 "Fellars you ain't slopin'?" he whispered, in husky 
 amaze. 
 
 " Boss, we air thet same. We can't do you no good an' 
 this hole ain't healthy," replied Moze. 
 
 Shady Jones swung himself astride his horse, all about 
 him sharp, eager, strung. 
 
 "Moze, I'll tote the grub an' you lead out of hyar, till 
 we git past the wust timber," he said. 
 
 335 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Aw, Moze you wouldn't leave Jim hyar alone," 
 implored Anson. 
 
 "Jim can stay till he rots," retorted Moze. "I've hed 
 enough of this hole." 
 
 "But, Moze it ain't square " panted Anson. "Jim 
 wouldn't leave me. I'd stick by you. . . . I'll make 
 it all up to you." 
 
 "Snake, you're goin* to cash," sardonically returned 
 Moze. 
 
 A current leaped all through Anson's stretched frame. 
 His ghastly face blazed. That was the great and the ter- 
 rible moment which for long had been in abeyance. Wil- 
 son had known grimly that it would come, by one means 
 or another. Anson had doggedly and faithfully struggled 
 against the tide of fatal issues. Moze and Shady Jones, 
 deep locked in their self -centered motives, had not realized 
 the inevitable trend of their dark lives. 
 
 Anson, prostrate as he was, swiftly drew his gun and 
 shot Moze. Without sound or movement of hand Moze 
 fell. Then the plunge of Shady 's horse caused Anson's 
 second shot to miss. A quick third shot brought no 
 apparent result but Shady's cursing resort to his own 
 weapon. He tried to aim from his plunging horse. His 
 bullets spattered dust and gravel over Anson. Then Wil- 
 son's long arm stretched and his heavy gun banged. 
 Shady collapsed in the saddle, and the frightened horse, 
 throwing him, plunged out of the circle of light. Thudding 
 hoofs, crashings of brush, quickly ceased. 
 
 "Jim did you git him?" whispered Anson. 
 
 "Shore did, Snake," was the slow, halting response. 
 Jim Wilson must have sustained a sick shudder as he 
 replied. Sheathing his gun, he folded a blanket and put 
 it under Anson's head. 
 
 "Jim my feet air orful cold," whispered Anson. 
 
 "Wai, it's gittin' chilly," replied Wilson, and, taking a 
 second blanket, he laid that over Anson's limbs. "Snake, 
 I'm feared Shady hit you once." 
 
 336 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "A-huh! But not so I'd care much if I hed no 
 wuss hurt." 
 
 "You lay still now. Reckon Shady 's hoss stopped out 
 heah a ways. An' I'll see." 
 
 "Jim I 'ain't heerd thet scream fer a little." 
 
 "Shore it's gone. . . . Reckon now thet was a cougar." 
 
 "Iknowedit!" 
 
 Wilson stalked away into the darkness. That inky wall 
 did not seem so impenetrable and black after he had 
 gotten out of the circle of light. He proceeded carefully 
 and did not make any missteps. He groped from tree to 
 tree toward the cliff and presently brought up against a 
 huge flat rock as high as his head. Here the darkness 
 was blackest, yet he was able to see a light form on the 
 rock. 
 
 "Miss, are you there all right?" he called, softly. 
 
 "Yes, but I'm scared to death," she whispered in reply. 
 
 "Shore it wound up sudden. Come now. I reckon 
 your trouble's over." 
 
 He helped her off the rock, and, finding her unsteady on 
 her feet, he supported her with one arm and held the other 
 out in front of him to feel for objects. Foot by foot they 
 worked out from under the dense shadow of the cliff, fol- 
 lowing the course of the little brook. It babbled and 
 gurgled, and almost drowned the low whistle Wilson sent 
 out. The girl dragged heavily upon him now, evidently 
 weakening. At length he reached the little open patch 
 at the head of the ravine. Halting here, he whistled. An 
 answer came from somewhere behind him and to the right. 
 Wilson waited, with the girl hanging on his arm. 
 
 " Dale's heah," he said. "An' don't you keel over now 
 ^after all the nerve you hed." 
 
 A swishing of brush, a step, a soft, padded footfall; a 
 looming, dark figure, and a long, low gray shape, stealthily 
 moving it was the last of these that made Wilson jump. 
 
 "Wilson!" came Dale's subdued voice. 
 
 "Heah. I've got her, Dale. Safe an* sound," replied 
 
 337 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Wilson, stepping toward the tall form. And he put the 
 drooping girl into Dale's arms. 
 
 "Bo! Bo! You're all right?" Dale's deep voice was 
 tremulous. 
 
 She roused up to seize him and to utter little cries of 
 joy. 
 
 "Oh, Dale! . . .Oh, thank Heaven! I'm ready to drop 
 now. . . . Hasn't it been a night an adventure? ... I'm 
 well safe sound. . . . Dale, we owe it to this Jim Wilson." 
 
 "Bo, I we'll all thank him all our lives," replied Dale. 
 "Wilson, you're a man! ... If you'll shake that gang " 
 
 " Dale, shore there ain't much of a gang left, onless you 
 let Burt git away," replied Wilson. 
 
 " I didn't kill him or hurt him. But I scared him so 
 I'll bet he's runnin' yet. . . . Wilson, did all the shootin' 
 mean a fight?" 
 
 "Tolerable." 
 
 " Oh, Dale, it was terrible! I saw it all. I" 
 
 " Wa Miss, you can tell him after I go. ... I'm wishin' 
 you good luck." 
 
 His voice was a cool, easy drawl, slightly tremulous. 
 
 The girl's face flashed white in the gloom. She pressed 
 against the outlaw wrung his hands. 
 
 "Heaven help you, Jim Wilson! You are from Texas \ 
 ... I'll remember you pray for you all my life! " 
 
 Wilson moved away, out toward the pale glow of light 
 tinder the black pines. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 A> Helen Rayner watched Dale ride away on a quest 
 perilous to him, and which meant almost life or 
 death for her, it was surpassing strange that she could 
 think of nothing except the thrilling, tumultuous moment 
 when she had put her arms round his neck. 
 
 It did not matter that Dale splendid fellow that he 
 was had made the ensuing moment free of shame by 
 taking her action as he had taken it the fact that she had 
 actually done it was enough. How utterly impossible for 
 her to anticipate her impulses or to understand them, 
 once they were acted upon i Confounding realization then 
 was that when Dale returned. with her sister, Helen knew 
 she would do the same thing over again ! 
 
 "If I do I won't be two-faced about it," she solilo- 
 quized, and a hot blush flamed her cheeks. 
 
 She watched Dale until he rode out of sight. 
 
 When he had gone, worry and dread replaced this other 
 confusing emotion. She turned to the business of meeting 
 events. Before supper she packed her valuables and 
 books, papers, and clothes, together with Bo's, and had 
 them in readiness so if she was forced to vacate the 
 premises she would have her personal possessions. 
 
 The Mormon boys and several other of her trusted men 
 slept in their tarpaulin beds on the porch of the ranch- 
 house that night, so that Helen at least would not be sur- 
 prised. But the day came, with its manifold duties un- 
 disturbed by any event. And it passed slowly with the 
 leaden feet of listening, watching vigilance. 
 
 Carmichael did not come back, nor \v<s there news of 
 
 339 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 him to be had. The last known of him had been late the 
 afternoon of the preceding day, when a sheep-herder had 
 seen him far out on the north range, headed for the hills. 
 The Beemans reported that Roy's condition had improved, 
 and also that there was a subdued excitement of suspense 
 down in the village. 
 
 This second lonely night was almost unendurable for 
 Helen. When she slept it was to dream horrible dreams; 
 when she lay awake it was to have her heart leap to her 
 throat at a rustle of leaves near the window, and to be in 
 torture of imagination as to poor Bo's plight. A thousand 
 times Helen said to herself that Beasley could have had 
 the ranch and welcome, if only Bo had been spared. 
 Helen absolutely connected her enemy with her sister's 
 disappearance. Riggs might have been a means to it. 
 
 Daylight was not attended by so many fears; there 
 were things to do that demanded attention. And thus 
 it was that the next morning, shortly before noon, she was 
 recalled to her perplexities by a shouting out at the corrals 
 and a galloping of horses somewhere near. From the 
 window she saw a big smoke. 
 
 "Fire! That must be one of the barns the old one, 
 farthest out," she said, gazing out of the window. " Some 
 careless Mexican with his everlasting cigarette!" 
 
 Helen resisted an impulse to go out and see what had 
 happened. She had decided to stay in the house. But 
 when footsteps sounded on the porch and a rap on the 
 door, she unhesitatingly opened it. Four Mexicans stood 
 close. One of them, quick as thought, flashed a hand in 
 to grasp her, and in a single motion pulled her across the 
 threshold. 
 
 "No hurt, Sefiora," he said, and pointed making 
 motions she must go. 
 
 Helen did not need to be told what this visit meant. 
 Many as her conjectures had been, however, she had not 
 thought of Beasley subjecting her to this outrage. And 
 her blood boiled. 
 
 340 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "How dare you!" she said, trembling in her effort to 
 control her temper. But class, authority, voice availed 
 nothing with these swarthy Mexicans. They grinned. 
 Another laid hold of Helen with dirty, brown hand. She 
 shrank from the contact. 
 
 "Let go!" she burst out, furiously. And instinctively 
 she began to struggle to free herself. Then they all took 
 hold of her. Helen's dignity might never have been ! A 
 burning, choking rush of blood was her first acquaintance 
 with the terrible passion of anger that was her inheritance 
 from the Auchinclosses. She who had resolved never to 
 lay herself open to indignity now fought like a tigress. 
 The Mexicans, jabbering in their excitement, had all they 
 could do, until the/ lifted her bodily from the porch. 
 They handled her as if she had been a half-empty sack of 
 corn. One holding each hand and foot they packed her, 
 with dress disarranged and half torn off, down the path 
 to the lane and down the lane to the road. There they 
 stood upright and pushed her off her property. 
 
 Through half -blind eyes Helen saw them guarding the 
 gateway, ready to prevent her entrance. She staggered 
 down the road to the village. It seemed she made her 
 way through a red dimness that there was a congestion 
 in her brain that the distance to Mrs. Cass's cottage 
 was insurmountable. But she got there, to stagger up 
 the path, to hear the old woman's cry. Dizzy, faint, sick, 
 with a blackness enveloping all she looked at, Helen felt 
 herself led into the sitting-room and placed in the big 
 chair. 
 
 Presently sight and clearness of mind returned to her. 
 She saw Roy, white as a sheet, questioning her with ter- 
 rible eyes. The old woman hung murmuring over her, 
 trying to comfort her as well as fasten the disordered 
 dress. 
 
 "Four greasers packed me down the hill threw me 
 off my ranch into the road!" panted Helen. 
 
 She seemed to tell this also to her own consciousness 
 
 34i 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 and to realize the mighty wave of danger that shook her 
 whole body. 
 
 "If I'd known I would have killed them!" 
 
