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Show tip5 ilfl ft i'p;llli 1 A J-om ancc Tof Cot f or stream or down the stream, whethei , she should follow the rivulet to Its ! source or descend It to Us motith, i was apparently a matter of little moment, mo-ment, yet her whole life turned absolutely abso-lutely upon that decision. The Idle and unconsidered choice of the houj was frought with gravest possibilities Had that election been made with anj suspicion, with any foreknowledge, had It come as the result of careful reasoning rea-soning or far-seeing of probabilities, it might have been understandable but an Impulse, a whim, the vayranl idea of an idle hour, the carelesi chance of a moment, and behold! a life is changed. On one side wer youth and innocence, freedom and happiness, a happy day, a good rest by the cheerful fire at night; on tht other, peril of life, struggle, love, jealousy, Belf sacrifice, devotion, suffering, suffer-ing, knowledge scarcely Evo hersell . when she stood apple in hand witb ignorance and pleasure around hei and enlightenment and sorrow befort her, had greater choi to make. How fortunate we are that the future fu-ture is veiled, that the psalmlst'i prayer that he might know his end and be certified how long Ije had t live is one that will not and cannot be granted; that It has been given t but One to foresee his own futura SYNOPSIS. Enid Maltland. a frank, fre and on-ipollnd on-ipollnd youjj Philadelphia Klrl Is taken In the Colorado mountains by htr uncle, Robert Maltland. James Armstrong, Maltlanrt'u proteose, falls In love with her. His perslalent woolnif thrills the girl, but Ihe hesitates, and Armstrong got-s east wj business without a detlnfta answer. CHAPTER III. (Continued.) "It was four yearB an' nine months exactly, Bob," drawled old Klrkby, who well knew what was coming. "Yes, I dare say you are right. I was up at Evergreen at the time looking look-ing after1 timber interests, when a mule came wandering into the camp, addle and pack still on his back." "I knowed that there mule," said Klrkby, "I'd gold it to a feller named Newbold, that had come out yere an' married Louise Rosser, old man Ros-er's Ros-er's daughter, an' him dead, an' beln' an' orphan an' this feller beln' a fine young man from the east, not a bit of a tenderfoot nuther, a minln' engine? engi-ne? tie called hlsself." "'ell, I happened to be there, too, you remember," continued Maltland, and they made up a party to go and hunt up the man, thinking something might have happened." "You see," explained Klrkby, "we was all mighty fond of Louise Rosser. the hull camp was actln' like a father to her at the time, so long 's she hadn't nobody else; we was all at the weddln", too, gome six months afore. The gal married him on her own hook, of course nobody makln' her, but somehow she didn't seem none too happy, although Newbold, who in in i n nun ir ii - i - T-rtir'i g to tell his story and stumbled on us looking after him." "What happened then?" "I went back to the camp," said Maltland. "We loaded Newbold on a mule and took him with us; he was so crazy he didn't know what was happening; he went over the shooting again and again in his delirium. It was awful." "Did he die?" "I don't think bo," was the answer, "but really I know nothing further about him. There were some good women in that camp; we put him in their hands and 1 left shortly afterwards." after-wards." "I kin tell the rest," said old Klrkby. Klrk-by. "Knowln' more about the mountains moun-tains than most people hereabouts I led the men that didn't go back with Bob an' Newbold to the place w'ere he said his woman fell, an' there we i found her, her body leastways." "But the wolves?" queried the girl. "He'd drug her info a kind of a holler and plied rocks over her. He'd gone down Into the canon, w'ich was something frightful, an' then climbed up to w'ere she'd lodged. We had plenty of rope, havin' brought it along a purpose, an' we let ourselves down to the shelf where she was a lyin'. We wrapped her body up in blankets an- roped it an' finally drug her up on the old Injun trail, leastways I suppose sup-pose It was made afore there was any Injuns, an' brought her back to Evergreen Ever-green camp, w'lch the only thing about It that was green was the swing doors on the saloon. We got a parson out from Denver an' give her a Christian "I rather guess them letters'll tell," answered the old man evasively, "an' I like you, and 1 don't want to see you throwed away." "What do