The citizen., 1919-11-20

SnOul1er. But ElOcn WIS hihS'h
again. The curtains OF his life, which
he had drawn apart for moment, he
whipped together again rudely, almost
yiciously. and covered his confusion by |
plunging into a tale of how he had led |
a breed suspected Of cattle-rustling on
a little canter OF ten miles with a rope |
about his neck and the other end tied |
to the saddle. "He ran WELL" said the |
old man, chuckling still at the reminis'
cence. "And II was lucky he did II
was a strong rope"
The morning after Dave had brought |
in the borrowed saddle Irene appeared |
In sort of bloomer suit, somewhat |
wonderfully contrived from a spare |
skirt, and announced willingness to
risk life and limb ON any horse that
Dave might select for that purpose. He
provided her with n dependable mount
and their first journey, taken somewhat
gingerly along the principal trail, was
accomplished without incident. II was
the forerunner Of many others, plung-
ing deeper and deeper into the fast
nesses Of the foothills and even into
the passes Of the very mountains them
selves. His patience was infinite and,
although there were no silk trapplngs
to his courtesy, II was very genuine
and manly Difference he paid her. She
was quite sure that he would at any
moment give his life. II needed. to de-
fend her from injury--and accept the
transaction as q matter of course. His
physical endurance was inexhaustlble
and his knowledge of prairie and foot
hill seemed to her almost uncanny. He
read every sign Of footprint, leaf. wa
ter and sky with unfailing insight. He
had no knowledge Of books. and she
had at first thought him ignorant, but
as the days went by she found in him
mine of wisdom which shamed her
ready-made education.
After such a ride they one day dis
mounted in grassy opening among the
trees that bordered mountain canyon.
In crevice they found fiat stone that
gave comfortable seating and here
they rested while the horses browsed
their afternoon meal on the grass
above. Both were conscious Of grad
ually increasing tension In the at
mosphere. For days the boy had been
moody. II was evident he was harbor-
ing something that was calling through
his nature for expression. and Irene
knew that this afternoon he would talk
of more than trees and rocks and foot
prints o. the wild things of the forest
"Your father is getting along WELL"
he said. at length.
"Yes," she answered. "He has had
good holiday. even with his broken
leg"
'You will be goin' away before long"
he continued.
"Yes,' she answered. and waited.
"Things about here amt goin' to be
the same after you're gone," he went
. on. He wore no coat, and the neck OF
his shirt was open, for the day was
warm. Had he caught her sidelong
glances, even his slow. self-deprecatine
. mind must have read their admiration.
But he kept his eyes fixed on the green
water.
"You see." he said. before you came
, II was different. l didn't know what
was missin'. an so 1t didn't matter
! Not but what / was dog-slck of II at
. times, but still thought was livin'-
thought this was life, and, Of course
now I know It amt. At least, ii won't
, be after you're gone"
that's strange" she said, not in
direct answer to his remark, but as @
soliloquy on II as she turned 1t over In
her mind. "This life, now. seems
empty to you. All my life seems
, empty to me. This seems to me the
real life. out here In the foothills. with
. the trees and the mountains, and-and
our horses. you know.
She might have ended the sentence
in a way that would have come much
: closer to him, and been much truer
|. but conventionality had been bred In
!, to her for generations and she did moi
, find 1t possible yet freely to speak the
truth.
"Its such wonderful life" she con
4 tinued. "One gets SO strong and hap
Z py in IT,"
"Iou'd soon get sick of IT," he said
4 "We don't see nothin'. We don't learI
. nothin'. Reenie. I'm eighteen. an
4 bet you could read an write better'r
' me when you was six"
I "Did you never go to schoolf sh,
I asked. In genuine surprise. She knew
I his speech was ungrammatical. bu
I thought that due to careless training
s rather than to no training at all.
D "Where'd i 20 to schoolT he de
{ manded, bitterly. "There amt a schoo
' within forty miles. Guess / wouldn'
: have went II could" he added. as on
I afterthought, wishing 70 be quite hon
, est In the matter. "School didn't seen
Z to cut no figure-until jus lately"
I "But you have learned-someT" she
: continued.
"Some. When was little kid my
!. father used to work with me at times
J He learned me TO read q little. an
I 20 write my name. an little more
But things didn't go right between him
> an mother, an he got to drinkin
more an more. an JUS making h.
1 - 10 u. 40. A.