Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1893-01-26

ii8ut. WnaC COlOf bhCic Wool Aho
earth seemed hung in some rarer medium
than common air. The yellow cactus
blossoms were like flakes OF flame.
scarlet flower fairly burned into the
sight. Grace developed new enthus-
iasm every day, and piled her palette
with cobalt and chrome. Even Fleming,
who had preceded them, grunted out
now and then, "Put in your loore pure.
Make her jump"
So they painted from morning till
night, keeping two or three studies I'M
der way at once-putting in blues where
Woodson saw greens and puppies where
he saw nothing but nondescript sand,
and doing all the inexplicablc things that
should be done according to the gospel
of the administers.
Woodson sat by and chaffed. He
couldn't paint. He wouldn't smoke. He
parried Grace's occasional inquiring
chances by explaining that he was ne
| gotiating to go into the cattle business
a man was going to bring him herd on
trial
Meanwhile he arrayed his shapely
figure in cowboyish top boots, blue shirt,
aud SLOUGH hat, which became him i'm
mensely, and made sinister impression
among the blazers and tennis suits of
summering Manitou. Grace was abb
sorbed and satisfied. One day an idea
struck him. ''Grace," said he, 81 found
little bit down here the other day that
I'd like to have you sketch-to send
home, you know. You'll do it, won't
your
"Why, of course. I'll speak to Mr..
Fleming"
"Oh, hang Mr. Flemingr" Woodson
broke in. ''Fleming is all right in his
way, but want you-your sketch, you
know"
The place was quite a distance away,
over the mesa. They set out for it next
day.
''Here it is" Woodson exclaimed,
after a long tramp, pointing over the
burning plain to where n row of cotton
woods were banked against the sky,
tremulous in the vibrant air. There,
do that; call it "A Hundred in the Shade,
or something like that"
1T doesn'ts seem to compose very well, y
Grace murmured, holding the tips of her
fingers together and inclosing the pic
ture in ROSY frame through which she
gazed, half shutting her eyes in truly
artistic intentness.
"Wcll, never mind that; get the char
acter of it. You know Fleming says the
characters the thing. That's what
want--the Characteristic true character
of this beastly country"
So Grace donned her big blue apron
and set to work with her biggest brushes
But somehow she had trouble. The
quality of that sky, burning with light
aud yet deep in hue, did not seem to re-
side in cobalt, however fresh from the
tube. The value of the stretch of plain
tremulous under the faring heavens, dis
turbed her, too, and when she came tC
put in the airy wall of cOttonwoods along
the horizon the whole thing ended in {
panty middle.
"Oh, can't do anything to-day,
Grace exclaimed, petulantly, wiping he
troubled brow with the back of her hant
aud leaving streak along her forehead
that intensified her puzzled look.
"Why don't you put those trees IL
j green ?'' Woodson asked with a seriou
concern, as Grace renewed her struggl
with the regulation blues and purple.
'tBut l don't see them So" she muir
INJURED, in moment of absorbed effort
, "Grace," he blurted out almost befor
he knew it, II don't believe you see any
, thing. Excuse me, but don't believ
, you ever did 1 don't believe in you
: art; l don't believe in your career;
> don't believe in your independence
You're simply spelling the incest girl i
the world with it. You see everything
through Fleming's eyes. You see thing
: blue and purple because he does; AM
!, newell, he sees things that way becaus
7 some fellows over in Paris do, and
don't believe in it. There, now, Nv
:, said it, come"
: But it was not arranged that he shoul
], finish what he had to say. He ha
" looked down to the ground where he So
:, as he spoke Of Fleming. When b
" looked up Grace was several feet ava
:, from him, hurrying down the hill, wit
= her head bowed.
"Pm a brute--a miserable brute!
:, Woodson remarked to himself with cor
= siderable force, as he watched her strid
, ing toward the half-dry creek. BIZ
/, some one ought to have told. Her art
, all foolishness. Look at Fleming
> even. He's 40, and I'd like to kno
where he'd be If it wasn't for his teacl
y ing. But I'm brute, just the same
y heartless BRUTE"
II There was a plum thicket along tn
- creek, and after watching Grace dlsaI
= pear within it Woodson set about picl
~ Ing up her sketching kit. This done,
~ occurred to him that it would be a prop
penance on his part to wash her brush
he had always hated dirty brushes s.
T Gathering them up he started toward Il
90 creek. When he got there he could 81
% no signs of Grace. Could it be that an
70 thing had happened to here The thougl
" made him catch his breath for momen
~ He knew she was impulsive-capable
49, any rash move in a moment of excit
u ment. Then he heard stirring in Il
=. plum thicket and he came face to IA
80 upon her ina little opening, crying soft
l. to herself.
20 "Grace," he called, "why, what's Il
VI natter know I'm brute, but didr
r. think you'd take it So"
10 ''Oh, can't you help me9" hepleade
"a and began cropping about and feelir
~ aimlessly with her hands.
'. He saw that her hair was loosened al
~ that her wrists and face were scratch'
M and bleeding in dozen places.
'N "Why, what's the matterW he queri
=, again, as she came cropping toward b
and stumbled against him.
90 Cant you help me at all2'
u "Of course l can, small girl; you
"o all right. Nothing shall touch you,"