you mean?" asked the girl curiously, thrilling to the solemnity of the moment, the seriousness, the kind j affection of the old frontiersman, the weird scene, the fire light, the tents gleaming ghostlike, the black wall of I the canon and the tops of the moun-I moun-I tain range broadening out beneath the j stars In the clear sky where they twinkled above her head, the strange and terrible story, and now the letters In her hand, which somehow seemed to be Imbued with human feeling. Klrkby 'patted her on the shoulder. "Read the letters," he said; "they'll tell the story. Good night." CHAPTER IV. The Pool and the Water Sprite. Long after the others in the camp had sunk into the profound slumber of weary bodies and good consciences, a solitary candle In the small tent occupied oc-cupied by Enid Maltland alone gave evidence that she was busy over the letters which Klrkby had handed to her. It was a very thoughtful girl indeed in-deed who confronted the old frontiersman frontiers-man the next morning. At the first convenient opportunity when they were alone together she handed him the packet of letters. "Have you read 'em?" he asked. "Yes." "Wall, you keep 'em," said the old man gravely. '"Mebbe you'll want to tied, or learning the mysteries of rod and line, or becoming hardened and acclimated. The weather proved perfect; per-fect; it was late October and the nights were very cold, but there was no rain and the bright sunny days were invigorating and exhilarating to the last degree. They had huge tires and plenty of blankets and the colder It was in the night the better they slept. Itvwas an intensely new experience for the girl from Philadelphia, but she showed a marked Interest and adaptability, adapt-ability, and entered with the keenest zest into all the opportunities of the charming days. She was a good sportswoman sports-woman and she soon learned to throw a fly with the best of them. Old Klrkby Klrk-by took her under his especial protection pro-tection and as he was one of the best rods in the mountains, she had every advantage. She had always lived in the mJdst of life. Except In the privacy of her own chamber she had rarely ever been alone before not twenty feet from a man, she thought whimsically, but here the charm of solitude attracted at-tracted her, 6he liked to take her rod and wander off alone. She actually enjoyed it. The main stream that flowed down the canon was fed by many affluents from the mountain sides, and in each of them voracious trout appeared. She explored them as she had opportunity, sometimes with the others, but more often by herself. She discovered charming and exquisite nook's, little stretches of grass, the size perhaps of a small room, flower decked, ferny than she was. There was not an ounce of superfluous flesh upon her, yet she had the grace of Hebe, the strength of Pallas Athene, "and the swiftness of motion of Atalanta. Had she but carried bow and spear, had she worn tunic and sandals, she might have stood for Diana and she would have had no cause to blush by comparison com-parison with the finest model of Praxiteles' chisel or the most splendid splen-did and glowing example of Appelles' brush. Uncle Robert was delighted with her; his contribution to ker western outfit was a small Winchester. She displayed astonishing aptitude under his instructions and soon became wonderfully won-derfully proficient with that deadly weapon and with a revolver also. There was little danger to be apprehended appre-hended in the daytime among the mountains, the more experienced men thought, still It was wise for the girl always to have a weapon In readiness, so in her journeyings, either the Winchester Win-chester was slung from her shoulder or carried in her hand, or else the Colt dangled at her hip. At first she took both, but finally It was with reluctance reluc-tance that she could be persuaded to take either. Nothing had ever happened. hap-pened. Save for a few birds now and then she had seemed the only tenant of the wilderness of her choice. One night after a camping experience experi-ence of nearly two weeks in the mountains moun-tains and Just before the time for breaking up and going back to civilization, civil-ization, she announced that early the next morning she was going down the canon for a day's fishing excursion. j i eau agiu. "But I don't understand why you want me to have them." "Wall, I'm not quite sure myself why, but leastways I do an' " "I shall be very glad to keep them," said the girl still more