the ties, which was not certain.

The station's name was Jumpoff. The train's conductor, who had the
misfortune to be considered a humorist, liked to say that Jumpoff was
a knot at the end of the road to keep the track from unraveling. He
had told the girl that, on the long, jolty ride from the junction. The
girl replied that at any rate she liked the name.

What really held Jumpoff on the time-table in those days before it
became a real town were the stockyards, where the Black Rim cattle
came to start their journey to market. The trail over the mountains to
the main line was rough, with a two-day drive without water. Yet the
Black Rim country had many cattle, and a matter of a few tunnels and a
trestle or two let the railroad in by a short cut which minimized the
distance to the main line. The branch line paid a fair interest on the
investment,--but not with its passenger service.

The girl found herself stranded in a settlement whose business was
represented by one saloon, one section house, one stable, one
twelve-by-twelve depot and a store that was no more than an addition
to the saloon, with the bartender officiating in both places as
customers required his services. Times when cattle were being shipped,
the store was closed and the saloon had no rival.

It was while the girl was hesitating half-way between the store-saloon
and the section house, wondering which she would choose, that young
Tom Lorrigan galloped up to the hitch rail, stopped his horse in two
stiff-legged jumps, swung down and came toward her. Like a picture on
a wall calendar she looked to young Tom, who had never seen her like
in flesh and blood. He lifted his big, range hat, and she smiled at
him,--though it must have been a stage smile, she had so little heart
for smiling then.

Tom blinked as though he had looked at the sun. Such a smile he had
never seen in his life; nor such hair, like real, gold-colored silk
all in curls around her face; nor such eyes, which were blue as the
sky at twilight when the stars first begin to show.

"Jumpoff is not much of a town," said the girl and laughed to hide how
close she was to tears.

Young Tom caught his breath. He had thought that women had only two
forms of laughter, the giggle of youth or the cackle of age. He had
never dreamed that a woman could laugh like a mountain stream gurgling
down over the rocks. Immediately he visioned young ferns dripping
diamonds into a shadowed pool, though he did