The Challis messenger. (Challis, Idaho) 1912-current, 1923-08-08
CHAPTER 1
The Choice.

fwenty-three, full Of hope and ambi-
more wonderful still to possess the
glorious memory Of nearly two years
in the hospitals of France, six months
of that time just behind the American
fighting line. Yet the girl was not
thinking of this then as she sat there
alone at the edge of the ravine, gaz-
ing silently off across the dull leagues
Of desert to where a distant blue
range of mountains cut off the view
with their ragged SUBMITS, while
arching over all hung the clear Arr
iona sky. slowly turning to purple.
She compared that sun-kissed vista
with other sunsets in France and Ger
many, when the ground was yet red
with the blood of sacrificed manhood.
Her heart ached still with the sad
memory that would not die-hours of
toll, scenes of suffering. But this
mood had also passed away, and now,
although her eyes were still upon that
outspread picture below, her thought
had centered upon the present in a
Qull WOuutIutlll ut TIE SlldASC Silud-
ton surrounding her. Why had she
ever listened to the plea of old Tom
Meager, back there in Chicago, and
finally, partially from pity, partially
from that new love of adventure en-
gendered within her by service across
the water, agreed to come west with
him? OF course, she never had
! no
life on this vast isolated ranch along
the southern border, with the drear
desert stretching away on every side
from this little oasis of water and
grass. Tom Meager had never told
the whole story; he had dwelt on the
loneliness of his sick wife, the chance
she had of regaining health, with
proper nursing and care; the rare
beauty of the sunsets, the wonderful
glow of the cool desert nights, the
wild, free existence of the range, filled
with excitement and dash of danger.
1t all had appealed to her strangely
the service. the complete change in en-
vironment, the escape from the hum
drum life of the Marine hospital. The
pay was good, the opportunity excel
lent, and she had said Eyes" without
half realizing then what it all meant.
But she realized now. Those first
few weeks had been glorious indeed.
She found everything new, attractive,
tinged with romance and color. She
liked Mrs. Meager and discovered
her task to be an easy one, her time
largely at her own disposal. But it
was lonely, terribly lonely; and, after
those first few weeks, nothing seemed
TO occur to break the dull monotony.
1t was sixty miles over a half-oblit-
Grated desert trail to the nearest town,
and that little more than a general
store and cattle corral. The only
link between there and the civilization
she had left to the eastward were the
glistening rails of the railroad.
Day by day, week following week,
she saw the same faces, heard the
came voices. Riders from the outer
range came in with their reports,
bringing the tales of Mexican raiders,
or of cattle strayed into the desert.
Whenever she could she rode about
with old Tom Meager, in and out the
ravines, and occasionally far beyond
into the vast sand plains. listening to
his quaint tales of adventures, and
helping him round up punches of
Ntrayed stock. She became expert in
he saddle, learned to use a gun skill
fully, and even picked up some knowl- |
edge of the lariat. Thus, little by |
little, she had adapted herself to the |
rough life, determined to keep her
word, but nevertheless growing con-
Stantly more and more heartsick.
Then Tom Meager came 10 his |