one north in the night. The wounded
outlaw had doubtless heard the sheriff talking and, the coast being
clear to the southward, had got the fresh horse and was by that time
probably safe in the heavy forests and mountains of Utah. His getting
in with N'Yawk had been a daring ruse, but a successful one. Where his
partner was, no one could guess. But by that time all the camp
excepting Herman and Mrs. Louderer were so panicky that we couldn't
have made a rational suggestion.

N'Yawk, white around his mouth, approached Mrs. Louderer. "I want to
quit," he said. "Well," she said, calmly sipping her coffee, "you haf
done it." "I'm sick," he stammered. "I know you iss," she said, "I haf
before now seen men get sick when they iss scared to death." "My old
daddy--" he began. "Yes, I know, he waded the creek vone time und you
has had cold feet effer since."

Poor fellow, I felt sorry for him. I had cold feet myself just then,
and I was powerfully anxious to warm them by my own fire where a pair
of calm blue eyes would reassure me.

I didn't get to see the branding that was to have taken place on the
range that day. The boss insisted on taking the trail of his valued
horse. He was very angry. He thought there was a traitor among the
posse. Who started the firing at the bridge no one knew, and Watson
said openly that it was done to get the sheriff away from camp.

My own home looked mighty good to me when we drove up that evening. I
don't want any more wild life on the range,--not for a while, anyway.

Your ex-Washlady,
ELINORE RUPERT STEWART.

XVII

AT GAVOTTE'S CAMP

_November 16, 1912._

MY DEAR FRIEND,--

At last I can write you as I want to. I am afraid you think I am going
to wait until the "bairns" are grown up before writing to my friends,
but indeed I shall not. I fully intend to "gather roses while I may."
Since God has given me two blessings, children and friends, I shall
enjoy them both as I go along.

I must tell you why I have not written as I should have done. All
summer long my eyes were so strained and painful that I had to let all
reading and writing go. And I have suffered terribly with my back. But
now I am able to be about again, do most of my own work, and my eyes
are much better. So now I shall not treat you so badly again. If you
could only know how kind every one is to me, you would know that even
ill health has its compensations out here. Dear Mrs. Louderer, with her
goos