ed out with her guns
upon them, himself included, and mounted a silver stallion, whose like
he had not known existed. In fact, Kenset had thought he knew horses,
but he stood in open-mouthed wonder before the horses of Lost
Valley--the magnificent Ironwood bays of Courtrey's, with their
wonderful long manes and tails that shone like a lady's hair, the
Finger Marks which he had seen once or twice, and marvelled at.

With the opening of the boxes the cabin in the glade took on a look of
home, of individuality. A big dark rug, woven of strong cord in green
and brown, came out and went down on the rough floor, leather runners
were flung on the two tables, a student lamp of nickel, a pair of old
candlesticks in hammered brass, added their touch of gleam and shine
to table and shelf-above-the-hearth, college pennants, in all the
colours of the rainbow, were hung about the walls between four fine
prints in sepia, gay cushions, much the worse for wear, landed in the
handsome chairs, and lastly, but far from being least, three long
shelves beneath the northern windows were filled to the last inch with
books.

When all these things had been put in place Kenset stood back and
surveyed the room with a smile in his dark eyes.

"Some spot," he said aloud, "some spot!"

On the small table that was to do duty as a desk in the corner between
the southwest window and the fireplace he stacked neatly a mass of
literature, all marked with the same peculiar shield of the pine trees
and the big U. S. that shone always on his breast.

To the Drakes these things were of quick interest, but they asked no
questions.

When the last thing had been done to the cabin they set to work and
built a smaller cabin for the good brown horse which Kenset had bought
far down to the south and west in the Coast Country, for Sam Drake
told him that Lost Valley locked its doors to all the world in winter.
He would house his only friend as he housed himself.

When the Drakes, father and sons, were gone back down to Corvan for
good, Kenset stretched himself, physically and mentally, and began his
life in the last frontier.

He began to be out from dawn to dark riding the ridges, exploring the
wooded slopes, the boldly upsweeping breasts of the nameless
mountains, making friends with the rugged land. It was a beautiful
country, hushed and silent, save for the soft song of the pines, the
laughter of streams that ran to the Valley, cold as snow and clear as