The L'Anse sentinel., 1923-01-26

wculd fino ner report or the greatest
interest.
she logged slowly along In the west
ern fashlon-which means something
quite different from army fashion or
sportsman fashion. Western riders do
not post. Riding. is not exercise to
them; II is rest. They hang limp In
the saddle, and all Jar Is taken up, as
II by spring, somewhere In the region
of the floating ribs that only physi-
clan can correctly designate. They
never sit firm, these western riders,
and as a rule their riding Is not par
.ticularly graceful thing to watch. But
they do not care greatly about grace
as long as they may encompass their
fifty miles a day and still be fresh
enough for a country dance at night.
There are many other differences In
western and eastern riding, one of
them being the way in which the
horse is mounted. Another difference
Is the riding habit. Linda had no trim
riding trousers, with tall, glossy boots,
red coat and stock. 1t was rather
doubtful whether she knew such things
existed. She did, however, wear
trim riding skirt Of khaki and middle
blouse washed spotlessly clean by her
own hands; and no one would have
missed the other things. II is an in
disputable fact that she made rather
alluring picture-eyes bright and hair
dark and strong arms bare to the ell
bow-as she came riding down the
pine-needle trail.
She came to the opening Of the dim
mer trail and turned down 1t. She
entered a still glen. and the color in
her cheeks and the soft brown of her
arms blended well with the new tints
of the autumn leaves. Then she turned
up long ridge
The trail led through an old burn
bleak, eerie place where the fire had
swept down the forest, leaving only
strange, black palings here and there
and she stopped In the middle of Il
to look down. The mountain world
was laid out below her as clearly as
in relief map. Her eyes lighted as
home to her, and her keen eyes slowly
swept over the surrounding hill tops.
Then for a long moment she sat very
still in the saddle.
A thousand feet distant, on the same
ridge on which she rode, she caught
sight of another horse. 1t held her
gaze, and in an instant she discerned
the rather startling fact that 1t was
saddled, bridled, and apparently tied
to a tree. Momentarily she thought
that its rider was probably one Of the
Turner'S who was at present at work
on the old Folger farm; yet she knew
at once the titled lands were still too
far distant for that. She studied close
ly the maze of light and shadow Of the
underbrush and In a moment more dis
tinguished the figure of the horseman.
1t was one Of the Turners-but he
was not working In the fields. He was
| standing near the animals head, bacl;
to her, and his rife lay In his arms.
And then Linda understood.
| He was simply guarding the trail
down to Martins store. Except for the
fact that she had turned Off the main
trail by no possibility could she have
seen him and escaped whatever fate
he had for her.
She held hard on her faculties and
tried to puzzle 1t out. She understood
now why the Turner'S had not as yet
made an attack upon them at their
home. 1t wasn't the Turner way to
wage open warfare. They were the
wolves that struck from ambush, the
rattlesnakes that lunged with poisoned
| fangs from beneath the rocks. There
was some security for her In the Folger
home. but none whatever here. There
she had strong man to fight for her,
loaded rifle, and under ordinary con-
| dltions the Turner'S could not hope to
batter down the oaken door and over
whelm them without at least some loss
of life. For all they. knew, Bruce had
a large stock of rifles and ammunition