ever could live here."

Scotty dropped the dead cigarette stump into an ash-tray, and brushed a
stray speck of dust from his sleeve.

"In other words, you could never care for such a man as your father," he
remarked quietly.

The girl instantly realized what she had said, and springing up she
threw her arms impulsively about her father's neck.

"Dear old daddy!" she said. "There isn't another man in the world like
you! I love you dearly, dearly!" The soft lips touched his cheek again
and again. But for the first time in her life that Florence could
remember, her father did not respond. Instead, he gently freed himself.

"Nevertheless," he said, steadily, "the fact remains. You could never
marry a man like your father,--one who had no desire to be known of men,
but who simply loved you and would do anything in his power to make you
happy. You have said it." Scotty rose slowly, the youthfulness of his
movements gone, the expression of age unconsciously creeping into the
wrinkles at his temples and at the corners of his mouth. "You have hurt
me, Florence."

The girl was at once repentant, but her repentance came too late. She
dropped her face into her hands.

"Oh, daddy, daddy!" she pleaded, but could not say another word. Indeed,
there was nothing to be said.

Scotty moved silently about the room, closed a book he had laid face
downward upon the table, picked up a paper which had fallen to the
floor, and wound the clock for the night. At the doorway to his
sleeping-room he paused.

"You said something at dinner to-night about wanting some hounds,
Florence. I know where I can buy a pair, and I'll see that you have
them." He opened the door slowly, then quietly closed it. "And about our
leaving here. I have always expected to go sometime, but I hoped it
wouldn't be necessary for a while yet." He paused, fingering the knob
absently. "I'm ready, though, whenever you and your mother wish."

This time the door closed behind him, and, alone within the room, the
girl sobbed as though her heart would break.

CHAPTER IX

A RIFFLE OF PRAIRIE

Florence got her dogs promptly. They were two big mouse-colored
grayhounds, with tails like rats and protruding ribs. They were named
"Racer" and "Pacer," and were warranted by their late owner to
out-distance any rabbit that ever drew breath. The girl felt that an
event as important as a coursing should be the occasion of a gathering
of the neighboring ranchers; but at