the world is flooded with a soft,
silvery light and the great trees stand out transfigured against the
sky, amid a silence profound and awe-inspiring.

It had been a long ride; aye, a long one indeed to Andrew Malden. He
had traveled across more than half a century of life since they left
Gold City. His own childhood, Mary Moore, old Kentucky, had all come
back to him. Then he had thought of that silent grave down beyond Gold
City, and of the large part of his life buried there. He turned to the
lad at his side, sleeping unconscious of life's ills and
disappointments, of which, poor boy, he had already had his share. The
sight of the innocent face thrilled the old man. In his slumbers the
boy murmured, "Mamma, papa;" and, turning, the old man did a strange
thing for him. He leaned over and kissed the lad, and whispered,
"Mamma, papa! Boy, as long as Andy Malden lives, he shall be both to
you."

When they reached the house, he hushed the dogs to silence, bade Hans,
who stared astonished at his master's guest, to take the horses; and,
lifting the sleeping form, carried it into his room, and, gently
removing coat and shoes, laid the boy in the great bed, while he
prepared to stretch himself on a couch near by.

That night a new life came to Andrew Malden and the Pine Tree Ranch.

CHAPTER III.

THE HORSE-RACE.

"Yer darsn't do it! Yer old Malden's slave, yer know yer are, and yer
darsn't breathe 'less he says so."

It was in front of the Miners' Home in Gold City, and the speaker was
an overgrown, brawny, low-browed boy of some seventeen years, who, in
ragged clothes and an old slouch hat, leaned against the post that
helped support the tumble-down roof of that notorious establishment.
In front of him, barefooted and in overalls rolled up over
well-browned legs, old blue cap, astride a little black pony whose
eyes rolled appreciatively as he lovingly half leaned upon her neck,
sat Job Malden, as the store-keepers called him; or "Andy's
Tenderfoot," as the boys dubbed him.

You would not have dreamed, had you seen him, that this brown-skinned,
tall fifteen-year-old, who rose in his saddle at this remark and spoke
out sharp and strong, was the same pale-faced city lad who had come in
the stage three years ago, homeless and friendless. The mountains had
done wonders for him; the pallor had gone from his cheeks; the sun had
tanned his shapely limbs; the wild life of nature and the still
rougher world of human