The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1935-06-27

since he had not bothered to pick a
fresh horse, he probably did not mean
to be long gone. Kentucky dressed,
and propped himself up in the corner
of his bunk to watch the pump house
trail.
An hour passed; more than an hour.
Looking at his watch he was aston
ished to learn that it was only quarter
past eleven o'clock. Sometime he had
dozed, but he was certain that he would
have heard st. Marie's horse if it had
come in. He smoked again, and wait
ed ten minutes more.
Upon the snow, spot appeared. 1t
pulled up, shifted and separated, and
he saw that it was not one horse but
two, and the watcher made out that
the second horse appeared to be a
pinto, for he could not see the ami
mails fore legs, and thus knew that
they must be white. Suddenly he knew
that he was looking at the pinto horse
Of Bob Elliot.
Kentucky Jones spat through his
teeth, and anger rose into his head like
a rising wind. Here was something
definite and conclusive, upon which a
man could lay his hands. The Bar
Hook rider, whom he was now GER
tain was Joe st. Marie, had ridden out
to confer with the boss of the SO. He
promised himself that within five min
utes he would know exactly what that
exclusive saddle conference meant.
The pinto horse now turned, going
back the way it had come; and the
other rider, coming on, was lost to view
again In the dip of the ground.
Kentucky Jones took up the long
barreled Colt which had so seldom
emerged from the bottom Of his war
bag, stepped through the window, and
ran to the corner of the house. Against
the far corral stood a stable shed of
peeled logs. To this he made his way,
keeping it between himself and the
trail. Within the long shed, across one
end, was fixed horizontal log, used as
a saddle rack he knew the rider would
return his saddle here. Beside it, in
black shadow, he took his post
1t seemed to him that the night was
silent for long time before finally he
heard again, close at hand, the small
crunching complaint Of the snow under
the hoofs of walking horse.
Flattening himself against the wall
he could see neither horse nor rider
as the pony was led close to the stable
shelter. The animal was still out of
his angle of vision as he heard the
rider drag the saddle off, not three
yards from where he stood.
Then close beside him the rider ap-
peared, and for a moment was a sill
houette against the snow; figure
made shapeless by the shouldered sad
die.
Within the stable he could see moth
ing at all, though the other eased the
saddle upon the rack so close at hand
that swinging stirrup struck his
knee. So little space separated them
that he could hear the rider breathe,
could have touched him by raising his
hand.
Kentucky Jones said softly, "Put up
your hands"
He heard the breath jerk in the
others throat; and for a moment they
stood in utter silence, as If neither of
them any longer breathed at all. He
could not tell whether or not he had
been obeyed.
The other said, "Who-who is itT"
The wind went out of Kentucky
Jones. The voice was hardly more
than whisper, twisted almost past
recognition by shock and strain-but
he would have known it anywhere in
the world as the voice of Jean Rag
land.
For a moment both of them stood
motlonless in the dark. Then Ken
lucky Jones said, "What in the name
Of" He stepped out from the wall
so that he could see her silhouetted
figure against the snow outside. With
out the saddle there was nothing about
her outline to suggest the man he had
expected. He had a queer shocked
feeling that somehow a substitution
had been made by unnatural means, so
definitely had he expected Joe st.
Marie. Then he saw her sway; and
he stepped forward in time to catch
her in his arms.
Even then she would have slipped to
the ground If he had not held her up.
The starch had gone out of her and
she stood limp, not inert but trembling
violently.
"Don't-don't ever do anything like
that again." she gasped at last.
Good Lord! Do you think had
any idea it was you? I thought
thought you were Joe st. Marie"
'St. Marie?"
Il saw someone slide out of here on
the horse st. Marie rode today. 1 saw
that horse come back, and I saw its
rider talk to Bob Elliot, on his big
paint"