e hesitated
and looked doubtful. "I owe you all and more for saving my life. I can
never repay you. Take it. You may return it sometime when you get plenty
more of your own, if it hurts your pride to keep it. Take it, please. Yes,
I have plenty for myself. You will need it, and you must stop at nice
places overnight. You will be very careful, won't you? My name is on that
envelope. You must write to me and let me know that you are safe."

"Some one is calling you, and that thing is beginning to move again," said
the girl, an awesome wonder in her face. "You will be left behind! O,
hurry! Quick! Your mother!"

He half turned toward the train, and then came back.

"You haven't told me your name!" he gasped. "Tell me quick!"

She caught her breath.

"Elizabeth!" she answered, and waved him from her.

The conductor of the train was shouting to him, and two men shoved him
toward the platform. He swung himself aboard with the accustomed ease of a
man who has travelled; but he stood on the platform, and shouted, "Where
are you going?" as the train swung noisily off.

She did not hear him, but waved her hand, and gave him a bright smile that
was brimming with unshed tears. It seemed like instant, daring suicide in
him to stand on that swaying, clattering house as it moved off
irresponsibly down the plane of vision. She watched him till he was out of
sight, a mere speck on the horizon of the prairie; and then she turned
her horse slowly into the road, and went her way into the world alone.

The man stood on the platform, and watched her as he whirled away--a
little brown girl on a little brown horse, so stanch and firm and stubborn
and good. Her eyes were dear, and her lips as she smiled; and her hand was
beautiful as it waved him good-by. She was dear, dear, dear! Why had he
not known it? Why had he left her? Yet how could he stay? His mother was
dying perhaps. He must not fail her in what might be her last summons.
Life and death were pulling at his heart, tearing him asunder.

The vision of the little brown girl and the little brown horse blurred and
faded. He tried to look, but could not see. He brought his eyes to nearer
vision to fix their focus for another look, and straight before him
whirled a shackly old saloon, rough and tumble, its character apparent
from the men who were grouped about its doorway and from the barrels and
kegs in profusion outside. From the doorway issued four men, wiping their
mouths and sh