m had more of pride and grace than ever
before in her life. She no longer shrank from the gaze of men, even of
strangers, for Mose seemed her lover and protector. Before his visit to
the East she had doubted, but now she let her starved heart feed on
dreams of him.

Mose had little time to give to her, for (at his own request) Reynolds
was making the highest use of his power. "I want to earn every cent I
can for the next three months," Mose explained, and he often did double
duty. He was very expert now with the rope and could throw and tie a
steer with the best of the men. His muscles seemed never to tire nor his
nerves to fail him. Rain, all-night rides, sleeping on the ground
beneath frosty blankets, nothing seemed to trouble him. He was never
cheery, but he was never sullen.

One day in November he rode up to the home ranch leading a mule with a
pack saddle fully rigged.

"What are you doing with that mule?" asked Reynolds as he came out of
the house, followed by Pink.

"I'm going to pack him."

"Pack him? What do you mean?"

"I'm going to hit 'the long trail.'"

Cora came hurrying forward. "Good evening, Mose."

"Good evening, Cory. How's my little Pink?"

"What did you say about hittin' the trail, Mose?"

"Now I reckon you'll give an account of yourself," said Reynolds with a
wink.

Mose was anxious to avoid an emotional moment; he cautiously replied:
"Oh, I'm off on a little hunting excursion; don't get excited about it.
I'm hungry as a coyote; can I eat?"

Cora was silenced but not convinced, and after supper, when the old
people withdrew from the kitchen, she returned to the subject again.

"How long are you going to be gone this time?"

Mose saw the storm coming, but would not lie to avoid it.

"I don't know; mebbe all winter."

She dropped into a chair facing him, white and still. When she spoke her
voice was a wail. "O Mose! I can't live here all winter without you."

"Oh, yes, you can; you've got Pink and the old folks."

"But I want _you_! I'll die here without you, Mose. I can't endure it."

His face darkened. "You'd better forget me; I'm a hoodoo, Cory; nobody
is ever in luck when I'm around. I make everybody miserable."

"I was never really happy till you come," she softly replied.

"There are a lot of better men than I am jest a-hone'in to marry you,"
he interrupted her to say.

"I don't want them--I don't want anybody but you, and now you go off and
leave me----"

The sit