LITMIR.BIZ

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him for ten minutes.”

      Hollis faced the trail and watched also. In a quarter of an hour the horseman came out of Devil’s Hollow. Hollis and Nellie could see him plainly as he guided his pony around the huge boulders that filled the place. Hollis smiled whimsically.

      “It’s the poet,” he told Nellie, catching her gaze and grinning widely at her. “I sent him to Dry Bottom this noon for the mail–Potter is going to stay in town over night.”

      For an instant it seemed that Ace would not see them, and Hollis rose from the rock on which he had been sitting and halloed to him. He responded with a shout and urged his pony up the steep side of the slope and then along the crest until he came within a few feet of where they sat. He dismounted and came forward, grinning broadly.

      “Takin’ the view?” he questioned. His eyes twinkled. “Sometimes there’s a heap of poetry could be got out of this county. But–” and his eyelashes flickered slightly–“a fellow’s got to be in the right frame of mind to get it out. I reckon you two—”

      “I suppose you got the mail?” interrupted Hollis, grimacing at him.

      “I sure did,” returned the poet, “one letter. I reckon the blacksmith’ll be kickin’ because I’ve been galivantin’ around the country for one letter. Here it is.” He passed an envelope to Hollis, and the latter, with a quick glance at the legend in the upper left hand corner, tore it open and read. It was from Weary.

      Dear boss i got cleaned out agin what did you send me a hundred dollars for you might have knowed that id make a gol darned fool of myself with so much coin i never could keep no coin no how but its all right anyway cause me an eds comin home tomorrow eds all right except bein a littel week which the doc says he git over in a littel while.

      ta ta.

       Weary

      P.S. i might have telegraphed but ed says it dont make no difference cause the letter will git there quick enough any way an hes afraid a telegram will scare some one. im dam glad i got a return ticket.

      Weary

      After reading the letter Hollis passed it over to Nellie, watching her, his eyes alight with satisfaction.

      “Oh!” she said. “Oh!” The letter dropped from her hand, was caught by the breezes and swirled several feet distant. Ace sprang to recover it. When he turned, the letter in hand, he saw something that brought a huge grin of sympathy to his face. But mingled with the sympathy was another emotion.

      “Boss,” he said, as Hollis, disengaging himself, turned and faced him, “I’ve writ quite a nice little thing on ‘Love.’ Mebbe you’d like to—”

      He caught Hollis’s frown and immediately retreated to his pony, his grin broadening as he went. He cackled with mirth as Hollis’s voice reached him.

      “Ace,” he said gravely, “don’t attempt to write a poem on ‘Love’ until you’ve had some experience.”

      “You havin’ yours now?” insinuated Ace, as he mounted his pony.

      He alone caught Hollis’s reply. It was an expressive wink.

       THE END

      The Trail to Yesterday

       Table of Contents

       Chapter I. A Woman on the Trail

       Chapter II. The Dim Trail

       Chapter III. Converging Trails

       Chapter IV. This Picture and That

       Chapter V. Dakota Evens a Score

       Chapter VI. Kindred Spirits

       Chapter VII. Bogged Down

       Chapter VIII. Sheila Fans a Flame

       Chapter IX. Strictly Business

       Chapter X. Duncan Adds Two and Two

       Chapter XI. A Parting and a Visit

       Chapter XII. A Meeting on the River Trail

       Chapter XIII. The Shot in the Back

       Chapter XIV. Langford Lays Off the Mask

       Chapter XV. The Parting on the River Trail

       Chapter XVI. Sheriff Allen Takes a Hand

       Chapter XVII. Doubler Talks

       Chapter XVIII. For Dakota

       Chapter XIX. Some Memories

       Chapter XX. Into the Unknown

      Chapter I. A Woman on the Trail

       Table of Contents

      Many disquieting thoughts oppressed Miss Sheila Langford as she halted her pony on the crest of a slight rise and swept the desolate and slumberous world with an anxious glance. Quite the most appalling of these thoughts developed from a realization of the fact that she had lost the trail. The whole categorical array of inconveniences incidental to traveling in a new, unsettled country paled into insignificance when she considered this horrifying and entirely unromantic fact. She was lost; she had strayed from the trail, she was alone and night was coming.

      She would not have cared so much about the darkness, for she had never been a coward, and had conditions been normal she would have asked nothing better than a rapid gallop over the dim plains. But as she drew her pony up on the crest of the rise a rumble of thunder reached her ears. Of course it would rain, now that she had lost the trail, she decided, yielding to a sudden, bitter anger. It usually did rain when one was abroad without prospect of shelter; it always rained when one was lost.

      Well, there was no help for it, of course, and she had only herself to blame for the blunder. For the other—not unusual—irritating details that had combined to place her in this awkward position she could blame, first Duncan, the manager of the Double R—who should have sent someone to meet her at the station; the station agent—who had allowed her to set forth in search of the Double R without a guide,—though even now, considering this phase of the situation, she remembered that the agent had told her there was no one to send—and certainly the desolate

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