 She exclaimed that, full-voiced and hard, with dry, hot 
 eyes on her friends. Roy reached out to take her hand, 
 speaking huskily. Helen did not distinguish what he 
 said. The frightened old woman knelt, with unsteady 
 fingers fumbling over the rents in Helen's dress. The 
 moment came when Helen's quivering began to subside, 
 when her blood quieted to let her reason sway, when she 
 began to do battle with her rage, and slowly to take fear- 
 ful stock of this consuming peril that had been a sleeping 
 tigress in her veins. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Helen, you looked so tumble, I made sure 
 you was hurted," the old woman was saying. 
 
 Helen gazed strangely at her bruised wrists, at the one 
 stocking that hung down over her shoe-top, at the rent 
 which had bared her shoulder to the profane gaze of those 
 grinning, beady-eyed Mexicans. 
 
 "My body's not hurt," she whispered. 
 
 Roy had lost some of his whiteness, and where his eyes 
 fcad been fierce they were now kind. 
 
 "Wai, Miss Nell, it's lucky no harm's done. . . . Now if 
 you'll only see this whole deal clear! . . . Not let it spoil 
 your sweet way of lookin' an' hopin'! If you can only 
 see what's raw in this West an' love it jest the same!" 
 
 Helen only half divined his meaning, but that was 
 enough for a future reflection. The West was beautiful, 
 but hard. In the faces of these friends she began to see 
 the meaning of the keen, sloping lines, and shadows of 
 pain, of a lean, naked truth, cut as from marble. 
 
 "For the land's sakes, tell us all about it," importuned 
 Mrs. Cass. 
 
 Whereupon Helen shut her eyes and told the brief 
 narrative of her expulsion from her home. 
 
 "Shore we-all expected thet," said Roy. "An' it's jest 
 as well you're here with a whole skin. Beaslev's in pos- 
 
 34* 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 session now an' I reckon we'd all sooner hev you away 
 from thet ranch." 
 
 "But, Roy, I won't let Beasley stay there," cried 
 Helen. 
 
 " Miss Nell, shore by the time this here Pine has growed 
 big enough fer law you'll hev gray in thet pretty hair. 
 You can't put Beasley off with your honest an' rightful 
 claim. Al Auchincloss was a hard driver. He made 
 enemies an' he made some he didn't kill. The evil men 
 do lives after them. An' you've got to suffer fer ATs 
 sins, though Al was as good as any man who ever pros- 
 pered in these parts." 
 
 "Oh, what can I do? I won't give up. I've been 
 robbed. Can't the people help me? Must I meekly sit 
 with my hands crossed while that half-breed thief Oh, 
 it's unbelievable!" 
 
 " I reckon you'll jest hev to be patient fer a few days," 
 said Roy, calmly. "It '11 all come right in the end." 
 
 " Roy ! You've had this deal, as you call it, all worked 
 out in mind for a long time!" exclaimed Helen. 
 
 "Shore, an' I 'ain't missed a reckonin' yet." 
 
 "Then what will happen in a few days ? " 
 
 "Nell Rayner, are you goin' to hev some spunk an* not 
 lose your nerve again or go wild out of your head? " 
 
 "I'll try to be brave, but but I must be prepared," 
 she replied, tremulously. 
 
 "Wai, there's Dale an' Las Vegas an' me fer Beasley 
 to reckon with. An', Miss Nell, his chances fer long life 
 are as pore as his chances fer heaven!" 
 
 "But, Roy, I don't believe in deliberate taking of life," 
 replied Helen, shuddering. "That's against my religion. 
 I won't allow it. ... And then think, Dale, all of you 
 in danger!" 
 
 "Girl, how 're you ever goin' to help yourself? Shore 
 you might hold Dale back, if you love him, an' swear you 
 won't give yourself to him. . . . An' I reckon I'd respect 
 your religion, if you was goin' to suffer through me. 8 . . 
 
 343 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 But not Dale nor yo-a. nor Bo nor love or heaven or 
 hell can ever stop thet cowboy Las Vegas!" 
 
 " Oh, if Dale brings Bo back to me what will I care for 
 my ranch?" murmured Helen. 
 
 "Reckon you'll only begin to care when thet happens. 
 Your big hunter has got to be put to work," replied Roy, 
 with his keen smile. 
 
 Before noon that day the baggage Helen had packed 
 at home was left on the porch of Widow Cass's cottage, 
 and Helen's anxious need of the hour was satisfied. She 
 was made comfortable in the old woman's one spare room, 
 and she set herself the task of fortitude and endurance. 
 
 To her surprise, many of Mrs. Cass's neighbors came 
 unobtrusively to the back door of the little cottage and 
 made sympathetic inquiries. They appeared a subdued 
 and apprehensive group, and whispered to one another 
 as they left. Helen gathered from their visits a convic- 
 tion that the wives of the men dominated by Beasley 
 believed no good could come of this high-handed taking 
 over of the ranch. Indeed, Helen found at the end of 
 the day that a strength had been borne of her misfortune. 
 
 The next day Roy informed her that his brother John 
 had come down the preceding night with the news of 
 Beasley's descent upon the ranch. Not a shot had been 
 fired, and the only damage done was that of the burning 
 of a hay-filled barn. This had been set on fire to attract 
 Helen's men to one spot, where Beasley had ridden down 
 upon them with three times their number. He had boldly 
 ordered them off the land, unless they wanted to acknowl- 
 edge him boss and remain there in his service. The three 
 Beemans had stayed, having planned that just in this 
 event they might be valuable to Helen's interests. Beas- 
 ley had ridden down into Pine the same as upon any other 
 day. Roy reported also news which had come in that 
 morning, how Beasley's crowd had celebrated late the 
 trght before. 
 
 344 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 The second and third and fourth days endlessly wore 
 away, and Helen believed they had made her old. At 
 night she lay awake most of the time, thinking and pray- 
 ing, but during the afternoon she got some sleep. She 
 could think of nothing and talk of nothing except her 
 sister, and Dale's chances of saving her. 
 
 "Well, shore you pay Dale a pore compliment," finally 
 protested the patient Roy. "I tell you Milt Dale can 
 do anythin' he wants to do in the woods. You can believe 
 thet. . . . But I reckon he'll run chances after he comes 
 back." 
 
 This significant speech thrilled Helen with its assurance 
 of hope, and made her blood curdle at the implied peril 
 awaiting the hunter. 
 
 On the afternoon of the fifth day Helen was abruptly 
 awakened from her nap. The sun had almost set. She 
 heard voices the shrill, cackling notes of old Mrs. Cass, 
 high in excitement, a deep voice that made Helen tingle 
 all over, a girl's laugh, broken but happy. There were 
 footsteps and stamping of hoofs. Dale had brought Bo 
 back! Helen knew it. She grew very weak, and had to 
 force herself to stand erect. Her heart began to pound 
 in her very ears. A sweet and perfect joy suddenly 
 flooded her soul. She thanked God her prayers had been 
 answered. Then suddenly alive with sheer mad physical 
 gladness, she rushed out. 
 
 She was just in time to see Roy Beeman stalk out as if 
 he had never been shot, and with a yell greet a big, gray- 
 clad, gray-faced man Dale. 
 
 "Howdy, Roy! Glad to see you up," said Dale. How 
 the quiet voice steadied Helen! She beheld Bo. Bo, 
 looking the same, except a little pale and disheveled! 
 Then Bo saw her and leaped at her, into her arms. 
 
 "Nell! I'm here! Safe all right! Never was so happy 
 in my life. . . . Oh-h ! talk about your adventures ! Nell, 
 you dear old mother to me I've had e-enough for- 
 ever!" 
 23 345 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Bo was wild with joy, and by turns she laughed and 
 cried. But Helen could not voice her feelings. Her eyes 
 were so dim that she could scarcely see Dale when he 
 loomed over her as she held Bo. But he found the hand 
 she put shakily out. 
 
 "Nell! . . . Reckon it's been harder on you." His 
 voice was earnest and halting. She telt his searching 
 gaze upon her face. " Mrs. Cass said you were here. An' 
 I know why." 
 
 Roy led them all indoors. 
 
 "Milt, one of the neighbor boys will take care of thet 
 hoss," he said, as Dale turned toward the dusty and 
 weary Ranger. "Where'd you leave the cougar?" 
 
 "I sent him home," replied Dale. 
 
 "Laws now, Milt, if this ain't grand!" cackled Mrs. 
 Cass. "We've worried some here. An' Miss Helen near 
 starved a-hopin* fer you." 
 
 "Mother, I reckon the girl an' I are nearer starved than 
 anybody you know," replied Dale, with a grim laugh. 
 
 "Fer the land's sake! I'll be fixin' supper this minit." 
 
 "Nell, why are you here?" asked Bo, suspiciously. 
 
 For answer Helen led her sister into the spare room and 
 closed the door. Bo saw the baggage. Her expression 
 changed. The old blaze leaped to the telltale eyes. 
 
 "He's done it!" she cried, hotly. 
 
 "Dearest thank God. I've got you back again!" 
 murmured Helen, finding her voice. "Nothing else mat- 
 ters! ... I've prayed only for that!" 
 
 "Good old Nell!" whispered Bo, and she kissed and 
 embraced Helen. "You really mean that, I know. But 
 nix for yours truly! I'm back alive and kicking, you bet. 
 . . . Where's my where's Tom?" 
 
 "Bo, not a word has been heard of him for five days. 
 He's searching for you, of course." 
 
 "And you've been been put off the ranch?" 
 
 "Well, rather," replied Helen, and in a few trembling 
 words she told the story of her eviction. 
 
 346 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Bo uttered a wild word that had more force than ele- 
 gance, but it became her passionate resentment ot this 
 outrage done her sister. 
 
 "Oh! . . . Does Tom Carmichael know this?" she added, 
 breathlessly. 
 
 "How could he?" 
 
 "When he finds out, then Oh, won't there be hell? 
 I'm glad I got here first. . . . Nell, my boots haven't been 
 off the whole blessed time. Help me. And oh, for some 
 soap and hot water and some clean clothes! Nell, old 
 girl, I wasn't raised right for these Western deals. Too 
 luxurious!" 
 
 And then Helen had her ears filled with a rapid-fire 
 account of running horses and Riggs and outlaws and 
 Beasley called boldly to his teeth, and a long ride and an 
 outlaw who was a hero a fight with Riggs blood and 
 death another long ride a wild camp in black woods 
 night lonely, ghostly sounds and day again plot a 
 great actress lost to the world Ophelia Snakes and An- 
 sons hoodooed outlaws mournful moans and terrible 
 cries cougar stampede fight and shots, more blood 
 and death Wilson hero another Tom Carmichael fall- 
 en in love with outlaw gun-fighter if black night and 
 Dale and horse and rides and starved and, "Oh, Nell, he 
 was from Texas!" 
 
 Helen gathered that wonderful and dreadful events had 
 hung over the bright head of this beloved little sister, but 
 the bewilderment occasioned by Bo's fluent and remark- 
 able utterance left only that last sentence clear. 
 
