The Washington times., 1936-01-01

/ when she was born. He was past
seventy at the time Of his second
marriage.
The days slipped by. mo
hurry" he said.
mo hurry" Christie might have
echoed.
Today she was Just a little girl, q
gay, sunny-haired little girl with a
few golden freckles on her nose.
Gene was just Gene, the Dubois
boy, whose folks had the dairy
over by Spanish Pass.
And tomorrow Gene was back,
after six months in Sacramento,
and Christie put out her hands to
him, and when their hands
touched something blazed and
leapt between them, something
swift and terrible as lightning that
fellS the trees and burns out their
hearts.
They fell in love. Undisciplined
Gene, and Christie who didn't
know what it was all about.
Adolphus Cooper might have
wakened then. He might have
worried, but he had been sum.
moned to San Francisco on one
Of his rare business trips. She
was all alone when she needed
him, and when he came back 1t
was too late.
It was one Of those hot days
that come to the California hill
country in middle June. Sun in a
white-hot blaze: deep, hot dust
blanketing the roads; a tepid, fit
full breeze redolent Of tar weed and
the dry, heavy sweetness Of chap
parel and mountain laurel.
To reach the Cooper place you
turned off the highway a few miles
beyond the old mining town Of
Mokelumne Hill.
Up a tortuous, unpaved road. red
with the cinnabor dust that colors
all the Mother Lode country, past
scrub oak and chapparel. Vast
space Of rock and barren cliff.
Sudden awful lapses Of precipice
where the road lowered noncha-
lantly on the edge of nothing.
And then, shade and pine
needles. Pale lavender iris and scar.
let Indian paint brush rising from
a tangle Of coarse grass and creep
ing vines.
And just ahead the house. Low,
rambling, hospitable. A blaze of
multicolored ZinniaS below the yer.
anda, cool striped awnings above.
Scorning the road, making his
own trail through the pines, slid.
ing down slippery gullies with q
clatter Of looSened rock and dry
clodS, taking the upgrade easily,
rode a singularly handsome young
man, on a typical COW horse.
The silver mounted saddle gilt
tered in the sun, dimmed to a
leaden gray as they entered the
dense shade Of the trees.
AS he turned into the drive that
led to the house he leaned from
the saddle, snatched a spike Of
scarlet Indian paint brush from
the side Of the road and stuck it,
cavalier fashion, in the band of
his broad-brimmed felt hat.
Then he wheeled sharply,
touched at pinto'S flanks with his
heels, and galloped straight to the
house. Within 10 feet Of the
broad, shallow steps that led to
the verenda, he drew up sharply,
and waved the flower decorated
hat.
AS the dust settled he saw that
the little exhibition had not been
wasted.
Christie was on the verenda.
Dropping the reinS over the
pinto's head, he stood on the lawn
a moment, grinning up at her.
She had been stretched out full
length in one Of the long wicker
deck chairs Aunt Nettie had sent
up from the city. Now she pulled
herself to her feet, stepped over
two or three sleeping dogs, and
gazed down at him, an uncon-
Scious frown between her eyes.
That's a warm welcome" he
told her, laughing.
When he laughed, his features,
almost too claSSical1y handsome,
seemed to become more rugged
and healthily boyish. He showed
a row Of large, even white teeth,
startingly white in contrast to his
dark olive skin. His brown eyes
twinkled as he came up the stairs
and leaned against the 'veranda
railing, still smiling down at her.
Surprised you, didn't II"
81 thought you were still in
Sacramento"
mo, I'm home again." He
reached over and helped himself
to a piece of crumbled chocolate
cake from the plate on the table
beside her chair. "Um-good!"
Gene, don't eat that! It's all
mixed up with olive pits and
pickle ends, and things-wait a
minute-1u get you a decent
piece"
ooh, this is o. K. I'd like q
glass Of iced water though"