The Tupelo journal., 1909-09-17
CHAPTER XXI.
The Man on the Frenchman.

~ tfa't
SincIair's place on the Frenchman
backed up on a sharp rise against the
foothills of the Bridger range, and the
ranch buildings were strung along the
creek. The ranchhouse stood on ground
high enough to command the country
for miles up and down the valley.
Only two roads lead from Medicine
Bend and the south into the French
mar country; n a wagon road fol-
lowing Smoky creek and running
through Dale canyon; the other a
pack road, known as the Gridley trail,
crossing the Topaz Topaz hills and
making a short cut from the Dunning
ranch on the Crawling Stone to the
Frenchman. The entire valley Is, in
fact, so difficult of access, say by the
long and roundabout wagon road, that
the sight of a complete outfit of build
ings such as that put up by Sinclair
always came as a surprise to the trav-
eIer, who, reaching the crest of the
hills, looked suddenly down 1000 feet
ON his well-ordered sheds and barns
and corrals.
Over the Grid1ey trail from the
Crawling Stone Marion and Dicksie
Dunning rode early in the morning the
day after McCloud and his men left
the Stone ranch with their work done.
The trail is a good three hours long,
and they reached Sinclair's place at
about ten o'clock. He was waiting for
Marion-she had sent word she should
come-and he came out of the front
door into the sunshine with a smile of
welcome when he saw Dicksie with
her. Dicksie, long an admirer of Sim
clair's, as women usually were, had
recast somewhat violently her opin-
ions of him. She faced him now with
a criminal consciousness that she
knew too much. The weight of the
dreadful secret weighed on her, and
her responsibility in the issue of the
day ahead did not help to make her
greeting an easy one. One thing only
was fixed in her mind and reflected
in the tension of her lips and her
eyes: The resolve to keep at every
cost the promise she had given. For
ASh0I q IdllCh VI LhC. opSIL vi
a man even more compelling than Sin
clair. and felt strangely bounden to
what she had said.
Sinclair, however, had spirit enough
to smooth quite away every embarrass-
ment. Bachelors quarters" he ex-
planned roughly and pleasantly, as he
led the two women toward the house.
"Cowmen make poor ho~usekeepers,
but you must feel at home" And
when Dicksie, looking at his Indian
rugs on the floors, the walls, and the
touches, said she thought he had little
to apologize for, Sinclair looked graft
fed and took off his hat again. "Just
a moment" he said, standing at the
side of the door. I've never been
able to get Marion over here before,
so it happens that a woman's foot has
never entered the new house. ! want
to watch one of you cross the thresh-
old for the first time"
Dicksie, moving ahead, r~etreated
with a laugh. "You first, then,
Marion"
mo, Dicksie, you"
Never! you first" So Marion,
quite red and wretchedly i'll at ease,
walked into the ranchhouse first.
Sinclair shone nowhere better than
as a host. When he had placed his
guests comfortably in the living room
he told them the story of the building
of the house. Then he made a cicerone
Of himself, and explained, with rum
ming comments, each feature of his
plan as he showed how it had been
carried out through the various rooms.
Surprised at the attractiveness OF
things. Dicksie found herself making
mental notes for her own use, and be-
gan asking questions. Sinclair was
superb in answering, but the danger
OF admiring things became at once APP
parent, for when Dicksie exclaimed
weas a handsome bearskin. . rich dark,