gravely, slipping slip-ping them into one of the pockets of her hunting shirt as she spoke. The packet was not bulky, the letters let-ters were not many nor were they of any great length. She could easily carry them on her person and in some strange and unexplicable way she was rather glad to have them. She could not, as she had said, see any personal application to herself In them, and yet in some way she did feel that the solution of the mystery would be hers some day. Especially did she think this on account of the strange but quiet open emphasis of the old hunter. There was much to do about the camp in the morning. Horses and burros to be looked after, fire wood to be cut, plans for the day array ged, excursions laid out, -mountain climbs projected. Later on unwonted hands must be taught to cast the fly for the mountain trout which filled the brook and pool, and all the varied duties, details de-tails and fascinating possibilities of camp life must be explained to the newcomers. The first few days were days of learning and preparation, days of mishap mis-hap and misadv'enture, of Joyous laughter over blunders In getting set- uurueieu, oversmtuowea oy tail giant pine trees, the sunlight filtering through their thin foliage, checkering the verdant carpet beneath. Huge moss covered boulders, wet with the everdashlng spray of the roaring brooks, lay In midstream and with other natural stepping stones hardby invited her to cross to either shore. Waterfalls laughed musically in her ears, deep still pools tempted her skill and address. Sometimes leaving rod and basket by the waterside, she climbed some particularly steep acclivity of the canon wall and stood poised, wind blown, a nymph of the woods, upon some pinnacle of rock rising needlelike needle-like at the canon's edge above the sea of verdure which the wind waved to and fro beneath her feet. There In the bright light, with the breeze blowing blow-ing her golden hair, she looked like some Norse goddess, blue eyed, ex-hilirated, ex-hilirated, triumphant. She was a perfectly formed woman on the ancient noble lines of Milo rather than the degenerate softness of Medici. She grew stronger of limb and fuller of breath, quicker and steadier of eye and hand, cooler of nerve, in these demanding, compelling adventures among the rocks in this mountain air. She was not a tall woman, indeed slightly under rather than over the medium size, but she was so perfectly proportioned, she carried car-ried herself with the fearlessness of a young chamois, that she looked taller was a perfect gent, treated her white as far as we knowed." The old man stopped again and resumed re-sumed his pipe. "Klrkby, you tell the story," said Maltland. . "Not me," said Klrkby. "1 have seen men shot afore for takln' words out 'n other men's mouths an' I ain't never done that ylt." "You always were one of the most silent men I 'ever saw," laughed George. "Why, that day Pete yere got shot accidental an' had his whole breast tore out, w'en we was lumbering lumber-ing over on Black mountain, all you eald was, 'Wash him off, put some axle grease on him an' tie him up.' " "That's so," answered Pete, "an' there must have been somethln' powerful pow-erful soothin' in that axle grease, for here I am- safe an' sound to this day." "It takes an oltl man," assented Klrkby, "to know when to keep his mouth shet. I learned it at the muz-ile muz-ile of a gun." "I never knew before," laughed Maltland, "how still a man you can be. Well, to resume the story, having nothing to do J went out with the posse the sheriff gathered up " "Him not thlnkln' there had been any foul play," ejaculated the old man. "No, certainly not." "Well, what happened. Uncle Bob?" Inquired Enid. "Just you wait," said young Bob, who had heard the 6tory. "This is an awful good story. Cousin Enid." "I can't wait much longer," returned the girl. "Please go on." "Two days after we left the camp, we came across an awful figure, ragged, blood stained, wasted to a skeleton, starved " "I have seed men in extreme cases afore," interposed Klrkby, "but never none like him." "Nor I," continued Maltland. "Was It Newbold?" asked Enid. "Yes." "And what had happened to him?" "He and his wife had been prospecting prospect-ing in these very mountains; she had fallen over a cliff and broken herself bo terribly that Newbold had to shoot her." "What!" exclaimed Bradshaw. "You don't mean that he actually killed ner?" "That's what he done," answered old Klrkby. "Poor man," murmured Enid. "But why?" asked Philips. "They were five days away from a settlement, there wasn't a human being be-ing within a hundred and fifty miles of them, not even an Indian," continued contin-ued Maltland. "She was so frightfully broken and mangled that he couldn't carry her away." "But why couldn't he leave her and go for help?" asked Bradshaw. 