Arizona republican., 1898-10-04
THE OLD
 SILVER TRAIL. BY MARY E. STICKNEY.
(Continued rom Yestcrday.)

ing her, and thus, taking a short cut over the hill, he saw her as she rode up with her father, and hid himself in q. small growth of quaking asps, where lie watched her as she dismounted, screly fretting in the gyves which held i::m back from boldly hurryirg after her. But he had no difficulty in guess ing her goal as fla saw her making up the hill with that sudden influx of en- crgy in her walk On he instant he was going at a swinging stride toward d draw on the other side Of the cliff. where the ascent was easier than at the point she had chosen; and when, q little later, flushed and breathless. she stood upon the height, it was to see him coming toward her with outstretched hands. such radiant happiness upon his face that she shrank back, no less in shy consternation than for the surprise Of inc encounter.
 ''JIow did you know I was here?" she faltered, nervously-
 Flow could I help knowing it?" he sayly returned. looking about for ;. seat for her. The rocks were water worn inSo strange shapes, in one place couple of pines throwing a pleasant shade upon a sort of bench hollowcd out below. spot eifectually hidden from the Grtlbstaile side of the hill But won't you sit down and let me take time to get my breath before l try to cXpla;n?"
 Sle madc no objection. being herself considerably exhausted from her hard climb in the rare air; but an air of con straint was upon her as she settled her self in the place indicated, with a doubt ful side glance watching him choose !. seat by her feet. ''T thought this was Grubstake ground" she observed, ten tatively, as he looked up.
 ''So it is," he admitted. his face fall ing somewhatat the tone Of the remark. ''1 cannot claim any right here. except what you may cotlccdc. But don't send me away, please, until I tel you-ah. there are so many things I want to teli you, I was coming down to see you this morning; I should have come yes terday, but I could not make up my mind what you would probably wish whether or not you would le veN9d if 
 could wait no longer. l determined to come, and if your father were thcrc to see him, and tell him frankly all that you arc to ne-;ill that hope. o HoTo- thy,-Dorothy, der t go :lwGgi listen to me, dear,'' for she lad arisen hur- rietlly, moving away from him. ''Oh, car't,-You mus: not!" she ex- claimed, brea athlcssiy. Don't you know l that after what ilas happened. we can not be-friends? We were divided be- | fore; but tIiis-it is insurmountable. It puts us apart forever."
 Hut how can we help being friends?" i he cried. rising also, and reaching cut ! for her hands as he came close beside her: but she thrust her hands behind her with rerellent gesture, retreating yet more from him. Gan you honestly tell Tne-after what has happcned-tllat l you are not even my friend. Doruthy?"
 "No," she said, after an instant's hes itation, her voice very low, her face all warm. pink flush; and then, with evi- dent effort: T did rot mean quite that
 You meant that we could not be more than friends-was that it, Dorothy" his voice very grave.
 "'How could we-how could it be ! otherwise than impossible with he feel i ing you must have for my fathnr?" she returned, in chol1ed murmur. yet with eyes bravely lifted to defy his pleading glance. "Wait-let Cne eN i plain,'' as he would have spoken. II feel sure now that you were right from the | first-that you have been wronged, most of all in that wickedly farcical trial of day before yesterday. It has been
 mostly McCready's work; my father i has been misled-dece;ved, to d certain extent; of that am convinced; but he, too. has been to blame-I knew that now as well as you. And it has almos; killed my love fer him-but not my by alty. He is my father, and he has been | devoted to me all my life. I owe him everything; and I could not be-any- thing-to one who hated and despised him.
 And would you break my heart mere ly on his aceount?" the young man urged, impetuously. Do you know what II lILtdIS tO lHe--IlOW ElUCn l care Do you know, Dorothy-how can you help knowing that 1 love you-iove you?" He half reached fer her hands, but then, as though in shame for the tears that had risen to his eyes, turned abruptly away from her. "I know you do not care,' he added, in a muffled tone, after moment. If you did, you could not stand there coldly reasoning and settling the matter like that You would let nothing come between us. And why should you care for me? Yet, if 1 were given chance-Dorothy give sne chance! Let me teach you to love mel"
 Perhaps there is nothing more potent to stir woman's heart than such signs of feeling in the man in whom hitherto
 she has seen only the side of his virile
 strength and pride. Dorothy was ! strangely touched as she looked up into 1 those tear-wet eyes. NO; oh, mo-" she
 whispered, drawing back from him,