The Appeal. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. ;) 1889-19??, 1923-08-11

slipped the birdie Of both horses, and
he led them. Every few PAGES he
stopped to listen. He changed his di-
rection several times, and the last time
he got among rough, rocky ridges. The
iron shoes Of the horses cracked on the
rocks. That sound must have pene-
trated far into the forest. 1t perturbed
Stewart, for he searched for softer
ground. Meanwhile the shadows
merged into darkness. The stars shone.
The wind rose. Madeline believed
hours passed.
Stewart halted again. In the gloom
Madeline discerned a log cabin, and
beyond it spear-pointed dark trees
piercing the sky line. She could just
make out Stewards tall form as he
leaned against his horse. Either he
was listening or debating what to do
perhaps both. Presently he went in
side the cabin. Madeline heard the
scratching Of match then she saw q
faint light. The cabin appeared to be
deserted. Probably it was one Of the
many habitations belonging to pros
pectOrs and foresters who lived in the
mountains. Stewart came out again.
For a long moment he stood as still as
a statue and listened. Then she heard
him mutter, IF we have to start quick
I can ride bareback" With that he
took the saddle and blanket off his
horse and carried them into the cabin.
"Get off," he said, in low voice, as
he stepped out of the door.
He helped her down and led her in
side, where again he struck a match.
Madeline caught a glimpse of rude
fireplace and rough-hewn logs. Stew
arts blanket and saddle lay on the
hard-packed earthen floor.
REST a little" he said. 'Tm going
into the woods piece to listen. Gone
only. minute or So"
Madeline had to feel round in the
dark to locate the saddle and blanket.
When she lay down it was with q
grateful sense of ease and relief. AS
her body rested, however, her mind
became the old thronging maze for
sensation and thought. All day she
had attended to the alert business Of
helping her horse. Now, what had
already happened, the night, the 81
lence, the proximity Of Stewart and
his strange, stern caution, the posi-
BILE happenings to her friends-all
claimed their due share Of her feel
ing. She could not sleep; she did not
try to.
Stewards soft steps sounded out
door. AS he sat down Madeline heard
the thump Of a gun that he laid be-
side him on the sill; then the thump
Of another as he put that down, too.
The sounds thrilled her. He turned
his ear to the wind and listened. Mo
tionless he sat for what to her seemed
hours.
Then the stirring memory Of the
days adventure, the feeling Of the
beauty Of the night, and strange,
deep-seated, sweetly vague conscious
ness Of happiness portending, were all
burned out in hot, pressing pain at the
remembrance of Stewards disgrace in
her eyes. Something had changed
within her so that what had been an
ger at herself was sorrow for him. He
was such a splendid man. She could
not feel the same; she knew her debt
to him, yet she could not thank him,
could not speak to him. She fought
an unfhtelligible bitterness.
Then she rested with closed eyes,
and time seemed neither short nor
long. When Stewart called her she
opened her eyes to see the gray of
dawn. She rose and stepped outside.
The horses whinnied. In a moment
she was in the saddle, aware of
cramped muscles and a WEAKNESS of
limbs. Stewart led off at sharp trot
into the fir forest. They came to q
trail into which he turned. The horses
travelled steadily; the descent grew
less steep; the frs thinned out; the
gray gloom frightened.
When Madeline rode out of the frs
the sun had arisen and the foothills
rolled beneath her; and at their edge,
where the gray Of valley began, she
saw a dark patch that she knew was
the ranch house.