 Presently Helen got a word in to inform Bo that Mrs. 
 Cass had knocked twice for supper, and that welcome 
 news checked Bo's flow of speech when nothing else seemed 
 adequate. 
 
 It was obvious to Helen that Roy and Dale had ex- 
 changed stories. Roy celebrated this reunion by sitting 
 at table the first time since he had been shot ; and despite 
 Helen's misfortune and the suspended waiting balance in 
 
 347 
 
THE MAN. OF THE FOREST 
 
 the air the occasion was joyous. Old Mrs. Cass was in 
 the height of her glory. She sensed a romance here, and, 
 true to her sex, she radiated to it. 
 
 Daylight was still lingering when Roy got up and went 
 out on the porch. His keen ears had heard something. 
 Helen fancied she herself had heard rapid hoof-beats. 
 
 "Dale, come out!" called Roy, sharply. 
 
 The hunter moved with his swift, noiseless agility. 
 Helen and Bo followed, halting in the door. 
 
 "Thet's Las Vegas," whispered Dale. 
 
 To Helen it seemed that the cowboy's name changed 
 the very atmosphere. 
 
 Voices were heard at the gate; one that, harsh and quick, 
 sounded like Carmichaers. And a spirited horse was 
 pounding and scattering gravel. Then a lithe figure ap- 
 peared, striding up the path. It was Carmichael yet 
 not the Carmichael Helen knew. She heard Bo's strange 
 little cry, a corroboration of her own impression. 
 
 Roy might never have been shot, judging from the way 
 he stepped out, and Dale was almost as quick. Car- 
 michael reached them grasped them with swift, hard 
 hands. 
 
 "Boys I jest rode in. An' they said you'd found 
 her!" 
 
 "Shore, Las Vegas. Dale fetched her home safe an' 
 sound. . . . There she is." 
 
 The cowboy thrust aside the two men, and with a long 
 stride he faced the porch, his piercing eyes on the door. 
 All that Helen could think of his look was that it seemed 
 terrible. Bo stepped outside in front of Helen. Prob- 
 ably she would have run straight into Carmichael's arms 
 if some strange instinct had not withheld her. Helen 
 judged it to be fear; she found her heart lifting painfully. 
 
 " Bo ! " he yelled, like a savage, yet he did not in the least 
 resemble one. 
 
 "Oh Tom!" cried Bo, falteringly. She half held out 
 her arms. 
 
 348 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "You, girl?'* That seemed to be his piercing query, 
 like the quivering blade in his eyes. Two more long 
 strides carried him close up to her, and his look chased the 
 red out of Bo's cheek. Then it was beautiful to see his 
 face marvelously change until it was that of the well- 
 remembered Las Vegas magnified in all his old spirit. 
 
 "Aw!" The exclamation was a tremendous sigh. "I 
 shore am glad!" 
 
 That beautiful flash left his face as he wheeled to the 
 men. He wrung Dale's hand long and hard, and his gaze 
 confused the older man. 
 
 "Riggs!" he said, and in the jerk of his frame as he 
 whipped out the word disappeared the strange, fleet- 
 ing signs of his kindlier emotion. 
 
 "Wilson killed him," replied Dale. 
 
 "Jim Wilson that old Texas Ranger! . . . Reckon he 
 lent you a hand?" 
 
 "My friend, he saved Bo," replied Dale, with emotion. 
 "My old cougar an' me we just hung 'round." 
 
 "You made Wilson help you?" cut in the hard voice. 
 
 "Yes. But he killed Riggs before I come up an' I 
 reckon he'd done well by Bo if I'd never got there." 
 
 "How about the gang?" 
 
 "All snuffed out, I reckon, except Wilson." 
 
 "Somebody told me Beasley hed run Miss Helen off the 
 ranch. Thetso?" 
 
 "Yes. Four of his greasers packed her down the hill 
 'most tore her clothes off, so Roy tells me." 
 
 "Four greasers! . . . Shore it was Beasley 's deal clean 
 through?" 
 
 "Yes. Riggs was led. He had an itch for a bad name, 
 you know. But Beasley made the plan. It was Nell 
 they wanted instead of Bo." 
 
 Abruptly Carmichael stalked off down the darkening 
 path, his silver heel-plates ringing, his spurs jingling. 
 
 "Hold on. Carmichael," called Dale, taking a step. 
 
 "Oh, Tom! "cried Bo. 
 
 349 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Shore folks callin' won't be no use, if anythin' would 
 be," said Roy. "Las Vegas has hed a look at red 
 liquor." 
 
 "He's been drinking! Oh, that accounts! . . . Nell, he 
 never never even touched me!" 
 
 For once Helen was not ready to comfort Bo. A mighty 
 tug at her heart had sent her with flying, uneven steps 
 toward Dale. He took another stride down the path, and 
 another. 
 
 "Dale oh please stop!" she called, very low. 
 
 He halted as if he had run sharply into a bar across the 
 path. When he turned Helen had come close. Twilight 
 was deep there in the shade of the peach-trees, but she 
 could see his face, the hungry, flaring eyes. 
 
 "I I haven't thanked you yet for bringing Bo 
 home," she whispered. 
 
 "Nell, never mind that," he said, in surprise. "If you 
 must why, wait. I've got to catch up with that cow- 
 boy." 
 
 "No. Let me thank you now," she whispered, and, 
 stepping closer, she put her arms up, meaning to put them 
 round his neck. That action must be her self-punish- 
 ment for the other time she had done it. Yet it might 
 also serve to thank him. But, strangely, her hands got 
 no farther than his breast, and fluttered there to catch 
 hold of the fringe of his buckskin jacket. She felt a heave 
 of his deep chest. 
 
 "I I do thank you with all my heart," she said, 
 softly. " I owe you now for myself and her more than 
 I can ever repay." 
 
 " Nell, I'm your friend," he replied, hurriedly. " Don't 
 talk of repayin' me. Let me go now after Las Vegas." 
 
 "What for?" she queried, suddenly. 
 
 " I mean to line up beside him at the bar or wherever 
 he goes," returned Dale. 
 
 "Don't tell me that. I know. You're going straight 
 to meet Beasley." 
 
 350 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 " Nell, if you hold me up any longer I reckon 111 have 
 to run or never get to Beasley before that cowboy." 
 
 Helen locked her fingers in the fringe of his jacket 
 leaned closer to him, all her being responsive to a bursting 
 gust of blood over her. 
 
 "I'll not let you go," she said. 
 
 He laughed, and put his great hands over hers. 
 
 "What 're you sayin', girl? You can't stop me." 
 
 "Yes, I can. Dale, I don't want you to risk your 
 life." 
 
 He stared at her, and made as if to tear her hands from 
 their hold. 
 
 " Listen please oh please ! " she implored. " If you 
 go deliberately to kill Beasley and do it that will be 
 murder. . . . It's against my religion. ... I would be un- 
 happy all my life." 
 
 "But, child, you'll be ruined all your life if Beasley 
 is not dealt with as men of his breed are always 
 dealt with in the West," he remonstrated, and in one 
 quick move he had freed himself from her clutching 
 fingers. 
 
 Helen, with a move as swift, put her arms round his 
 neck and clasped her hands tight. 
 
 " Milt, I'm finding myself," she said. "The other day, 
 when I did this you made an excuse for me. . . . I'm 
 not two-faced now." 
 
 She meant to keep him from killing Beasley if she sac- 
 rificed every last shred of her pride. And she stamped 
 the look of his face on her heart of hearts to treasure 
 always. The thrill, the beat of her pulses, almost ob- 
 structed her thought of purpose. 
 
 "Nell, just now when you're overcome rash with 
 feelin's don't say to me a word a " 
 
 He broke down huskily. 
 
 " My first friend my Oh Dale, I know you love me!" 
 she whispered. And she hid her face on his breast, there 
 to feel a tremendous tumult. 
 
 351 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Oh, don't you?" she cried, in low, smothered voice, 
 as his silence drove her farther on this mad, yet glorious 
 purpose, 
 
 " If you need to be told yes I reckon I do love you, 
 Nell Rayner," he replied. 
 
 It seemed to Helen that he spoke from far off. She 
 lifted her face, her heart on her lips. 
 
 "If you kill Beasley I'll never marry you," she said. 
 
 "Who's expectin' you to?" he asked, with low, hoarse 
 laugh. "Do you think you have to marry me to square 
 accounts? This 's the only time you ever hurt me, Nell 
 Rayner. ... I'm 'shamed you could think I'd expect you 
 out of gratitude " 
 
 "Oh you you are as dense as the forest where you 
 live," she cried. And then she shut her eyes again, the 
 better to remember that transfiguration of his face, the 
 better to betray herself. 
 
 "Man I love you!" Full and deep, yet tremulous, 
 the words burst from her heart that had been burdened 
 with them for many a day. 
 
 Then it seemed, in the throbbing riot of her senses, that 
 she was lifted and swung into his arms, and handled with 
 a great and terrible tenderness, and hugged and kissed 
 with the hunger and awkwardness of a bear, arid held 
 with her feet off the ground, and rendered blind, dizzy, 
 rapturous, and frightened, and utterly torn asunder from 
 her old calm, thinking self. 
 
 He put her down released her. 
 
 "Nothin' could have made me so happy as what you 
 said." He finished with a strong sigh of unutterable, 
 wondering joy. 
 
 "Then you will not go to to meet " 
 
 Helen's happy query froze on her lips. 
 
 "I've got to go!" he rejoined, with his old, quiet voice. 
 "Hurry in to Bo. . . . An' don't worry. Try to think of 
 things as I taught you up in the woods." 
 
 Helen heard his soft, padded footfalls swiftly pass away. 
 
 352 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 She was left there, alone in the darkening twilight, sud 
 denly cold and stricken, as if turned to stone. 
 
 Thus she stood an age-long moment until the up- 
 flashing truth galvanized her into action. Then she flew 
 in pursuit of Dale. The truth was that, in spite of Dale's 
 early training in the East and the long years of solitude 
 which had made him wonderful in thought and feeling, 
 he had also become a part of this raw, bold, and violent 
 West. 
 
 It was quite dark now and she had run quite some dis- 
 tance before she saw Dale's tall, dark form against the 
 yellow light of Turner's saloon. 
 
 Somehow, in that poignant moment, when her flying 
 feet kept pace with her heart, Helen felt in herself a force 
 opposing itself against this raw, primitive justice of the 
 West. She was one of the first influences emanating from 
 civilized life, from law and order. In that flash of truth 
 she saw the West as it would be some future time, when 
 through women and children these wild frontier days 
 would be gone forever. Also, just as clearly she saw the 
 present need of men like Roy Beeman and Dale and the 
 fire-blooded Carmichael. Beasley and his kind must be 
 killed. But Helen did not want her lover, her future 
 husband, and the probable father of her children to com- 
 mit what she held to be murder. 
 
 At the door of the saloon she caught up with Dale. 
 
 " Milt oh wait ! wait ! " she panted. 
 
