lay in the active prosecution of her work.

She breathed a profound sigh. There was relief in the expression of
her face. The drooping corners of her mouth and the tight compression
of her well-formed lips told their own story of her emotions. She had
passed through an anxious time, and only now was she beginning to feel
reassured.

Yes. All was well, she believed. She had lost her pursuers, thanks to
the staunchness of her pony, and her knowledge of the country about
her. With another sigh, but this time one of weariness, she left her
doorway and moved over to the barn. There was still the dreary round
of "chores" to which her life seemed dedicated.

* * * * * *

A solitary horseman sat gazing out through a leafy barrier across the
narrow valley of the little mountain stream. His eyes were fixed upon
the dejected homestead on the slope of the hill beyond. He was
be-chapped, and carried the usual complement of weapons at his waist.
His horse was an unusually fine creature, and well up to the burden it
was called upon to bear. Nor was that burden a light one, for the man
was both massive and muscular.

The watchful eyes were deep set in a mahogany-hued setting. It was a
hard face, brutal, and the eyes were narrow and cruel.

For a long time he sat there regarding the homestead. He beheld the
graceful form of the woman as she moved swiftly about her work.
Judging from his expression, which was by no means pleasant, two
emotions were struggling for dominance. For some time doubt held chief
place, but slowly it yielded to some more animal emotion. Furthermore
temptation was urging him, and more than once he lifted his reins,
which became a sign of yielding.

But all these emotions finally passed. It was evident that some even
stronger force was really governing him. For, with a sharp ejaculation
that conveyed every feeling suggested by disappointment, he swung his
horse about and galloped off in a southeasterly direction--toward
Orrville.

* * * * * *

It was past midnight. Effie, flushed with an unusual excitement, was
gazing up into her husband's face. She was listening almost
breathlessly to the story he was telling her. The little living-room,
more than half kitchen, was bathed in the yellow light of a small tin
kerosene lamp. For the time at least her surroundings, the poverty and
drudgery of her life, were forgotten in the ab