oses; and the meadow-larks, invisible in the grass,
like hiding choristers, sent up across the empty miles of air their
unexpected song. Earth and sky had been propitious, could he have
stayed; and perhaps one portion of her heart had been propitious too.
So, as he rode away on Monte, she watched him, half chilled by reason,
half melted by passion, self-thwarted, self-accusing, unresolved.
Therefore the days that came for her now were all of them unhappy ones,
while for him they were filled with work well done and with changeless
longing.

One day it seemed as if a lull was coming, a pause in which he could
at last attain that hour with her. He left the camp and turned his face
toward Bear Creek. The way led him along Butte Creek. Across the stream
lay Balaam's large ranch; and presently on the other bank he saw Balaam
himself, and reined in Monte for a moment to watch what Balaam was
doing.

"That's what I've heard," he muttered to himself. For Balaam had led
some horses to the water, and was lashing them heavily because they
would not drink. He looked at this spectacle so intently that he did not
see Shorty approaching along the trail.

"Morning," said Shorty to him, with some constraint.

But the Virginian gave him a pleasant greeting, "I was afraid I'd not
catch you so quick," said Shorty. "This is for you." He handed his
recent foreman a letter of much battered appearance. It was from the
Judge. It had not come straight, but very gradually, in the pockets of
three successive cow-punchers. As the Virginian glanced over it and saw
that the enclosure it contained was for Balaam, his heart fell. Here
were new orders for him, and he could not go to see his sweetheart.

"Hello, Shorty!" said Balaam, from over the creek. To the Virginian he
gave a slight nod. He did not know him, although he knew well enough who
he was.

"Hyeh's a letter from Judge Henry for yu'" said the Virginian, and he
crossed the creek.

Many weeks before, in the early spring, Balaam had borrowed two horses
from the Judge, promising to return them at once. But the Judge, of
course, wrote very civilly. He hoped that "this dunning reminder" might
be excused. As Balaam read the reminder, he wished that he had sent the
horses before. The Judge was a greater man than he in the Territory.
Balaam could not but excuse the "dunning reminder,"--but he was ready to
be disagreeable to somebody at once.

"Well," he said, musing aloud in his annoyance, "