 She heard him curse under his breath as ne turned. 
 They were alone in the yellow flare of light. Horses were 
 champing bits and drooping before the rails. 
 
 "You go back!" ordered Dale, sternly. His face was 
 pale, his eyes were gleaming. 
 
 "No! Not till you take me or carry me!" she re- 
 plied, resolutely, with all a woman's positive and inevitable 
 assurance. 
 
 Then he laid hold of her with ungentle hands. His 
 violence, especially the look on his face, terrified Helen, 
 
 SS3 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 rendered her weak. But nothing could have shaken her 
 resolve. She felt victory. Her sex, her love, and her 
 presence would be too much for Dale. 
 
 As he swung Helen around, the low hum of voices inside 
 the saloon suddenly rose to sharp, hoarse roars, accom- 
 panied by a scuffling of feet and crashing of violently 
 sliding chairs or tables. Dale let go of Helen and leaped 
 toward the door. But a silence inside, quicker and 
 stranger than the roar, halted him. Helen's heart con- 
 tracted, then seemed to cease beating. There was ab- 
 solutely not a perceptible sound. Even the horses ap- 
 peared, like Dale, to have turned to statues. 
 
 Two thundering shots annihilated this silence. Then 
 quickly came a lighter shot the smash of glass. Dale 
 ran into the saloon. The horses began to snort, to rear, 
 to pound. A low, muffled murmur terrified Helen even 
 as it drew her. Dashing at the door, she swung it in and 
 entered. 
 
 The place was dim, blue-hazed, smelling of smoke. 
 Dale stood just inside the door. On the floor lay two 
 men. Chairs and tables were overturned. A motley, 
 dark, shirt-sleeved, booted, and belted crowd of men ap- 
 peared hunched against the opposite wall, with pale, set 
 faces, turned to the bar. Turner, the proprietor, stood 
 at one end, his face livid, his hands aloft and shaking. 
 Carmichael leaned against the middle of the bar. He 
 held a gun low down. It was smoking. 
 
 With a gasp Helen flashed her eyes back to Dale. He 
 had seen her was reaching an arm toward her. Then 
 she saw the man lying almost at her feet. Jeff Mulvey 
 her uncle's old foreman ! His face was awful to behold. 
 A smoking gun lay near his inert hand. The other man 
 had fallen on his face. His garb proclaimed him a Mexi- 
 can. He was not yet dead. Then Helen, as she felt 
 Dale's arm encircle her, looked farther, because she 
 could not prevent it looked on at that strange figure 
 against the bar this boy who had been such a friend 
 
 354 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 in her hour of need this naive and frank sweetheart 
 of her sister's. 
 
 She saw a man now wild, white, intense as fire, with 
 some terrible cool kind of deadliness in his mien. His 
 left elbow rested upon the bar, and his hand held a glass 
 of red liquor. The big gun, low down in his other hand, 
 seemed as steady as if it were a fixture. 
 
 "Heah's to thet half-breed Beasley an' his outfit!" 
 
 Carmichael drank, while his flaming eyes held the crowd ; 
 then with savage action of terrible passion he flung the 
 glass at the quivering form of the still living Mexican on 
 the floor. 
 
 Helen felt herself slipping. All seemed to darken 
 around her. She could not see Dale, though she knew he 
 held her. Then she fainted. 
 

 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 E.S VEGAS CARMICHAEL was a product of his 
 day. 
 
 The Pan Handle of Texas, the old Chisholm Trail along 
 which were driven the great cattle herds northward, Fort 
 Dodge, where the cowboys conflicted with the card- 
 sharps these hard places had left their marks on Car- 
 michael. To come from Texas was to come from fighting 
 stock. And a cowboy's life was strenuous, wild, violent, 
 and generally brief. The exceptions were the fortunate 
 and the swiftest men with guns; and they drifted from 
 south to north and west, taking with them the reckless, 
 chivalrous, vitriolic spirit peculiar to their breed. 
 
 The pioneers and ranchers of the frontier would never 
 have made the West habitable had it not been for these 
 wild cowboys, these hard-drinking, hard-riding, hard-liv- 
 ing rangers of the barrens, these easy, cool, laconic, simple 
 young men whose blood was tinged with fire and who 
 possessed a magnificent and terrible effrontery toward 
 danger and death. 
 
 Las Vegas ran his horse from Widow Cass's cottage to 
 Turner's saloon, and the hoofs of the goaded steed 
 crashed in the door. Las Vegas 's entrance was a leap. 
 Then he stood still with the door ajar and the horse 
 pounding and snorting back. All the men in that saloon 
 who saw the entrance of Las Vegas knew what it por- 
 tended. No thunderbolt could have more quickly 
 checked the drinking, gambling, talking crowd. They 
 recognized with kindred senses the nature of the man and 
 his arrival. For a second the blue-hazed room was per- 
 
 356 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 fectly quiet, then men breathed, moved, rose, and sud- 
 denly caused a quick, sliding crash of chairs and tables. 
 
 The cowboy's glittering eyes flashed to and fro, and 
 then fixed on Mulvey and his Mexican companion. That 
 glance singled out these two, and the sudden rush of 
 nervous men proved it. Mulvey and the sheep-herder 
 were left alone in the center of the floor. 
 
 "Howdy, Jeff! Where's your boss?" asked Las Vegas. 
 His voice was cool, friendly; his manner was easy, natu- 
 ral; but the look of him was what made Mulvey pale 
 and the Mexican livid. 
 
 "Reckon he's home," replied Mulvey. 
 
 " Home ? What's he call home now ? " 
 
 "He's hangin' out hyar at Auchincloss's," replied Mul- 
 vey. His voice was not strong, but his eyes were steady, 
 watchful. 
 
 Las Vegas quivered all over as if stung. A flame that 
 seemed white and red gave his face a singular hue. 
 
 "Jeff, you worked for old Al a long time, an' I've heard 
 of your differences," said Las Vegas. "Thet ain't no mix 
 of mine. . . . But you double-crossed Miss Helen!" 
 
 Mulvey made no attempt to deny this. He gulped 
 slowly. His hands appeared less steady, and he grew 
 paler. Again Las Vegas's words signified less than his 
 look. And that look now included the Mexican. 
 
 "Pedro, you're one of Beasley's old hands," said Las 
 Vegas, accusingly. "An' you was one of them four 
 greasers thet " 
 
 Here the cowboy choked and bit over his words as if 
 they were a material poison. The Mexican showed his 
 guilt and cowardice. He began to jabber. 
 
 "Shet up!" hissed Las Vegas, with a savage and sig- 
 nificant jerk of his arm, as if about to strike. But that 
 action was read for its true meaning. Pell-mell the crowd 
 split to rush each way and leave an open space behind the 
 three. 
 
 Las Vegas waited. But Mulvey seemed obstructed, 
 
 357 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 The Mexican looked dangerous through his fear. His 
 fingers twitched as if the tendons running up into his 
 arms were being pulled. 
 
 An instant of suspense more than long enough for 
 Mulvey to be tried and found wanting and Las Vegas, 
 with laugh and sneer, turned his back upon the pair and 
 stepped to the bar. His call for a bottle made Turner 
 jump and hold it out with shaking hands. Las Vegas 
 poured out a drink, while his gaze was intent on the 
 scarred old mirror hanging behind the bar. 
 
 This turning his back upon men he had just dared to 
 draw showed what kind of a school Las Vegas had been 
 trained in. If those men had been worthy antagonists 
 of his class he would never have scorned them. As it 
 was, when Mulvey and the Mexican jerked at their guns, 
 Las Vegas swiftly wheeled and shot twice. Mulvey's 
 gun went off as he fell, and the Mexican doubled up in a 
 heap on the floor. Then Las Vegas reached around with 
 his left hand for the drink he had poured out. 
 
 At this juncture Dale burst into the saloon, suddenly 
 to check his impetus, to swerve aside toward the bar and 
 halt. The door had not ceased swinging when again it 
 was propelled inward, this time to admit Helen Rayner, 
 white and wide-eyed. 
 
 In another moment then Las Vegas had spoken his 
 deadly toast to Beasley's gang and had fiercely flung the 
 glass at the writhing Mexican on the floor. Also Dale 
 had gravitated toward the reeling Helen to catch her 
 when she fainted. 
 
 Las Vegas began to curse, and, striding to Dale, he 
 pushed him out of the saloon. 
 
 " ! What 're you doin' heah ? " he yelled, stridently. 
 
 "Hevn't you got thet girl to think of? Then do it, you 
 big Indian! Lettin' her run after you heah riskin' her- 
 self thet way! You take care of her an' Bo an' leave this 
 deal tome!" 
 
 The cowboy, furious as he was at Dale, yet had keen, 
 
 358 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 swift eyes for the horses near at hand, and the men out 
 in the dim light. Dale lifted the girl into his arms, and, 
 turning without a word, stalked away to disappear in the 
 darkness. Las Vegas, holding his gun low, returned to 
 the bar-room. If there had been any change in the crowd 
 it was slight. The tension had relaxed. Turner no 
 longer stood with hands up. 
 
 " You-all go on with your fun," called the cowboy, with 
 a sweep of his gun. "But it 'd be risky fer any one to 
 start leavin'." 
 
 With that he backed against the bar, near where the 
 black bottle stood. Turner walked out to begin righting 
 tables and chairs, and presently the crowd, with some cau- 
 tion and suspense, resumed their games and drinking. It 
 was significant that a wide berth lay between them and 
 the door. From time to time Turner served liquor to 
 men who called for it. 
 
 Las Vegas leaned with back against the bar. After a 
 while he sheathed his gun and reached around for the 
 bottle. He drank with his piercing eyes upon the door. 
 No one entered and no one went out. The games of 
 chance there and the drinking were not enjoyed. It was 
 a hard scene that smoky, long, ill-smelling room, with 
 its dim, yellow lights, and dark, evil faces, with the 
 stealthy-stepping Turner passing to and fro, and the 
 dead Mulvey staring in horrible fixidity at the ceiling, 
 and the Mexican quivering more and more until he shook 
 violently, then lay still, and with the drinking, somber, 
 waiting cowboy, more fiery and more flaming with every 
 drink, listening for a step that did not come. 
 
 Time passed, and what little change it wrought was 
 in the cowboy. Drink affected him, but he did not 
 become drunk. It seemed that the liquor he drank 
 was consumed by a mounting fire. It was fuel to a 
 driving passion. He grew more sullen, somber, brood- 
 ing, redder of eye and face, more crouching and rest- 
 less. At last, when the hour was so late that there 
 
 359 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 was no probability of Beasley appearing, Las Vegas 
 flung himself out of the saloon. 
 
 All lights of the village had now been extinguished. 
 The tired horses drooped in the darkness. Las Vegas 
 found his horse and led him away down the road and out 
 a lane to a field where a barn stood dim and dark in the 
 starlight. Morning was not far off. He unsaddled the 
 horse and, turning him loose, went into the barn. Here 
 he seemed familiar with his surroundings, for he found a 
 ladder and climbed to a loft, where he threw himself on 
 the hay. 
 
