looked in, through a tangle of corn
and young cottonwoods, upon the low shanty, in front of which sat the
cattleman in his shirt-sleeves, thoughtfully chewing a quid. The growl
of a dog at his feet discovered her to him at the same moment, and, as
he squinted in the half-light at her thin little form and cropped head,
she seemed like some strange prairie fay coming, light-footed, out of
the gloom to meet him.

"Hi thar!" he called, rising up as the little girl threaded the corn and
cottonwoods. She was breathless with walking, and did not answer as she
crossed the yard, shielding herself with the bridle and the feed-bag
from the dog, bounding boisterously against her. "Wal, what on airth!"
exclaimed the cattleman when she halted before him.

As she glanced up, he took on the forbidding height and glowering aspect
of her first school-teacher. But she summoned heart. "How d' ye do?" she
said, nodding at him cordially.

"What're ye doin' up here?" he demanded. "Ye lost? Come in! come in!"

"Oh, no," answered the little girl, following him into the shanty.

He lighted a lantern, and, turning it upon her, eyed her anxiously. She
looked even thinner, paler, and more eerie than she had in the yard.
"Sit down," he said, motioning her to a bench. But he remained standing,
his hands shoved far into the top of his wide, yellow, goatskin "chaps,"
his quid rolling from side to side. "W'y, I thought you 's a spook," he
laughed, "er a will-o'-th'-wisp--one. Want a drink er somethin' to eat?
Got lots o' nice coffee. Guess y' 're petered."

"No, I'm not," she declared. And as he turned from the stove, where he
had put the coffee on to boil, she got up and stepped toward him.
"I--I--called to get somefing," she faltered, resuming, in her
trepidation, a babyish pronunciation long since discarded for one more
dignified.

"Ye did?" queried the cattleman.

"Yes," she continued. "You 'member the night I 'most died?" He
acquiesced silently. "Well, you told me then that if I'd get well you'd
give me anyfing on your ranch."

The cattleman started as if he had been stung, and, wheeling about, took
out his quid and threw it on the flames, so that he might be better able
to cope with the matter before him.

"And so," the little girl went on, "I fought I'd come to-day."

The cattleman rubbed his chin. "I see; I see," he said.

"I couldn't get here sooner," she explained, "'cause I didn't ride."

"Oh, ye didn't?" he said. Then, noting