The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1913-09-17
\CHAPTDR W.
ArawAR1RACEs HAIL.

At -WAzfTRACE1 HALL
WW WHEN Evan B10unt opened his
t~ eyes on the morning follow
ing the night of singular adj
ventures the sun was shin
ing brightly in at the beds head win
dow, cheerful hreewaS cracking on
the hearth, and his father, little
same rugged face and kindly eyes,
WAS standing at his bedside
Evan, boxF' and 'fFabher!" were
the only werdsn of greeting, but the
mighty hand gripAt11at went with them
was for Evan a renewal Of his boy
hood and q -samcientapronzise for the
future.
Enthusiastically a rushSof mingled
emotions; OF astoundment5 that he had
recognized no familiar landmark in
the midnight faEzng through the hills
or on the-approaeh to- the home.of his
childhood; of something like a keen
regret that the old had given place so
thoroughly and completely tosthe new;
of something bordering on chagr1n
that he had been surprised into ac-
ceptng the hospitable advances of a
woman whom he had been intending
to avoid and for whom he had cher
ished-and meant to cherish-a con-
temptuous disregard.
But at the hand gripping moment
there was no time for nice weighing
of emotions He was in his fathers
house, the Homecoming, some phases
of which he had vaguely dreaded, was
a fact accomplished. and the new life
the life that was to be lived without
Patricia-was fairly begun Also there
were arrears to be .brought@up@
did the little-erdid Mrs Blount
tell you that I was herer'
''She did, but she couldn't tell me
much more. How on+top Of earth did
you happen to blow in at midnight
with Jack Bartosf for your herd leader p
s'It's a fairy tale, and you won't be
lieve ft-of a Blounf,'' was the laugh
ing reply. 81 left Boston Monday. and
should have reached the capital last
night But my train was laid out be-
hind a freight wreck at Aretas just
before dark, andI left it and took to
the hills-horseback- Don't ask me
why. The smell of the sagebrush was
in my nostriIs, and I had to do It I
knew where I was, and I thought, I
could ride to Debbleby7s-sso hired the
broncho and pitched out think 1
kept the general directim4an right I'M
til I got lost among the Lost river hog
backs. but after thatsI was pretty sue
cessfully lost
"And Barto found you2" queried the
senator.
'sWho is this ubiquitous Barto who
goes. around playing the holdup one
minute and the good angel the next2''
He is a sort of general utility man
for Hathaway, the head pusher of the
Twin Buttes Lumber company. He is
supposed to be a timber cruiser and
log scaIer, but guess he doesn't work
much at his trade. Down in the lower
wards of New York they'd call him a
heller maybe. But you don't mean to
tell me that Jack Barto robbed you,
SOM"
mo; he was merely discussing with
his gvvo fellow holdups the ACCESSIBILITY
of knocking me on the head and drop
ping me into Lost River canyon; that
was all. OF course 1 knew they had
fallen upon the wrong man, and after
awhile I succeeded in making Barto
accept that hypothesis At least he ac-
cepted it sufficiently to bring me here
for Identification. Since he wou4dn
talk and 1 didn't recognize the trail or
the place I hadn't the slightest notion
of nv wherea bouts-not the least In
the world"
The big man was leaning against
the foot rail of the bed and frowning
ahouehtfuHy- Talked about dropping
eyou into Lost river, did they? H'mI
Wen have to look into that a little, 1
guess. Who set them en-, soma Got