 He rested, but did not sleep. At daylight he went 
 down and brought his horse into the barn. Sunrise found 
 Las Vegas pacing to and fro the short length of the in- 
 terior, and peering out through wide cracks between the 
 boards. Then during the succeeding couple of hours he 
 watched the occasional horseman and wagon and herder 
 that passed on into the village. 
 
 About the breakfast hour Las Vegas saddled his horse 
 and rode back the way he had come the night before. At 
 Turner's he called for something to eat as well as for 
 whisky. After that he became a listening, watching 
 machine. He drank freely for an hour; then he stopped. 
 He seemed to be drunk, but with a different kind of 
 drunkenness from that usual in drinking men. Savage, 
 fierce, sullen, he was one to avoid. Turner waited on him 
 in evident fear. 
 
 At length Las Vegas's condition became such that 
 action was involuntary. He could not stand still nor sit 
 down. Stalking out, he passed the store, where men 
 slouched back to avoid him, and he went down the road, 
 wary and alert, as if he expected a rifle-shot from some 
 hidden enemy. Upon his return down that main thor- 
 oughfare of the village not a person was to be seen. He 
 went in to Turner's. The proprietor was there at his 
 post, nervous and pale. Las Vegas did not order any 
 
 more liouor. 
 
 360 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Turner, I reckon I'll bore you next time I run in 
 heah," he said, and stalked out. 
 
 He had the stores, the road, the village, to himself; 
 and he patrolled a beat like a sentry watching for an 
 Indian attack. 
 
 Toward noon a single man ventured out into the road 
 to accost the cowboy. 
 
 "Las Vegas, I'm tellin' you all the greasers air leavin* 
 the range," he said. 
 
 "Howdy, Abe!" replied Las Vegas. "What 'n hell you 
 talkin' about?" 
 
 The man repeated his information. And Las Vegas 
 spat out frightful curses. 
 
 "Abe you heah what Beasley's doin'?" 
 
 "Yes. He's with his men up at the ranch. Reckon 
 he can't put off ridin' down much longer." 
 
 That was where the West spoke. Beasley would be 
 forced to meet the enemy who had come out single-handed 
 against him. Long before this hour a braver man would 
 have come to face Las Vegas. Beasley could not hire 
 any gang to bear the brunt of this situation. This was 
 the test by which even his own men must judge him. 
 All of which was to say that as the wildness of the West 
 had made possible his crimes, so it now held him respon- 
 sible for them. 
 
 "Abe, if thet greaser don't rustle down heah I'ti 
 
 goin' after him." 
 
 "Sure. But don't be in no hurry," replied Abe. 
 
 "I'm waltzin' to slow music. . . . Gimme a smoke." 
 
 With ringers that slightly trembled Abe rolled a ciga- 
 rette, lit it iTom his own, and handed it to the cowboy. 
 
 "Las Vegas, I reckon I hear hosses," he said, suddenly. 
 
 "Me, too," replied Las Vegas, with his head high like 
 that of a listening deer. Apparently he forgot the ciga- 
 rette and also his friend. Abe hurried back to the store, 
 where he disappeared. 
 
 Las Vegas began his stalking up and down, and his 
 24 361 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 action now was an exaggeration of all his former move- 
 ments. A rational, ordinary mortal from some Eastern 
 community, happening to meet this red-faced cowboy, 
 would have considered him drunk or crazy. Probably 
 Las Vegas looked both. But all the same he was a mar- 
 velously keen and strung and efficient instrument to meet 
 the portending issue. How many thousands of times, 
 on the trails, and in the wide-streeted little towns all over 
 the West, had this stalk of the cowboy's been perpetrated! 
 Violent, bloody, tragic as it was, it had an importance in 
 that pioneer day equal to the use of a horse or the need 
 of a plow. 
 
 At length Pine was apparently a deserted village, ex- 
 cept for Las Vegas, who patrolled his long beat in many 
 ways he lounged while he watched; he stalked like a 
 mountaineer; he stole along Indian fashion, stealthily, 
 from tree to tree, from corner to corner; he disappeared 
 in the saloon to reappear at the back; he slipped round 
 behind the barns to come out again in the main road; 
 and time after time he approached his horse as if decid- 
 ing to mount. 
 
 The last visit he made into Turner's saloon he found 
 no one there. Savagely he pounded on the bar with his 
 gun. He got no response. Then the long-pent-up rage 
 burst. With wild whoops he pulled another gun and shot 
 at the mirror, the lamps. He shot the neck off a bottle 
 and drank till he choked, his neck corded, bulging, and 
 purple. His only slow and deliberate action was the re- 
 loading of his gun. Then he crashed through the doors, 
 and with a wild yell leaped sheer into the saddle, hauling 
 his horse up high and goading him to plunge away. 
 
 Men running to the door and windows of the store saw 
 a streak of dust flying down the road. And then they 
 trooped out to see it disappear. The hour of suspense 
 ended for them. Las Vegas had lived up to the code of 
 the West, had dared his man out, had waited far longer 
 Chan needful to prove that man a coward. Whatever the 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 issue now, Beasley was branded forever. That moment 
 saw the decline of whatever power he had wielded. He 
 and his men might kill the cowboy who had ridden out 
 alone to face him, but that would not change the brand. 
 
 The preceding night Beasley had been finishing a late 
 supper at his newly acquired ranch, when Buck Weaver, 
 one of his men, burst in upon him with news of the death 
 of Mulvey and Pedro. 
 
 "Who's in the outfit? How many?" he had ques- 
 tioned, quickly. 
 
 "It's a one-man outfit, boss," replied Weaver. 
 
 Beasley appeared astounded. He and his men had 
 prepared to meet the friends of the girl whose property he 
 had taken over, and because of the superiority of his own 
 force he had anticipated no bloody or extended feud. 
 This amazing circumstance put the case in very much 
 more difficult form. 
 
 "One man!" he ejaculated. 
 
 "Yep. Thet cowboy Las Vegas. An,' boss, he turns 
 out to be a gun-slinger from Texas. I was in Turner's. 
 Hed jest happened to step in the other room when Las 
 Vegas come bustin' in on his hoss an' jumped off. . . . 
 Fust thing he called Jeff an' Pedro. They both showed 
 yaller. An' then, damn if thet cowboy didn't turn his 
 back on them an' went to the bar fer a drink. But he 
 was lookin' in the mirror an' when Jeff an' Pedro went fer 
 their guns why he whirled quick as lightnin' an' bored 
 them both. ... I sneaked out an' " 
 
 "Why didn't you bore him?" roared Beasley. 
 
 Buck Weaver steadily eyed his boss before he replied. 
 
 "I ain't takin' shots at any fellar from behind doors. 
 An' as fer meetin' Las Vegas excoose me, boss! I've 
 still a hankerin' fer sunshine an' red liquor. Besides, I 
 'ain't got nothin' ag'in' Las Vegas. If he's rustled over 
 here at the head of a crowd to put us off I'd fight, jest as 
 we'd all fight. But you see we figge^ed wrong. It's 
 
 363 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 between you an* Las Vegas! . . . You oughter seen him 
 throw thet hunter Dale out of Turner's." 
 
 "Dale! Did he come?" queried Beasley. 
 
 "He got there just after the cowboy plugged Jeff. An* 
 thet big-eyed girl, she came runnin' in, too. An* she 
 keeled over in Dale's arms. Las Vegas shoved him out 
 cussed him so hard we all heerd. . . . So, Beasley, there 
 ain't no fight comin' off as we figgered on." 
 
 Beasley thus heard the West speak out of the mouth of 
 his own man. And grim, sardonic, almost scornful, in- 
 deed, were the words of Buck Weaver. This rider had 
 once worked for Al Auchincloss and had deserted to 
 Beasley under Mulvey's leadership. Mulvey was dead 
 and the situation was vastly changed. 
 
 Beasley gave Weaver a dark, lowering glance, and 
 waved him away. From the door Weaver sent back a 
 doubtful, scrutinizing gaze, then slouched out. That 
 gaze Beasley had not encountered before. 
 
 It meant, as Weaver's cronies meant, as Beasley's long- 
 faithful riders, and the people of the range, and as the spirit 
 of the West meant, that Beasley was expected to march 
 down into the village to face his single foe. 
 
 But Beasley did not go. Instead he paced to and fro 
 the length of Helen Rayner's long sitting-room with the 
 nervous energy of a man who could not rest. Many 
 times he hesitated, and at others he made sudden move- 
 ments toward the door, only to halt. Long after midnight 
 he went to bed, but not to sleep. He tossed and rolled 
 all night, and at dawn arose, gloomy and irritable. 
 
 He cursed the Mexican serving-women who showed 
 their displeasure at his authority. And to his amaze and 
 rage not one of his men came to the house. He waited 
 and waited. Then he stalked off to the corrals and stables, 
 carrying a rifle with him. The men were there, in a group 
 that dispersed somewhat at his advent. Not a Mexican 
 was in sight. 
 
 Beasley ordered the horses to be saddled and all hands 
 
 364 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 to go down into the village with him. That order was 
 disobeyed. Beasley stormed and raged. His riders sat 
 or lounged, with lowered faces. An unspoken hostility 
 seemed present. Those who had been longest with him 
 were least distant and strange, but still they did not obey. 
 At length Beasley roared for his Mexicans. 
 
 " Boss, we gotta tell you thet every greaser on the ranch 
 hes sloped gone these two hours on the way to Mag- 
 dalena," said Buck Weaver. 
 
 Of all these sudden-uprising perplexities this latest was 
 the most astounding. Beasley cursed with his question- 
 ing wonder. 
 
 "Boss, they was sure scared of thet gun-slingin' cowboy 
 from Texas," replied Weaver, imperturbably. 
 
 Beasley's dark, swarthy face changed its hue. What 
 of the subtle reflection in Weaver's slow speech! One of 
 the men came out of a corral leading Beasley's saddled 
 and bridled horse. This fellow dropped the bridle and 
 sat down among his comrades without a word. No one 
 spoke. The presence of the horse was significant. With 
 a snarling, muttered curse, Beasley took up his rifle and 
 strode back to the ranch-house. 
 
 In his rage and passion he did not realize what his men 
 had known for hours that if he had stood any chance 
 at all for their respect as well as for his life the hour was 
 long past. 
 
 Beasley avoided the open paths to the house, and when 
 he got there he nervously poured out a drink. Evidently 
 something in the fiery liquor frightened him, for he threw 
 the bottle aside. It was as if that bottle contained a 
 courage which was false. 
 
 Again he paced the long sitting-room, growing more 
 and more wrought-up as evidently he grew familiar with 
 the singular state of affairs. Twice the pale serving- 
 woman called him to dinner. 
 
 The dining-room was light and pleasant, and tne meal, 
 fragrant and steaming, was ready for him. But the 
 
 365 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 women had disappeared. Beasley seated himself spread 
 out his big hands on the table. 
 