'The wolves, the bears, or the vul-tnres vul-tnres would have got her. These woods and mountains were full of them then and there are some of tbem left now I guess." The two little girls crept closer to their big cousin, each casting anxious glances beyond the fire light. "Oh, you're all right, little gals," said Klrkby reassuringly, "they wouldn't come nigh us while this fire Is burnin' an' they 've been pretty well hunted out I gnessj 'sides there's men yere who'd like nothin' better'n drawin' a bead on a big b'ar." "And so," continued Maltland, "when she begged him to shoot her, to put ner out of her misery, he did so and Ihen he utarted back to the settlement uui iai. "Is that all?" asked Enid as the old man paused again." "Nope." "Oh. the man?" exclaimed the woman wom-an with quick intuition. "He recovered his senses so they told us, an' we'en we got back he'd gone." "Where?" was the Instant question. Old Klrkby stretched out his hands. "Don't ax me," he said, "he'd jest gone. I ain't never seed or heerd of him sence. Poor little Louise Rosser, she did have a hard time." . "Yes," said Enid, "but I think the man had a harder time than she. He loved her?" "It looked like It," answered Klrkby. "If you had seen him, his remorse, his anguish, his horror," said Maltland, Malt-land, "you wouldn't have had any doubt about it. But it is getting late. In the mountains everybody gets up at daybreak. Your sleeping bags are In the tents, ladies; time to go to bed." As the party broke up, old Klrkby rose slowly to his feet; he looked meaningly toward the young woman, upon whom the spell of the tragedy still lingered, he nodded toward the young brook, and then repeated his speaking glance at her. His meaning was patent, although no one else had seen the covert invitation. "Come Klrkby," said the girl in quick response, "you shall be my escort. es-cort. I want a drink before I turn in. No, never mind," she said, as Bradshaw Brad-shaw and Philips both volunteered, "not this time." The old frontiersman and the young girl strolled off together. They stopped stop-ped by the brink of the rushing torrent tor-rent a few yards away. The noise that it made drowned the low tones of their voices and kept the others, busy preparing to retire, from hearing what they said. "That ain't quite all the story, Miss Enid," said the old trapper meaningly. "There was another man." "What!" exclaimed the girl. "Oh, there wasn't nothin' wrong with Louise Rosser, w'ich she was Louise Newbold. but there was another an-other man; I suspected It afore, that's why she was sad. Wen we found her body I knowed it." "I don't understand." "These'll explain," said Klrkby. He drew out from his rough hunting coat a package of soiled letters; they were carefully enclosed in an oil skin and tied with a faded ribbon. "You see,'' he continued, holding them In his hand yet carefully concealing them from the people at the fire. "W'en she fell off the cliff somehow the mule lost his i'ootin', nobody never knowed how, leastways the mule was dead an' couldn't tell she struck on a spur or shelf about a hundred feet below the brink; evidently she was carryin' the letters in her dress. Her bosom was frightfully tore open an' the letters was lyin' there. Newbold didn't see 'em. because he went down into the canon an' came up to the shelf, or butte head, w'ere the body was lyin', but we dropped down. 1 was the first man down an' I got 'em. Nobody else seein' me, an' there ain't no human eyes, not even my wile's, that's ever looked on them letters, except ex-cept mine and now yourn." "You are going to give them to me?" "I am," said Klrkby. "But why?" "I want you to know the hull story." "But why, agalnT" ione oi tne party uau ever iui-lowed iui-lowed the little river very far, but it was known that some ten miles below the stream merged in a lovely gem-like gem-like lake In a sort of crater In the mountains. From thence by a series of water falls It descended through the foothills to the distant plains beyond. be-yond. The others had arranged to climb one especially dangerous and ambition provoking peak which towered tow-ered above them and which had nevei before been