The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1935-08-15
CHAPTER IX-Continued

But though he crossed many horse
track, he accepted none of them as the
trail of the horse he sought. All after
noon he worked through the long lone
Illnesses, covering many weary mile.
Twenty riders besides himself might
be working the West Cuts for all Ken
lucky knew; the West Cuts could nave
hidden a thousand more. Their illimlt-
able emptineSSes made a man on
horse seem to crawl like an ant, de-
scending deep hOur-lOng declivities'
only to climb again eternally.
He was a long way from home by
the time that he decided he must have
OverShot. Once he had seen two rid
ers, whom he recognized as So men,
working So stock; but Bill McCord
was neither one of them. Lee Bishop
continued to elude him, lost in the
maze.
The sun was setting; above Wolf
Bench the wrinkled peaks of the Mari
copas seemed to float detached from
the earth, vast delicate tracerieS of
pale blue shadow, set off with crooked
red-gold tracings where the westering
sun poured golden light upon the
snow. Across Wolf Bench, already in
the shadow, a dark bitter-cold breeze
began to blow, smelling of frost and
blown snow. Kentucky Jones sat his
horse upon high point, and wondered
if Lee Bishop were dead.
The frozen wind forecasting the
Nil al fn
things to which a range rider has
right to look forward ar that hour:
the CLEAN of little golden light at
a cOOk-house window, far across the
snowy reaches, winking and almost
lost in the twilight purple; and the
things that the light, seen far off,
meant TO the rider coming in on his
tired hOrse-the warmth of stove heat,
friendly yellow lamp light, the crowd
ing in of redfaced hungry riders, very
merry over being done with work; the
smell of frying meat and hot fresh
bread, and the steam of coffee; and
afterward an hour or two of drowsy
1Oafing in the warmth, wise-cracking
the days work, spinning lies-maybe
a game of seven-up, and somebody
making music for little while with
banjo, mouth organ, or jews harp.
And at the Bar Hook the cold long
twilight, which always made the sim
pie realities of food and snug warmth
seem so good, and so well worth liv-
ing-at the Bar Hook these things
should also have meant seeing Jean
Ragland again, this girl who, even in
adversely, was like no other girl AS
Kentucky Jones sat his horse, letting
it blow a little from a long climb be-
fore putting it upon the long round
about trail home, he was thinking that
this range could have been a great
range for cattle, and great range for
men, and that maybe having ridden
it he never would have wanted to ride
another, had things broken as they
should. 1t was hidden malignance,
working under-handedly in the dark.
that spoiled this range.
He put the zebra dun into can
yon and out again, and to the rim of
another; and there, long after he had
let all hope slide, he sighted Bishop
at last. He put his pony down into the
canyon, then upward through the can
yon's notch; and furlong into the
widening valley hailed Lee Bishop
across the snow.
Lee" he demanded as they came
together, whats all this? You gone
crazy, man?'
Il dunno, Kentucky" said Lee Bishop
YEARLY. Sometimes / think 1 am.
I'm plumb mystified, that's sure
"You d-n fool, you think you can"
A queer look in the others face
stopped him. Whats the matter, Lee?
What happened?"
"Well, nothing much; only it's dog
gone funny"
whats funny?"
Lee Bishop pulled up his horse and
turned in the saddle to look back
"You see this canyon, Kentucky? It's
called Trap canyon, because you can't
get out the upper end. Over there
and there-and there" he pointed
"you can get out all right. But the
upper end you can't ger out. 1 saw
two riders come in here. I'm pretty
sure one of 'em was Bill McCord,