 Then a slight rustle a clink of spur startled him. 
 He twisted his head. 
 
 "Howdy, Beasley!" said Las Vegas, who had appeared 
 as if by magic. 
 
 Beasley's frame seemed to swell as if a flood had been 
 loosed in his veins. Sweat-drops stood out on his pallid 
 face. 
 
 "What you want?" he asked, huskily. 
 
 "Wai now, my boss, Miss Helen, says, seein' I am fore- 
 man heah, thet it 'd be nice an' proper fer me to drop in 
 an* eat with you ike last time!" replied the cowboy. His 
 drawl was slow and cool, his tone was friendly and pleas- 
 ant. But his look was that of a falcon ready to drive 
 deep its beak. 
 
 Beasley's reply was loud, incoherent, hoarse. 
 
 Las Vegas seated himself across from Beasley. 
 
 "Eat or not, it's shore all the same to me," said Las 
 Vegas, and he began to load his plate with his left hand. 
 His right hand rested very lightly, with just the tips of 
 his vibrating fingers on the edge of the table; and he 
 never for the slightest fraction of a second took his pierc- 
 ing eyes off Beasley. 
 
 "Wai, my half-breed greaser guest, it shore roils up my 
 blood to see you sittin' there thinkin' you've put my 
 boss, Miss Helen, off this ranch," began Las Vegas, softly. 
 And then he helped himself leisurely to food and drink. 
 " In my day I've shore stacked up against a lot of outlaws, 
 thieves, rustlers, an' sich like, but fer an out an' out dirty 
 low-down skunk, you shore take the dough ! ... I'm goin* 
 to kill you in a minit or so, jest as soon as you move one 
 of them dirty paws of yourn. But I hope you'll be polite 
 an' let me say a few words. I'll never be happy again if 
 
 you don't. ... Of all the -Vailer greaser dogs I ever seen, 
 
 you're the worst! ... I was thinkin' last night mebbe 
 vou'd come down an* meet me like a man, so 's I couH 
 
 366 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 wasij my hands ever afterward without gettin' sick to m> 
 stummick. But you didn't come. . . . Beasley, I'm so 
 ashamed of myself thet I gotta call you when I ought 
 to bore you, thet I ain't even second cousin to my old 
 self when I rode fer Chisholm. It don't mean nuthin' to 
 you to call you liar! robber! blackleg! a sneakin' coyote! 
 an' a cheat thet hires others to do his dirty work ! . . . By 
 Gawd!" 
 
 "Carmichael, gimme a word in," hoarsely broke out 
 Beasley. " You're right, it won't do no good to call me. 
 ... But let's talk. . . . I'll buy you off. Ten thousand 
 dollars" 
 
 "Haw! Haw! Haw!" roared Las Vegas. He was as 
 tense as a strung cord and his face possessed a singular 
 pale radiance. His right hand began to quiver more and 
 more. 
 
 " I'll double it ! " panted Beasley. " I'll make over 
 half the ranch all the stock " 
 
 "Swaller thet!" yelled Las Vegas, with terrible strident 
 ferocity. 
 
 "Listen man! ... I take it back! ... I'll give up 
 Auchincloss's ranch!" Beasley was now a shaking, whis- 
 pering, frenzied man, ghastly white, with rolling eyes. 
 
 Las Vegas's left fist pounded hard on the table. 
 
 "Greaser, come on!" he thundered. 
 
 Then Beasley, with desperate, frantic action, jerked for 
 his gun. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 FOR Helen Rayner that brief, dark period of expul- 
 sion from her home had become a thing of the past 
 almost forgotten. 
 
 Two months had flown by on the wings of love and work 
 and the joy of finding her place there in the West. All 
 her old men had been only too glad of the opportunity to 
 come back to her, and under Dale and Roy Beeman a 
 different and prosperous order marked the life of the 
 ranch. 
 
 Helen nad made changes in the house by altering the 
 arrangement of rooms and adding a new section. Only 
 once had she ventured into the old dining-room where 
 Las Vegas Carmichael had sat down to that fatal dinner 
 for Beasley. She made a store-room of it, and a place 
 she would never again enter. 
 
 Helen was happy, almost too happy, she thought, and 
 therefore made more than needful of the several bitter 
 drops in her sweet cup of life. Carmichael had ridden 
 out of Pine, ostensibly on the trail of the Mexicans who 
 had executed Beasley's commands. The last seen of him 
 had been reported from Show Down, where he had ap- 
 peared red-eyed and dangerous, like a hound on a scent. 
 Then two months had flown by without a word. 
 
 Dale had shaken his head doubtfully when interrogated 
 about the cowboy's absence. It would be just like Las 
 Vegas never to be heard of again. Also it would be more 
 like him to remain away until all trace of his drunken, 
 savage spell had departed from him and had been for- 
 gotten by his friends. Bo took his disappearance ap- 
 parently less to heart than Helen. But Bo grew more 
 
 368 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 restless, wilder, and more wilful than ever. Helen 
 thought she guessed Bo's secret; and once she ventured 
 a hint concerning Carmichael's return. 
 
 "If Tom doesn't come back pretty soon I'll marry Milt 
 Dale," retorted Bo, tauntingly. 
 
 This fired Helen's cheeks with red. 
 
 "But, child," she protested, half angry, half grave. 
 "Milt and I are engaged." 
 
 "Sure. Only you're so slow. There's many a slip 
 you know." 
 
 "Bo, I tell you Tom will come back," replied Helen, 
 earnestly. " I feel it. There was something fine in that 
 cowboy. He understood me better than you or Milt, 
 either. . . . And he was perfectly wild in love with you." 
 
 "Oh! Washer' 
 
 "Very much more than you deserved, Bo Rayner." 
 
 Then occurred one of Bo's sweet, bewildering, unex- 
 pected transformations. Her defiance, resentment, re- 
 belliousness, vanished from a softly agitated face. 
 
 "Oh, Nell, I know that. . . . You just watch me if I 
 ever get another chance at him! . . . Then maybe he'd 
 never drink again!" 
 
 " Bo, be happy and be good. Don't ride off any more 
 don't tease the boys. It '11 all come right in the end." 
 
 Bo recovered her equanimity quickly enough. 
 
 "Humph! You can afford to be cheerful. You've got 
 a man who can't live when you're out of his sight. He's 
 like a fish on dry land. . . . And you why, once you were 
 an old pessimist!" 
 
 Bo was not to be consoled or changed. Helen could 
 only sigh and pray that her convictions would be verified. 
 
 The first day of July brought an early thunder-storm, 
 just at sunrise. It roared and flared and rolled away, 
 leaving a gorgeous golden cloud pageant in the sky and 
 a fresh, sweetly smelling, glistening green range that de- 
 lighted Helen's eye. 
 
 369 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Birds were twittering in the arbors and bees were hum- 
 ming in the flowers. From the fields down along the 
 brook came a blended song of swamp-blackbird and 
 meadow-lark. A clarion-voiced burro split the air with 
 his coarse and homely bray. The sheep were bleating, 
 and a soft baa of little lambs came sweetly to Helen's 
 ears. She went her usual rounds with more than usual 
 zest and thrill. Everywhere was color, activity, life. 
 The wind swept warm and pine-scented down from the 
 mountain heights, now black and bold, and the great 
 green slopes seemed to call to her. 
 
 At that very moment she came suddenly upon Dale, 
 in his shirt-sleeves, dusty and hot, standing motionless, 
 gazing at the distant mountains. Helen's greeting startled 
 him. 
 
 "I I was just looking away yonder," he said, smiling. 
 She thrilled at the clear, wonderful light of his eyes. 
 
 "So was I a moment ago," she replied, wistfully. 
 "Do you miss the forest very much?" 
 
 "Nell, I miss nothing. But I'd like to ride with you 
 under the pines once more." 
 
 "We'll go, "she cried. 
 
 "When?" he asked, eagerly. 
 
 "Oh soon!" And then with flushed face and down- 
 cast eyes she passed on. For long Helen had cherished a 
 fond hope that she might be married in Paradise Park, 
 where she had fallen in love with Dale and had realized 
 herself. But she had kept that hope secret. Dale's 
 eager tone, his flashing eyes, had made her feel that her 
 secret was there in her telltale face. 
 
 As she entered the lane leading to the house she en- 
 countered one of the new stable-boys driving a pack-mule. 
 
 "Jim, whose pack is that?" she asked. 
 
 " Ma'am, I dunno, but I heard him tell Roy he reckoned 
 his name was mud," replied the boy, smiling. 
 
 Helen's heart gave a quick throb. That sounded like 
 \as Vegas. She hurried on, and upon entering the court- 
 
 370 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 yard she espied Roy Beeman holding the halter of a beau- 
 tiful, wild-looking mustang. There was another horse 
 with another man, who was in the act of dismounting on 
 the far side. When he stepped into better view Helen 
 recognized Las Vegas. And he saw her at the same 
 instant. 
 
 Helen did not look up again until she was near the porch. 
 She had dreaded this meeting, yet she was so glad that she 
 could have cried aloud. 
 
 "Miss Helen, I shore am glad to see you,*' he said, 
 standing bareheaded before her, the same young, frank- 
 faced cowboy she had seen first from the train. 
 
 "Tom!" she exclaimed, and offered her hands. 
 
 He wrung them hard while he looked at her. The 
 swift woman's glance Helen gave in return seemed to 
 drive something dark and doubtful out of her heart. 
 This was the same boy she had known whom she had 
 liked so well who had won her sister's love. Helen 
 imagined facing him thus was like awakening from a 
 vague nightmare of doubt. Carmichael's face was clean, 
 fresh, young, with its healthy tan; it wore the old glad 
 smile, cool, easy, and natural; his eyes were like Dale's 
 penetrating, clear as crystal, without a shadow. What 
 had evil, drink, blood, to do with the real inherent nobility 
 of this splendid specimen of Western hardihood? Wher- 
 ever he had been, whatever he had done during that long 
 absence, he had returned long separated from that wild 
 and savage character she could now forget. Perhaps 
 there would never again be call for it. 
 
 "How's my girl?" he asked, just as naturally as if he 
 had been gone a few days on some errand of his employer's. 
 
 "Bo? Oh, she's well fine. I I rather think she'll 
 be glad to see you," replied Helen, warmly. 
 
 "An' how's thet big Indian, Dale?" he drawled. 
 
 "Well, too I'm sure." 
 
 "Reckon I got back heah in time to see you-all mar* 
 tied?" 
 
 371 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 " I I assure you I no one around here has been mar- 
 ried yet," replied Helen, with a blush. 
 
 "Thet shore is fine. Was some worried," he said, 
 lazily. "I've been chasin' wild hosses over in New Mex- 
 ico, an' I got after this heah blue roan. He kept me chasm' 
 him fer a spell. I've fetched him back for Bo." 
 
 Helen looked at the mustang Roy was holding, to be in- 
 stantly delighted. He was a roan almost blue in color, 
 neither large nor heavy, but powerfully built, clean- 
 limbed, and racy, with a long mane and tail, black as coal, 
 and a beautiful head that made Helen love him at once. 
 
