trail upon which her hero was about to set foot, and took
possession of the conversation by telling of a little antelope which
one of the cowboys had brought her.

The mule was packed and Mose was about to say good-by. The sun was still
low in the eastern sky. Frost was on the grass, but the air was crisp
and pleasant. All the family stood beside him as he packed his outfit on
the mule and threw over it the diamond hitch. As he straightened up he
turned to the waiting ones and said: "Do you see that gap in the range?"

They all looked where he pointed. Down in the West, but lighted into
unearthly splendor by the morning light, arose the great range of snowy
peaks. In the midst of this impassable wall a purple notch could be
seen.

"Ever sence I've been here," said Mose, with singular emotion, "I've
looked away at that range and I've been waiting my chance to see what
that canon is like. There runs my trail--good-by."

He shook hands hastily with Cora, heartily with Mrs. Reynolds, and
kissed Pink, who said: "Bring me a little bear or a fox."

"All right, honey, you shall have a grizzly."

He swung into the saddle. "Here I hit the trail for yon blue notch and
the land where the sun goes down. So long."

"Take care o' yourself, boy."

"Come back soon," called Cora, and covered her face with her shawl in a
world-old gesture of grief.

In the days that followed she thought of him as she saw him last, a
minute fleck on the plain. She thought of him when the rains fell, and
prayed that he might not fall ill of fever or be whelmed by a stream. He
seemed so little and weak when measured against that mighty and
merciless wall of snow. Then when the cold white storms came and the
plain was hid in the fury of wind and sleet, she shuddered and thought
of him camped beside a rock, cold and hungry. She thought of him lying
with a broken leg, helpless, while his faithful beasts pawed the ground
and whinnied their distress. She spoke of these things once or twice,
but her father merely smiled.

"Mose can take care of himself, daughter, don't you worry."

Months passed before they had a letter from him, and when it came it
bore the postmark of Durango.

"DEAR FRIENDS: I should a-written before, but the fact is I
hate to write and then I've been on the move all the time. I
struck through the gap and angled down to Taos, a Pueblo
Indian town, where I stayed for a while--then went on down
the Valley to Sa