her song.

"I am a traveler, Mackenzie is my name, on my way to Tim Sullivan's
sheep ranch. My grub has run low; I'd like to get some supper if you
can let me have a bite."

"There is not much for a gentleman to eat," said she.

"Anything at all," Mackenzie returned, unslinging his pack, letting it
down wearily at his feet.

"My man would not like it. You have heard of Swan Carlson?"

"No; but I'll pay for it; he'll have no right to kick."

"You have come far if you have not heard of Swan Carlson. His name is
on the wind like a curse. Better you would go on, sir; my man would
kill you if he found you in this house."

She moved a step to reach and lay the plate on a table close at hand.
As she lifted her foot there was the sharp clink of metal, as of a
dragging chain. Mackenzie had heard it before when she stepped nearer
the door, and now he bent to look into the shadow that fell over the
floor from the flaring bottom of the lantern.

"Madam," said he, indignantly amazed by the barbarous thing he beheld,
"does that man keep you a prisoner here?"

"Like a dog," she said, nodding her untidy head, lifting her foot to
show him the chain.

It was a common trace-chain from plow harness; two of them, in fact,
welded together to give her length to go about her household work. She
had a freedom of not more than sixteen feet, one end of the chain
welded about her ankle, the other set in a staple driven into a log of
the wall. She had wrapped the links with cloths to save her flesh, but
for all of that protection she walked haltingly, as if the limb were
sore.

"I never heard of such inhuman treatment!" Mackenzie declared, hot to
the bone in his burning resentment of this barbarity. "How long has he
kept you tied up this way?"

"Three years now," said she, with a weary sigh.

"It's going to stop, right here. What did you let him treat you this
way for? Why didn't some of your neighbors take a hand in it?"

"Nobody comes," she sighed, shaking her head sadly. "The name of Swan
Carlson is a curse on the wind. Nobody passes; we are far from any
road that men travel; your face is the first I have seen since Swan
put the chain on me like a wolf."

"Where does he keep his tools?"

"Maybe in the barn--I do not know. Only there never is anything left
in my reach. Will you set me free, kind stranger?"

"If I can find anything to cut that chain. Let me have the lantern."

The woman hesitated, her eyes grown great with f