 "Well, I'm jealous," declared Helen, archly. "I never 
 did see such a pony." 
 
 "I reckoned you'd never ride any hoss but Ranger," 
 said Las Vegas. 
 
 "No, I never will. But I can be jealous, anyhow, 
 can't I?" 
 
 "Shore. An' I reckon if you say you're goin' to have 
 him wal, Bo 'd be funny," he drawled. 
 
 "I reckon she would be funny," retorted Helen. She 
 was so happy that she imitated his speech. She wanted 
 to hug him. It was too good to be true the return of 
 this cowboy. He understood her. He had come back 
 with nothing that could alienate her. He had apparently 
 forgotten the terrible r61e he had accepted and the doom 
 he had meted out to her enemies. That moment was 
 wonderful for Helen in its revelation of the strange sig- 
 nificance of the West as embodied in this cowboy. He 
 was great. But he did not know that. 
 
 Then the door of the living-room opened, and a sweet, 
 high voice pealed out: 
 
 "Roy! Oh, what a mustang! Whose is he?" 
 
 "Wal, Bo, if all I hear is so he belongs to you," replied 
 Roy, with a huge grin. 
 
 Bo appeared in the door. She stepped out upon the 
 porch. She saw the cowboy. The excited flash of her 
 pretty face vanished as she paled. 
 
 372 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Bo, I shore am glad to see y6u," drawled Las Vegas, 
 as he stepped forward, sombrero in hand. Helen could 
 not see any sign of confusion in him. But, indeed, she 
 saw gladness. Then she expected to behold Bo run right 
 into the cowboy's arms. It appeared, however, that she 
 was doomed to disappointment. 
 
 "Tom, I'm glad to see you," she replied. 
 
 They shook hands as old friends. 
 
 "You're lookin' right fine," he said. 
 
 "Oh, I'm well. . . . And how have you been these six 
 months?" she queried. 
 
 " Reckon I thought it was longer," he drawled. "Wai, 
 I'm pretty tip-top now, but I was laid up with heart 
 trouble for a spell." 
 
 "Heart trouble?" she echoed, dubiously. 
 
 "Shore. ... I ate too much over heah in New Mexico." 
 
 "It's no news to me where your heart's located," 
 laughed Bo. Then she ran off the porch to see the blue 
 mustang. She walked round and round him, clasping 
 her hands in sheer delight. 
 
 "Bo, he's a plumb dandy," said Roy. "Never seen a 
 prettier hoss. He'll run like a streak. An' he's got good 
 eyes. He'll be a pet some day. But I reckon he'll always 
 be spunky " 
 
 Bo ventured to step closer, and at last got a hand on 
 the mustang, and then another. She smoothed his quiver- 
 ing neck and called softly to him, until he submitted tc 
 her hold. 
 
 "What's his name?" she asked. 
 
 "Blue somethin' or other," replied Roy. 
 
 "Tom, has my new mustang a name?" asked Bo, turn- 
 ing to the cowboy. 
 
 "Shore." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "Wai, I named him Blue-Bo," answered Las Vegas> 
 with a smile. 
 
 "Blue-Boy?" 
 
 373 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Nope. He's named after you. An* I chased him, 
 roped him, broke him all myself." 
 
 "Very well. Blue-Bo he is, then. . . . And he's a won- 
 derful darling horse. Oh, Nell, just look at him. . . . Tom, 
 I can't thank you enough." 
 
 " Reckon I don'twant any thanks, "drawled the cowboy. 
 " But see heah, Bo, you shore got to live up to conditions 
 before you ride him." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Bo, who was startled by his slow, 
 cool, meaning tone, of voice. 
 
 Helen delighted in looking at Las Vegas then. He had 
 never appeared to better advantage. So cool, careless, 
 and assured! He seemed master of a situation in which 
 his terms must be accepted. Yet he might have been 
 actuated by a cowboy motive beyond the power of Helen 
 to divine. 
 
 "Bo Rayner," drawled Las Vegas, "thet blue mustang 
 will be yours, an' you can ride him when you're Mrs. 
 Tom Carmichael!" 
 
 Never had he spoken a softer, more drawling speech, 
 nor gazed at Be more mildly. Roy seemed thunder- 
 struck. Helen endeavored heroically to restrain her de- 
 licious, bursting glee. Bo's wide eyes stared at her lover 
 darkened dilated. Suddenly she left the mustang to 
 confront the cowboy where he lounged on the porch steps. 
 
 "Do you mean that?" she cried. 
 
 "Shore do." 
 
 "Bah! It's only a magnificent bluff," she retorted. 
 "You're only in fun. It's your your darned nerve!" 
 
 "Why, Bo," began Las Vegas, reproachfully. "You 
 shore know I'm not the four-flusher kind. Never got 
 away with a bluff in my life! An' I'm jest in daid earnest 
 aboot this heah." 
 
 All the same, signs were not wanting in his mobile face 
 that he was almost unable to restrain his mirth. 
 
 Helen realized then that Bo saw through the cowboy 
 that the ultimatum was only one of his trick? 
 
 374 
 
THE MAN W THE FOREST 
 
 "It is a bluff and I call you!" declared Bo, ringingly. 
 
 Las Vegas suddenly awoke to consequences. He es- 
 sayed to speak, but she was so wonderful then, so white 
 and blazing-eyed, that he was stricken mute. 
 
 "I'll ride Blue-Bo this afternoon," deliberately stated 
 the girl. 
 
 Las Vegas had wit enough to grasp her meaning, and 
 he seemed about to collapse. 
 
 "Very well, you can make me Mrs. Tom Car- 
 michael to-day this morning just before dinner. . . . 
 Go get a preacher to marry us and make yourself 
 look a more presentable bridegroom unless it was only 
 a bluff!" 
 
 Her imperiousness changed as the tremendous portent 
 of her words seemed to make Las Vegas a blank, stone 
 image of a man. With a wild-rose color suffusing her 
 face, she swiftly bent over him, kissed him, and flashed 
 away into the house. Her laugh pealed back, and it 
 thrilled Helen, so deep and strange was it for the wilful 
 sister, so wild and merry and full of joy. 
 
 It was then that Roy Beeman recovered from his 
 paralysis, to let out such a roar of mirth as to frighten tha 
 horses. Helen was laughing, and crying, too, but laughing 
 mostly. Las Vegas Carmichael was a sigh!; for the gods 
 to behold. Bo's kiss had undamped what had bound 
 him. The sudden truth, undeniable, insupportable, glori- 
 ous, made him a madman. 
 
 "Bluff she called me ride Blue-Bo safternoon!" he 
 raved, reaching wildly for Helen. "Mrs. Tom Car- 
 michael before dinner preacher presentable bride- 
 groom! . . . Aw! I'm drunk again! I who swore off 
 forever!" 
 
 "No, Tom, you're just happy," said Helen. 
 
 Between her and Roy the cowboy was at length per- 
 suaded to accept the situation and to see his wonderful 
 opportunity. 
 
 "Now now, Miss Helen what 'd Bo mean by pre- 
 375 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 presentable bridegroom? . . . Presents? Lord, I'm clean 
 busted flat!" 
 
 " She meant you must dress up in your best, of course," 
 replied Helen. 
 
 " Where 'n earth will I get a preacher? . . . Show Down's 
 forty miles. . . . Can't ride there in time. . . . Roy, I've 
 gotta have a preacher. . . . Life or death deal fer me." 
 
 " Wai, old man, if you'll brace up I'll marry you to Bo," 
 said Roy, with his glad grin. 
 
 "Aw!" gasped Las Vegas, as if at the coming of a sud- 
 den beautiful hope. 
 
 "Tom, I'm a preacher," replied Roy, now earnestly. 
 "You didn't know thet, but I am. An' I can marry you 
 an' Bo as good as any one, an' tighter 'n most." 
 
 Las Vegas reached for his friend as a drowning man 
 might have reached for solid rock. 
 
 "Roy, can you really marry them with my Bible 
 and the service of my church?" asked Helen, a happy 
 hope flushing her face. 
 
 "Wai, indeed I can. I've married more 'n one couple 
 whose religion wasn't mine." 
 
 "B-b-before d-d-din-ner ! " burst out Las Vegas, like 
 a stuttering idiot. 
 
 "I reckon. Come on, now, an' make yourself pre-sent- 
 tible," said Roy. "Miss Helen, you tell Bo thet it's all 
 settled." 
 
 He picked up the halter on the blue mustang and 
 turned away toward the corrals. Las Vegas put the bridle 
 of his horse over his arm, and seemed to be following in 
 a trance, with his dazed, rapt face held high. 
 
 "Bring Dale," called Helen, softly after them. 
 
 So it came about as naturally as it was wonderful that 
 Bo rode the blue mustang before the afternoon ended. 
 
 Las Vegas disobeyed his first orders from Mrs. Tom 
 Carmichael and rode out after her toward the green-rising 
 range. Helen seemed impelled to follow. She did not 
 
 376 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 need to ask Dale the second time. They rode swiftly, 
 but never caught up with Bo and Las Vegas, whose riding 
 resembled their happiness. 
 
 Dale read Helen's mind, or else his own thoughts were 
 in harmony with hers, for he always seemed to speak 
 what she was thinking. And as they rode homeward he 
 asked her in his quiet way if they could not spare a few 
 days to visit his old camp. 
 
 "And take Bo and Tom? Oh, of all things I'd like 
 to," she replied. 
 
 "Yes an' Roy, too," added Dale, significantly. 
 
 "Of course," said Helen, lightly, as if she had not 
 caught his meaning. But she turned her eyes away, 
 while her heart thumped disgracefully and all her body 
 was aglow. "Will Tom and Bo go?" 
 
 "It was Tom who got me to ask you," replied Dale. 
 "John an' Hal can look aftei the men while we're 
 gone." 
 
 "Oh so Tom put it in your head? I guess maybe 
 I won't go." 
 
 "It is always in my mind, Nell," he said, with his slow 
 seriousness. "I'm goin* to work all my life for you. 
 But I'll want to an' need to go back to the woods often. 
 . . . An' if you ever stoop to marry me an' make me 
 the richest of men you'll have to marry me up there 
 where I fell in love with you." 
 
 "Ah! Did Las Vegas Tom Carmichael say that, too?" 
 inquired Helen, softly. 
 
 "Nell, do you want to know what Las Vegas said?" 
 
 "By all means." 
 
 "He said thi an' not an hour ago. 'Milt, old hoss, 
 let me give you a hunch. I'm a man of family now an* 
 I've been a devil with the wimmen in my day. I can see 
 through 'em. Don't marry Nell Rayner in or near the 
 house where I killed Beasley She'd remember. An' 
 don't let her remember thet day. Go off into the woods. 
 Paradise Park! Bo an' me will go with you." 
 25 377 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Helen gave him her hand, while they walked the horses 
 homeward in the long sunset shadows. In the fullness of 
 that happy hour she had time for a grateful wonder at the 
 keen penetration of the cowboy Carmichael. Dale had 
 saved her life, but it was Las Vegas who had saved her 
 happiness. 
 
