ere
breasting an incline. Jeff, on the lead, had reined his horse down to
a walk. In a moment they were riding abreast, with Bud's pack pony in
between them. Jeff turned his bloodshot eyes upon his friend, then
they turned again to the trail.

"There's nothing now, Bud, but to get ahead with all our plans and
schemes," he said. "We must drive ahead without any looking back.
There's still things in life, I guess, that's worth while, and I'd say
not the least of 'em is--work."

He paused. He had been gazing straight ahead to disguise his effort.
Now he turned and looked into the face of his friend, and thrust his
hat back on his head.

"It's been tough, Bud. So tough I don't know how I got through. Guess
I shouldn't have without you. You see, Bud, you never said a thing,
and--and that saved me. Guess I'm sort of tired now. Tired of
thinking, tired of--everything. But it's over, and now I sort of feel
I've got to get busy, or I'll forget how to play the man. I don't
guess I'll ever hope to forget. No, I don't want to forget. I
couldn't, just as I couldn't forget that there's some one in the world
took ten thousand dollars as the price of Ronny's poor foolish life.
Oh, it's pretty bad," he sighed wearily. "But--I've closed the book,
Bud, and please God I'll never open it again."

CHAPTER IX

FOUR YEARS LATER

Nan Tristram smiled to herself as she sat in the comfortable rocker
before the open French window which gave on to the wide wooden balcony
beyond. The view she had was one of considerable charm, for Aston's
Hotel was situated facing one end of Maple Avenue, looking straight
down its length, which was at once the principal and most beautiful
thoroughfare in the picturesque western city of Calthorpe.

But her smile had nothing to do with anything the prospect yielded her.
Its beauties were undeniable; she had admitted them to herself many
times. But she knew them with that intimacy which robs things of their
first absorbing charm. The wide-spreading maple trees, which so
softened down the cold beauty of the large stone-fronted residences
lining the avenue, were always a source of soothing influence in the
excited delight of a visit to this busy and flourishing city. Then the
vista of lofty hills beyond the far limits of the town, with their
purpling tints, their broken facets, their dimly defined woodland
belts, they made such a wonderful backing to the civilized foreground.

Nan Trist