driving thirty others ahead of him, set out for Colorado. On the way
he sold most of the horses to ranchmen and cattlemen and netted a neat
sum.

When Mary Greenwater returned and found her spouse had vanished, her
fury knew no bounds. Ordinarily the Indian squaw might be deserted by
her lord and she would stoically accept her fate. Mary might have done
so had she not been spoiled by being educated at Carlisle. Her savage
blood grew hot for revenge. She made another trip to the Grand river
hills, presumably for a larger amount of money, placed her affairs in
the hands of her Indian-Negro servants, and started on the trail of
Carson, believing she would have no trouble in overtaking a man
driving that many head of horses. Meanwhile the fall rains set in and
the shallow rivers of the plains became raging torrents. But to a
woman of Mary Greenwater's determined character, these things were
obstacles only for the time being. Her heart was bad and her love of
revenge strong.

XXI.

CARSON'S BLANK PAGES IN LIFE.

When Carson left the cabin he followed the winding trail that led to
the valley below. The road to Saguache showed the hoofprints of a
prospector's outfit, and the marks of a sleigh leading to Del Norte.
The glare of the sun on the reflected snow was blinding and he drew
his hat down over his eyes. He was thinking of his worthless life
since leaving college. Once he had builded lofty hopes of future
doings in the world, but he had allowed himself to drift; his ship of
fate had gone wherever the strongest tide wind carried. He saw now
that he might have marked out some honorable career and piloted his
course toward it. Others of his class in college were in a fair way to
make their mark in the world. Why was it not so with him? It was born
in him, as it had been in his father, to choose the wild life of the
frontier in preference to holding the presidency of a bank in Atlanta.
He felt that the world in its wildest freedom was his for his
pleasure. The cords of restraint which society demanded were to him
the fetters of a tyrant ruler, and so, as Sampson broke the green
withes which bound him, Carson broke the laws of society--nay
civilization, and married a squaw according to the ceremony of her
people. He repented the act to some extent, and then cast his cares
aside, with the comforting knowledge that the world was too busy a
place for people to give themselves much concern over his affairs.
Long ago h