 Not many days later, when again the afternoon shadows 
 were slanting low, Helen rode out upon the promontory 
 where the dim trail zigzagged far above Paradise Park. 
 
 Roy was singing as he drove the pack-burros down the 
 slope; Bo and Las Vegas were trying to ride the trail two 
 abreast, so they could hold hands; Dale had dismounted 
 to stand beside Helen's horse, as she gazed down the 
 shaggy black slopes to the beautiful wild park with its 
 gray meadows and shining ribbons of brooks. 
 
 It was July, and there were no golden-red glorious 
 flames and blazes of color such as lingered in Helen's 
 memory. Black spruce slopes and green pines and white 
 streaks of aspens and lacy waterfall of foam and dark 
 outcroppings of rock these colors and forms greeted her 
 gaze with all the old enchantment. Wildness, beauty, 
 and loneliness were there, the same as ever, immutable, 
 like the spirit of those heights. 
 
 Helen would fain have lingered longer, but the others 
 called, and Ranger impatiently snorted his sense of the 
 grass and water far below. And she knew that when she 
 climbed there again to the wide outlook she would be 
 another woman. 
 
 "Nell, come on," said Dale, as he led on. "It's better 
 to look up." 
 
 The sun had just sunk behind the ragged fringe of 
 mountain-rim when those three strong and efficient men 
 of the open had pitched camp and had prepared a bounti- 
 ful supper. 
 
 Then Roy Beeman took out the little worn Bible which 
 
 378 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Helen had given him to use when he married Bo, and as 
 he opened it a light changed his dark face. 
 
 "Come, Helen an' Dale," he said. 
 
 They arose to stand before him. And he married them 
 there under the great, stately pines, with the fragrant 
 blue smoke curling upward, and the wind singing through 
 the branches, while the waterfall murmured its low, soft, 
 dreamy music, and from the daik slope came the wild, 
 lonely cry of a wolf, full of the hunger for life and a mate. 
 
 "Let us pray," said Roy, as he closed the Bible, and 
 knelt with them. 
 
 "There is only one God, an' Him I beseech in my hum- 
 ble office for the woman an' man I have just wedded in 
 holy bonds. Bless them an' watch them an' keep them 
 through all the comin' years. Bless the sons of this 
 strong man of the woods an* make them like him, with 
 love an' understandin* of the source from which life comes. 
 Bless the daughters of this woman an' send with them 
 more of her love an' soul, which must be the softenin' an* 
 the salvation of the hard West. O Lord, blaze the dim, 
 dark trail for them through the unknown forest of life! 
 O Lord, lead the way across the naked range of the future 
 no mortal knows! We ask in Thy name! Amen." 
 
 When the preacher stood up again and raised the couple 
 from their kneeling posture, it seemed that a grave and 
 solemn personage had left him. This young man was 
 again the dark-faced, clear-eyed Roy, droll and dry, with 
 the enigmatic smile on his lips. 
 
 "Mrs. Dale," he said, taking her hands, "I wish you 
 joy. . . . An' now, after this here, my crownin' service in 
 your behalf I reckon I'll claim a reward." 
 
 Then he kissed her. Bo came next with her warm and 
 loving felicitations, and the cowboy, with characteristic 
 action, also made at Helen. 
 
 "Nell, shore it's the only chance I'll ever have to kiss 
 you," he drawled. "Because when this heah big Indian 
 once finds out what kissin' is !" 
 
 379 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Las Vegas then proved how swift and hearty he could be 
 upon occasions. All this left Helen red and confused and 
 unutterably happy . She appreciated Dale's state. His eyes 
 reflected the precious treasure which manifestly he saw, but 
 realization of ownership had not yet become demonstrable. 
 
 Then with gay speech and happy laugh and silent look 
 these five partook of the supper. When it was finished 
 Roy made known his intention to leave. They all pro- 
 tested and coaxed, but to no avail. He only laughed and 
 went on saddling his horse. 
 
 "Roy, please stay," implored Helen. "The day's 
 almost ended. Ycu're tired." 
 
 " Nope. I'll never be no third party when there's only 
 two." 
 
 "But there are four of us." 
 
 "Didn't I just make you an' Dale one? . . . An', Mrs. 
 Dale, you forget I've been married more 'n once." 
 
 Helen found herself confronted by an unanswerable side 
 of the argument. Las Vegas rolled on the grass in his 
 mirth. Dale looked strange. 
 
 "Roy, then that's why you're so nice," said Bo, with a 
 little devil in her eyes. "Do you know I had my mind 
 made up if Tom hadn't come around I was going to make 
 up to you, Roy. ... I sure was. What number wife would 
 I have been?" 
 
 It always took Bo to turn the tables on anybody. Roy 
 looked mightily embarrassed. And the laugh was on him. 
 He did not face them again until he had mounted. 
 
 "Las Vegas, I've done my best for you hitched you to 
 thet blue-eyed girl the best I know how," he declared. 
 "But I shore ain't guaranteein' nothin'. You'd better 
 build a corral for her." 
 
 "Why, Roy, you shore don't savvy the way to break 
 these wild ones," drawled Las Vegas. "Bo will be eatin* 
 out of my hand in about a week." 
 
 Bo's blue eyes expressed an eloquent doubt as to this 
 extraordinary claim. 
 
 380 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 "Good-by, friends," said Roy, and rode away to disap- 
 pear in the spruces. 
 
 Thereupon Bo and Las Vegas forgot Roy, and Dale 
 and Helen, the camp chores to be done, and everything 
 else except themselves. Helen's first wifely duty was to 
 insist that she should and could and would help her hus- 
 band with the work of cleaning up after the sumptuous 
 supper. Before they had finished a sound startled them. 
 It came from Roy, evidently high on the darkening slope, 
 and was a long, mellow pealing halloo, that rang on the 
 cool air, burst the dreamy silence, and rapped across from 
 slope to slope and cliff to cliff, to lose its power and die 
 away hauntingly in the distant recesses. 
 
 Dale shook his head as if he did not care to attempt a 
 reply to that beautiful call. Silence once again enfolded 
 the park, and twilight seemed to be born of the air, drift- 
 ing downward. 
 
 "Nell, do you miss anythin'?" asked Dale. 
 
 "No. Nothing in all the world," she murmured. "I 
 am happier than I ever dared pray to be." 
 
 "I don't mean people or things. I mean my pets." 
 
 "Ah! I had forgotten Milt, where are they?" 
 
 "Gone back to the wild," he said. "They had to live 
 in my absence. An' I've been away long." 
 
 Just then the brooding silence, with its soft murmur of 
 falling water and faint sigh of wind in the pines, was 
 broken by a piercing scream, high, quivering, like that of 
 a woman in exquisite agony. 
 
 "That's Tom!" exclaimed Dale. 
 
 "Oh I was so so frightened!" whispered Helen. 
 
 Bo came running, with Las Vegas at her heels. 
 
 " Milt, that was your tame cougar," cried Bo, excitedly. 
 "Oh, I'll never forget him! I'll hear those cries in my 
 dreams!" 
 
 "Yes, it was Tom," said Dale, thoughtfully. "But I 
 never heard him cry just like that." 
 
 "Oh, call him in!" 
 
 38i 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 Dale whistled and called, but Tom did not come. Then 
 the hunter stalked off in the gloom to call from different 
 points under the slope. After a while he returned without 
 the cougar. And at that moment, from far up the dark 
 ravine, drifted down the same wild cry, only changed by 
 distance, strange and tragic in its meaning. 
 
 "He scented us. He remembers. But he'll never come 
 back," said Dale. 
 
 Helen felt stirred anew with the convictions of Dale's 
 deep knowledge of life and nature. And her imagination 
 seemed to have wings. How full and perfect her trust, 
 her happiness in the realization that her love and her 
 future, her children, and perhaps grandchildren, would 
 come under the guidance of such a man! Only a little 
 had she begun to comprehend the secrets of good and ill 
 in their relation to the laws of nature. Ages before men 
 had lived on the earth there had been the creatures of the 
 wilderness, and the holes of the rocks, and the nests of the 
 trees, and rain, frost, heat, dew, sunlight and night, storm 
 and calm, the honey of the wildflower and the instinct of 
 the bee all the beautiful and multiple forms of life with 
 their inscrutable design. To know something of them 
 and to love them was to be close to the kingdom of earth 
 perhaps to the greater kingdom of heaven. For what- 
 ever breathed and moved was a part of that creation. 
 The coo of the dove, the lichen on the mossy rock, the 
 mourn of a hunting wolf, and the murmur of the water- 
 fall, the ever-green and growing tips of the spruces, and 
 the thunderbolts along the battlements of the heights 
 these one and all must be actuated by the great spirit 
 that incalculable thing in the universe which had pro- 
 duced man and soul. 
 
 And there in the starlight, under the wide-gnarled 
 pines, sighing low with the wind, Helen sat with Dale on 
 the old stone that an avalanche of a million years past 
 had flung from the rampart above to se> ve as camp- table 
 
 382 
 
THE MAN OF THE FOREST 
 
 and bench for lovers in the wilderness; the sweet scent 
 of spruce mingled with the fragrance of wood-smoke blown 
 in their faces. How white the stars, and calm and true! 
 How they blazed their single task! A coyote yelped off 
 on the south slope, dark now as midnight. A bit of 
 weathered rock rolled and tapped from shelf to shelf. And 
 the wind moaned. Helen felt all the sadness and mystery 
 and nobility of this lonely fastness, and full on her heart 
 rested the supreme consciousness that all would some day 
 be well with the troubled world beyond. 
 
 "Nell, I'll homestead this park," said Dale. "Then 
 it '11 always be ours." 
 
 " Homestead ! What's that ? " murmured Helen, dream- 
 ily. The word sounded sweet. 
 
 "The government will give land to men who locate an* 
 build," replied Dale. "We'll run up a log cabin." 
 
 "And come here often. . . . Paradise Park!" whispered 
 Helen. 
 
 Dale's first kisses were on her lips then, hard and cool 
 and clean, like the life of the man, singularly exalting to 
 her, completing her woman's strange and unutterable joy 
 of the hour, and rendering her mute. 
 
 Bo's melodious laugh, and her voice with its old mock- 
 ery of torment, drifted softly on the night breeze. And 
 the cowboy's "Aw, Bo," drawling his reproach and long- 
 ing, was all that the tranquil, waiting silence needed. 
 
 Paradise Park was living again one of its romances. 
 Love was no stranger to that lonely fastness. Helen 
 heard in the whisper of the wind through the pine the 
 old-earth story, beautiful, ever new, and yet eternal. 
 She thrilled to her depths. The spar-pointed spruces 
 stood up black and clear against the noble stars. All that 
 vast solitude breathed and waited, charged full with its 
 secret, ready to reveal itself to her tremulous soul. 
 
 THE END 
 

THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SANTA CRUZ 
 
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