The Press., 1892-11-24
JOHN BRENT
By THEODORE WINTHROP.

tCopyright, 1891, by American Press Associa-
 tion.1
 Armstrong rode up the alley again Another man he was since his commis- sion of vengeance had been accomplished. In those lawless wilds vendetta takes the place of justice, becomes justice in- deed. Armstrong, now that his stern duty was done, was again the kindly, simple fellow nature made him.
 I returned to my friends by the springs.
 I gave few moments to the horses and mules. They were still to be unsad- dled. Healthy Fulano had found his own way to water, and now was feast ing on the crisp, short grass along the outlet of the Champagne spring, tickling his nose with the bubbles of gas as they sped by. Sup, Fulasol This spot was worth the gallop to see. Sup, Fulano, the brave, and may no stain of this days righteous death-doing rest upon your guiltless ifei
 Brent was lying under the spruces, drowsing with fatigue, reaction and loss of blood. Miss Clitheroe sat by watch ing him. These fine beings have an ex- quisitely tenacious vitality. The happi- ness of release had suddenly kindled all her life again. As she rose to meet me, there was light in her eyes and color in her cheeks. Her whole soul leaped up and spoke it's large gratitude in 8 smile.
 "My dear friend" she said; and then with sudden tearfulness, ssGod be thanked for your herois1nv'
 "God be thanked!' repeated. "We have been strangely selected and sent you from England, my friend and and my horse, the hero of the day, from the Pacifc-to interfere here in each others lives"
 It would seem romance, but for the sharp terror of this day, coming after the long agony of my journey with my poor errant father"
 "A sharp terror, indeedp'
 "But only terrorw and 8 glow of maidenly thankfulness passed over her face. Except one moment of rough usage, when slipped away my gag and screamed as they carried me off, those men were considerate to me. They never halted except to dig we'll in the sand of a riverbed. learned from their talk that they had made an attempt to steal your horses in the night, and fail ing, dreaded lest you, and especially MT. Brent, would follow them close. So they rode hard. They supposed that when I was found missing, whoever went in pursuit, and you they always feared, would lose time along the emi- grant road searching eastward"
 "We might have done so; but we had ourselves ridden off that way in despair of aiding you''- and I gave her sketch of the events of the morning.
 ''It was the hope of succor from you that sustained me. After what your friend said to me last evening, I knew he could not abandon me if he had power to act" And she looked very tenderly at the sleeper-a look to repay him for a thousand wounds.
 ''Did you find my glover" sine asked.
 "He has it. That token assured us. An! you should have seen that dear wounded boy, our leader, when he knew we were not astray.'
 l continued my story of our pursuit. the lulling beat of the stream underton- ing my words in the still twilight. When I came to that last wild burst of Fulano, and told how his heroic charge had full filled his faithful ardor of the day, she sprang up, thrilled out of all weariness and ran to the noble fellow, where he was taking his dainty banquet by the brookside.
 She flung her arms around his neck and rested her head upon his shoulder. Locks of her black hair, escaping into curls, mingled with his mane.
 Presently Miss Clitheroe seemed to feel a maidenly consciousness that her caresses of the horse might remind the horses master that he was not unworthy of like reward. She returned to my friend. He was stirring little in pain. She busted herself about him tenderly, and yet with certain distance of man. ner, building wall of delicate decorum between him and herself. Indeed, from the beginning of our acquaintance yes terday and now in this meeting of to- day she had drawn apart from Brent and frankly approached me. Her fine instinct knew the brother from the lover.
 Armstrong presently rode out again.
 When he saw his brothers sorrel horse feeding with the others he wept like & child.
 We two, the lady and I, were greatly touched.
 ''Pve got daughter myself to home to the Umpqua," said Armstrong, turn ing to Miss Clitheroe; '.jest about your settin up and jest about as many corn shuckins old. Ellen is her name."
 ''Ellen is my name"
 ''That's pretty" pooty he pronounced it). "Well, I'll stand father to you, just as eff you was my own gal. know what a gal in trouble wants more'n young fellows can.'
 Ellen Cfitheroe gave her hand to Arm strong in frank acceptance of his offer. He became the paternal element in our party-he protecting her and she hu- manizing him.
 We lighted our camp fire and supped heartily. Except for Brents uneasy stir and unwilling moans, we might have forgotten the deadly business of that day.
 We made the wounded man comfort able as might be with blankets under the sheltering spruces. After all, if; h. must be hurt he could not have fallen upon better hospital than the pure open air of this beautiful shelter, and surely nowhere was gentler nurse than his.
 Armstrong and l built the lady bower, a little lodge of bushes from the thicket.
 Then he and kept watch and watch beneath the starlight.
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