k to the world
they had left, nearly a month before--the pipe-line trail to the reservoir
and so down to the power-house and the Fairlands road; the Government
trail from the pipe-line, over the Galenas to the valley on the other
side; or, the Oak Knoll trail down to Clear Creek and out through the
canyon gates--the way they had come.

"But," objected Aaron King, lazily,--from where he lay under a live-oak on
the mountainside, a few feet above the trail,--"either route presupposes
our wish to return to Fairlands."

The novelist laughed. "Listen to him, Czar,"--he said to the dog lying at
his feet,--"listen to that painter-man. He doesn't want to go back to
Fairlands any more than we do, does he?"

Rising, Czar looked at his master a moment, with slow waving tail, then
turned inquiringly toward the artist.

"Well," said the young man, "what about it, old boy? Which trail shall we
take? Or shall we take any of them?"

With a prodigious yawn,--as though to indicate that he wearied of their
foolish indecision,--Czar turned, with a low "woof," toward the fourth
member of the company, who was browsing along the edge of the trail.
Whenever Czar was in doubt as to the wants of his human companions he
always barked at the burro.

"He says, 'ask Croesus'," commented the artist.

"Good!" cried the older man, with another laugh. "Let's put it up to the
financier and let him choose."

"Wait,"--said the artist, as the other turned toward the burro,--"don't be
hasty--the occasion calls for solemn meditation and lofty discourse."

"Your pardon,"--returned the novelist,--"'tis so. I will orate." Carefully
selecting a pebble in readiness to emphasize his remarks, he addressed the
shaggy arbiter of their fate. "Sir Croesus, thy pack is lighter by many
meals than when first thou didst set out from that land where we did
rescue thee from the hands of thy tormenting trader; but thy
responsibilities are weightier, many fold. Upon the wisdom of thy choice,
now, great issue rests. Thou hast thy chance, O illustrious ass, to
recompense the world, this day, for the many evils wrought by thy odious
ancestor and by all his long-eared kin. Choose, now, the way thy
benefactors' feet shall go; and see to it, Croesus, that thou dost choose
wisely; or, by thy ears, we'll flay thy woolly hide and hang it on the
mountainside--a warning to thy kind."

The well-thrown pebble struck that part of the burro's anatomy at which it
was aimed; the dog