manated from the
silent places, the solemn hills, the flowers and animals of the wild and
lonely land.

A few straggling pines shaded this last low hill above the valley. Grass
grew luxuriantly there in the open, but not under the trees, where the
brown needle-mats jealously obstructed the green. Clusters of columbines
waved their graceful, sweet, pale-blue flowers that Wade felt a joy in
seeing. He loved flowers--columbines, the glory of Colorado, came first,
and next the many-hued purple asters, and then the flaunting spikes of
paint-brush, and after them the nameless and numberless wild flowers
that decked the mountain meadows and colored the grass of the aspen
groves and peeped out of the edge of snow fields.

"Strange how it seems good to live--when I look at a columbine--or watch
a beaver at his work--or listen to the bugle of an elk!" mused Bent
Wade. He wondered why, with all his life behind him, he could still find
comfort in these things.

Then he rode on his way. The grassy valley, with its winding stream,
slowly descended and widened, and left foothill and mountain far behind.
Far across a wide plain rose another range, black and bold against the
blue. In the afternoon Wade reached Elgeria, a small hamlet, but
important by reason of its being on the main stage line, and because
here miners and cattlemen bought supplies. It had one street, so wide it
appeared to be a square, on which faced a line of bold board houses with
high, flat fronts. Wade rode to the inn where the stagecoaches made
headquarters. It suited him to feed and rest his horses there, and
partake of a meal himself, before resuming his journey.

The proprietor was a stout, pleasant-faced little woman, loquacious and
amiable, glad to see a stranger for his own sake rather than from
considerations of possible profit. Though Wade had never before visited
Elgeria, he soon knew all about the town, and the miners up in the
hills, and the only happenings of moment--the arrival and departure
of stages.

"Prosperous place," remarked Wade. "I saw that. An' it ought to be
growin'."

"Not so prosperous fer me as it uster be," replied the lady. "We did
well when my husband was alive, before our competitor come to town. He
runs a hotel where miners can drink an' gamble. I don't.... But I reckon
I've no cause to complain. I live."

"Who runs the other hotel?"

"Man named Smith. Reckon thet's not his real name. I've had people here
who--but it ain't