A'm Jack Matthews, who carried the mail for the
Company at the Big House; by an' by contractor, then by the Grace o'
God missionary to the Cree! Haven't A seen you, girl? Was it '85 at
the Agency House when Wandering Spirit--"

"Non sabe," snapped Calamity, setting off down the trail at a run paced
to keep the reverend traveller behind till she reached the last loop.
Drawing her shawl over her face, she paused with her back to the
frontiersman. To the left blinked the lights of the sheep ranch house
and the Mission, to the right the cow-boy camp and the dead glare of
the white buildings belonging to the Senator.

"Viola! dat vay!" The woman deliberately pointed to the cow-boy camp;
then vanished in the darkness.

"Mighty quick wench! A have seen you before, my sly minx, and A'll see
you some more," he said staring after the fading form.

Then he headed his mare for the cow-boy camp below the cliff. Half a
dozen men lounged round a smudge fire. The old man paused to sort out
the scene; the box of a gramaphone laid out for a card table, a bottle
of whiskey in the centre, two empty bottles with candles stuck in the
necks for lights, a dull smudge fire, four rough fellows sprawling on
the ground, one with corduroy velveteen trousers, an old white pack
horse nosing windward of the smoke; one figure with sheepskin chaps to
his waist, thumbs in his belt, standing erect with back to the trail;
and face in light, a shaven face with a strong jaw and oily geniality,
a corpulent form in a white vest, putting a pocket book in a breast
pocket.

The old frontiersman took hold of his mare's bridle.

"'Tis hardly what you'd look for in a Missionary outfit, Bessie."

"You'll leave for the South at once?"

The question commanded. The old frontiersman listened.

"Hoof express, Sir," promised the sheep-skin leggings.

"And mind you I know nothing about it, Jim. I'm not to be told. I
take care of you without you knowing about it. I _expect you_ to take
care of us--" the white waist coat became at once impressive and
anxious.

"That's all right, Colonel. I understand! We'll crowd 'em to beat
Hell; and they'll go it blind. If it's coming dark, they'll shut their
eyes and go over blind. I defy Sheriff Flood, himself, if he's
standing on the spot to make a case--"

"You need have no fear of Sheriff Flood _ever_ being on the spot.
He'll be busy under his bed that night; but look out for these Federal
puppy-boy Fo