reservedly to the woman whom he had betrayed
and, in his tigerish way, doubtless loved, for he had married her in
'65, the instant he succeeded in convincing her that Potts was really
dead.

So far from combating the will, both the Crockers were cordial in their
support. Indeed, it was the elder brother who told the widow of its
existence. They had known her and her story many a year, and were ready
to devote themselves to her service now. The junior moved up to the
"Burnham" place to take general charge and look after matters, for the
property was every day increasing in value. And so matters went until
the fall, and then, one lovely evening, in the little wooden chapel at
the old fort, there was a gathering such as its walls had never known
before; and the loveliest bride that Arizona ever saw, blushing,
smiling, and radiantly happy, received the congratulations of the entire
garrison and of delegations from almost every post in the department.

A few years ago, to the sorrow of everybody in the regiment, Mr. and
Mrs. Harry Baker bade it good-by forever. The fond old mother who had so
long watched over the growing property for "her children," as she called
them, had no longer the strength the duties required. Crocker had taken
unto himself a helpmate and was needed at his own place, and our gallant
and genial comrade with his sweet wife left us only when it became
evident to all at Phoenix that a new master was needed at Starlight
Ranch.

WELL WON;

OR,

FROM THE PLAINS TO "THE POINT."

CHAPTER I.

RALPH MCCREA.

The sun was going down, and a little girl with big, dark eyes who was
sitting in the waiting-room of the railway station was beginning to look
very tired. Ever since the train came in at one o'clock she had been
perched there between the iron arms of the seat, and now it was after
six o'clock of the long June day, and high time that some one came for
her.

A bonny little mite she was, with a wealth of brown hair tumbling down
her shoulders and overhanging her heavy eyebrows. She was prettily
dressed, and her tiny feet, cased in stout little buttoned boots, stuck
straight out before her most of the time, as she sat well back on the
broad bench.

She was a silent little body, and for over two hours had hardly opened
her lips to any one,--even to the doll that now lay neglected on the
seat beside her. Earlier in the afternoon she had been much engrossed
with that blue-eyed, flaxen-ha