h the brooding dusk of the canyons and over the
brighter hilltops.

Billy Louise did not remember anything much about that ride, except
that she was glad the way was long. Blue carried her steadily on and
on and needed no guiding, and though Wolverine canyon was black dark in
most places, she liked it so.

John Pringle was standing by the gate waiting for her, which was
unusual, if Billy Louise had been normal enough to notice it. He came
forward and took Blue by the bridle when she dismounted, which was
still more unusual, for Billy Louise always cared for her own horse
both from habit and preference.

"Yor mommie, she's sick," he announced stolidly. "She's worry you
maybe hurt yoreself. Yo better go, maybe."

Billy Louise did not answer, but ran up the path to the cabin. "Oh,
has everything got to happen all at once?" she cried aloud, protesting
against the implacableness of misfortune.

"Yor mommie's sick," Phoebe announced in a whisper. "She's crazy
'cause you been so long. She's awful bad, I guess."

Billy Louise said nothing, but went in where her mother lay moaning,
her face white and turned to the ceiling. Billy Louise herself had
pulled up her reserves of strength and cheerfulness, and the fingers
she laid on her mother's forehead were cool and steady.

"Poor old mommie! Is it that nasty lumbago again?" she asked
caressingly and did not permit the tiniest shade of anxiety to spoil
the reassurance of her presence. "I went farther than usual, and
Blue's pretty tender, so I eased him along, and I'm fearfully late. I
suppose you've been having all kinds of disasters happening to me."
She was passing her fingers soothingly over her mother's forehead while
she explained, and she saw that her mother did not moan so much as when
she came into the room.

"Of course I worried. I wish you wouldn't take them long rides. Oh, I
guess it's lumbago--mostly--but seems like it ain't, either. The pain
seems to be mostly in my side." She stirred restlessly and moaned
again.

"What's Phoebe been doing for it? You don't seem to have any fever,
mommie--and that's a good thing. I'll go fix you one of those dandy
spice poultices. Had any supper, mommie?"

"Oh, I couldn't eat. Phoebe made a hop poultice, but it's awful soppy."

"Well, never mind. Your dear daughter is on the job now. She'll have
you all comfy in just about two minutes. Head ache, mum? All right.
I'll just shake up your pilly and brin