The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1935-08-30
WINTER RANGE

At one time, he thought, Jean must
have believed her father guilty Of the
murder Of Mason. For him she had
smothered the evidence, at once con-
cealing her fathers supposed involve
ment and conceallng her knowledge
from Campo himself. To her Lee Bish-
op had told story which he himself
did not understand; she had known
the exact status of st. Marie and Ken
lucky Jones, and the truth about the
missing rifle and the picture that was
gone from its frame. What Kentucky
had said was true-that every one had
confided In her, and she had confided
in none. And through every hour of
those days she most certainly had
known that she was carrying In her
own hands the lives of men who meant
more to her than any others In the
world.
As Kentucky considered this 1t
seemed to him that he had never wit
messed in any man the gameness the
courage, nor the fixed fidelity of pur-
pose that this one slender girl had
shown.
He wanted to seek her out now, and
| tell her that he knew what she had
faced; and that the victory was not
| Sheriff Hopper's, nor his own but hers,
and hers only. And he knew he would
have no words to express any part of
that He almost convinced himself
this rs not the time to try to talk
to her; that he should pack out Of
there, and go to Waterman, and come
back some time long while later.
Then door closed softly in another
part Of the house, and he jerked to his
feet.
He found her at the stable shed
where the saddles were. She had al
ready roped pony-the same pony
with which she had met him early
that morning upon the trail-and she
was saddling with hurried, unsteady
hands, within the shadow Of the shed.
"Where are you going, Jean?"
"What do you care where I'm going?"
she said in small vague voice. "Who
gives whoop? Least of all myself"
He went to his saddle, and took
down his rope She watched him shake
out little cat-loop.
"What-what are you going to DOR
II thought" he said, "Td reach me
down a horse, and come along"
Her hands dropped the latigo, and
she turned to face him.
"No!" she told him. "No, mol l don't
want you to come. II want to be
alone" Her face was white, and her
mouth Quivered.
"Just as you want, Jean," he an
swered slowly. "Only-I just thought
that you and l had been through too
much here, together, to ride two trails
now. don't blame you, though, If you
hate the hi out Of me-"
ut isn't that" she said brokenly.
Kentucky, it isn't that. It's myself that
I hate the hi out Of"
"Why, child, what's the matter?"
Suddenly Jean broke. She sat down
In a heap upon spare saddle, and
hid her face in her arms. 'I-wish 1
were dead" The words came to him
half Smothered, inartlculate. Il wish I'd
never been born"
He dropped to one knee beside her.
"Jean! What is it?"
'Lee Bishop-poor Lee"
Kentucky considered. ibid you love
him, Jean?"
For moment she lifted her face to
stare at him. did what? Love him2
No. Butch, dear Cd, Kentucky
It's my fault he isn't alive today"
"What nonsense Is this?" he de-
manded.
She had hidden her face. again, but
she shook her head. II killed him, Ken
lucky; / killed him just as sure as
as If I'd gunned him myself"
That's the worst bunk 1 ever heard
in my life!"
She shook her head again; her words
were muffled and incoherent. "You