agonistic, and for very slight cause, and which made the ranch an
unpleasant abiding place.

He decided that he would not stop at the ranch, but would go on up
the valley to where one Abuer Hicks lived by himself in a half-dugout,
half-board shack, and by mining a little where his land was untillable,
and farming a little where the soil took kindly to fruit and grasses,
managed to exist without too great hardship. The pension he received for
having killed a few of his fellow-men at the behest of his government
was devoted solely to liquid relief from the monotony of his life,
and welcome indeed was the man who brought him a bottle of joy between
times. Wherefore Good Indian had thoughtfully provided himself with a
quart or so and rode with his mind at ease so far as his welcome at the
Hicks dwelling place was concerned.

Once again the Peaceful Hart ranch lay in brooding silence under the
shadow of the bluff. A few crickets chirped shrilly along the trail, and
from their sudden hush as he drew near marked unerringly his passing.
Along the spring-fed creek the frogs croaked a tuneless medley before
him, and, like the crickets, stopped abruptly and waited in absolute
silence to take up their night chant again behind him. His horse stepped
softly in the deep sand of the trail, and, when he found that his rider
refused to let him stop at the stable-door, shook his head in mute
displeasure, and went quietly on. As he neared the silent house, the
faint creak of saddle-leather and the rattle of spur-chains against his
iron stirrups were smothered in the whispering of the treetops in the
grove, so that only the quick hushing of night noises alone betrayed him
to any wakeful ear.

He was guilty of staring hard at that corner of the house where he knew
Evadna slept, and of scowling over the vague disquiet which the thought
of her caused him. No girl had ever troubled his mind before. It annoyed
him that the face and voice of Evadna obtruded, even upon his thoughts
of other things.

The grove was quiet, and he could hear Gene's unmistakable snore over
by the pond--the only sound save the whispering of the trees, which
went on, unmindful of his approach. It was evident, he thought, that
the ghost was effectually laid--and on the heels of that, as he rode out
from the deep shade of the grove and on past the garden to the meadows
beyond, he wondered if, after all, it was again hardily wandering
through the night; for he thought h