ith
careful exactness to the letter. She never doubted, and we never let her
doubt but that in a few weeks she would be on the pinto's back again and
after the cattle. She made us pass our word for this till it seemed as
if she must have read the falsehoods on our brows.

"To lie cheerfully with her eyes upon one's face calls for more than I
possess," said The Duke one day. "The doctor should supply us tonics. It
is an arduous task."

And she believed us absolutely, and made plans for the fall "round-up,"
and for hunts and rides till one's heart grew sick. As to the ethical
problem involved, I decline to express an opinion, but we had no need
to wait for our punishment. Her trust in us, her eager and confident
expectation of the return of her happy, free, outdoor life; these
brought to us, who knew how vain they were, their own adequate
punishment for every false assurance we gave. And how bright and brave
she was those first days! How resolute to get back to the world of air
and light outside!

But she had need of all her brightness and courage and resolution before
she was done with her long fight.

CHAPTER XII

GWEN'S CANYON

Gwen's hope and bright courage, in spite of all her pain, were wonderful
to witness. But all this cheery hope and courage and patience snuffed
out as a candle, leaving noisome darkness to settle down in that
sick-room from the day of the doctor's consultation.

The verdict was clear and final. The old doctor, who loved Gwen as his
own, was inclined to hope against hope, but Fawcett, the clever young
doctor from the distant town, was positive in his opinion. The scene is
clear to me now, after many years. We three stood in the outer room; The
Duke and her father were with Gwen. So earnest was the discussion that
none of us heard the door open just as young Fawcett was saying in
incisive tones:

"No! I can see no hope. The child can never walk again."

There was a cry behind us.

"What! Never walk again! It's a lie!" There stood the Old Timer, white,
fierce, shaking.

"Hush!" said the old doctor, pointing at the open door. He was too late.
Even as he spoke, there came from the inner room a wild, unearthly
cry as of some dying thing and, as we stood gazing at one another with
awe-stricken faces, we heard Gwen's voice as in quick, sharp pain.

"Daddy! daddy! come! What do they say? Tell me, daddy. It is not true!
It is not true! Look at me, daddy!"

She pulled up her father's