ng throat. Something
in his face made the throng give way and Moore quickly pushed him
outside into the midnight cold.

"Go back for my wife and daughter," Burroughs commanded. "Go back!"

The street was empty, for everybody had stayed within the capitol to
feast on the sensation of the Indians and the fainting women. Moore
hesitated.

"They'll be right out, Bob. Let me call a cab."

"Go!" The old, imperious fire came from the deep-set eyes.

Moore had no sooner turned his back to obey than a pistol shot broke the
stillness.

The rabble poured from the capitol at the sound of the shot. Moore, the
only friend that Burroughs ever had, raised his companion. The plotting
and planning was over. Robert Burroughs, having forced his way through
life's stockade, stepped out, alone, into the Dark Trail.

In the confusion of that midnight scene Danvers was conscious of but one
desire, held in abeyance by the tragic necessities of the moment. At
last the surging crowd dispersed, the officers of the law performed
their hasty duty, and Moore drove away in a closed carriage with Mrs.
Burroughs and her daughter.

Then Danvers turned wearily, eagerly, like a man famished and athirst,
to the woman who meant peace and rest and inspiration.

She stood in the dim light, clinging to her brother's arm, while the
doctor waited beside the carriage.

Charlie reached out a trembling hand and looked into Philip's face. Then
he bent and kissed his sister, and gently withdrawing his arm, gave her
to Danvers. The doctor hurried the sick man into the carriage, and it
drove into the night.

The lovers clung together like tired, frightened children, and walked
silently.

"It is all over," said Winifred, at last.

"No, dear one; it is just begun!"

* * * * *

TRAILS THROUGH WESTERN WOODS

_By_ HELEN FITZGERALD SANDERS

The author-artist gives us an idyl of forest trails, cloud-swept
mountains, glacier-born cascades, gentle Selish and heart-broken Indian
chiefs, born to learn their day is past. The book will widen the circles
of those who regret the passing of the brave, free life of the
wilderness.

[Illustration]

"The author deserves the gratitude of the American nation for
capturing the nebulous star-mist of its beginnings--and that which
went before."--_N. Y. Times._

_Illustrated by the Author._ _Colored end sheets._

_$2.00 net; postage 16 cents._

THE ALICE HARRIMAN C