that he was gone
she could only wonder how she could have lived so long without him. It
was well for her that she had her school, which she transferred now to
her father's house, for though Shock occupied the inner room he was
very little at home.

In addition to the school there was Patsy, who, never very strong, had
not regained even his puny strength since the operation. Every fine day
Marion would take the little lad for a glorious canter up the trail
that ran along The Lake, but the day was never complete to Patsy unless
it included a visit to the Jumping Rock, and there a tale, and at least
one song. In these rides Stanton, as often as he visited the village,
would join, and then it was the Swallow that the little cripple would
ride, holding his reins in cowboy style high in one hand, and swaying
with careless security in the saddle, and all the more because of the
strong arm about him.

These were happy days to Patsy, happy to young Stanton, happier than
she knew to Marion, and all the happier by contrast to the dark, sad
days that followed.

About three weeks after the Old Prospector's departure a half-breed, on
a cayuse wet and leg-weary, appeared at the Loon Lake Stopping Place,
asking for the preacher.

"Blanked if I know!" growled Carroll. "Off on some fool hunt or other."

"Ask Ike there," said Crawley, who was sitting on the stoop. "You
belong to his flock, don't you, Ike? Elder, aint you?"

"His flock?" echoed Ike. "Wouldn't mind if I did. I'd be sure of my
company, which I can't always be almost anywhere else. Want the
preacher, eh?" turning to the half-breed.

"Letter from de old man."

"What old man? Let me see it," said Crawley quickly. "Ah! 'Rev. Mr.
Macgregor, or one of his friends.' Guess this is from the Old
Prospector, eh?"

The half-breed nodded.

"Where is he?"

"Way up in mountain," he said, waving his hand toward the hills.

"Well, the preacher isn't here. It must be important," continued
Crawley. "I suppose I might as well open it, especially as it is likely
it will be something about outfit. Eh, Carroll?"

He was about to tear the letter open when Ike interposed.

"Hold up, there. It strikes me you're a little rapid in your
conclusions. Let's have a look at the letter."

Crawley very unwillingly gave it up.

"One of his friends," read Ike, with some difficulty, "You count
yourself in there, do you?" to Crawley. "You'd be mighty lucky if he
agreed with you on that ther