surmounted so far as they knew. Enid enjoyed mountain climbing. She liked the uplift in feeling feel-ing that came from going higher and higher till some crest was gained, but on this occasion they urged her to accompany ac-company them in vain. When the fixity of her decision was established she had a number of offers to accompany her, but declined them all, bidding the others go their way. Mrs. Maltland, who was not feeling very well, old Klrkby, who had climbed too many mountains to feel much interest in that game, and Pete the horse wrangler, who had to look after the stock, remained in camp; the others with the exception of Enid started at daybreak for their long ascent. as-cent. She waited until the sun was about an hour high and then bade good-bye to the three and began the descent of the canon. Traveling light, for she was going far farther, indeed, than she knew she left her Winchester Winches-ter at home, but carried the revolver with the fishing tackle and substantial luncheon. Now the river a river by courtesy only and the canon turned sharply back on themselves just beyond the little meadow where the camp was pitched. Past the tents that had been their home for this Joyous period the river ran due east for a few hundred feet, after which it curved sharply, doubled back and flowed westward for several miles before it gradually swung around to the east on its proper prop-er course again. It had been Enid's purpose to cut across the hills and strike the river where it turned eastward once more, avoiding the long detour back In fact, she had declared her intention of doing that to Kirk by and be had given her careful directions so that she should not get lost in the mountains. moun-tains. But she bd plenty oi time and no excuse or reapon Tor saving It. she never tired of the charm of the canon; therefore, instead ot plunging directly over the spur of the range, she followed fol-lowed the familiar trail and after she had passed westward far beyond ihe limits of the camp to Ihe turning, she decided, in accordance with that utterly ut-terly irresponsible thing, a wontuM s wiil, that she would not go 'lo'.vn the canon that day af:er all but that f he 1 would cross tack over the range hm strike the river a lew miles a!,ov the camp and go up the canon. j She had been up in that, direction a few times, but only for a short distance, dis-tance, as the ascent above the camp was very sharp, in fact for a little more than a mile the brook was only a succession of water fall; the beBt fishing was below the camp and the finest woods were deeper In the canon. She suddenly concluded that she would like to see what was up In that unexplored section of the country and so, with scarcely a momentary hesitation, hesi-tation, she abandoned her former plan and began the ascent of the range. Upon decisions so lightly taken what momentous consequences de-pena? de-pena? Whether she should go up tne The Girl Stood as It Were on the Roof of the World. for no power apparently could enable us to stand up against what might be, because we are only human beings not sufficiently alight with the spark divine. We wait for the end because we must, but thank God we know It not until it comes. Nothing of this appeared to the girt that bright sunny morning. Fate hid in those mountains under the guise ot fancy. Lighthearted, carefree, fitted with buoyant Joy over every fact of life, she left the flowing water and scaled the cliff beyond which in the wilderness she was to find after all, the world. The ascent was longer and more difficult and dangerous than she had imagined when she first confronted It, perhaps it was typical and foretold her progress. More than once she had to stop and carefully examine the face of the canon wall Tor a practicable trail; more than once she had to exercise ex-ercise extremest care in her climb, but she was a bold and fearless mountaineer moun-taineer by this time and nt last surmounting sur-mounting every difficulty she stond panling slightly, a little tired, but triumphant upon the summit. The ground was rocky and broken... the limber line was close above Her anil she judged that she must be sev- oral miles from the camp. The canon j was very crooked, she could see only a few hundred yards of tt In any ril- reriion. She scanned her circum- scribed limited horizon eagerly for the smoke from the great fire that they : always kept burning in the e.amp, but : not a Klitn of It was visible. She was evidently a thousand leet above lho i river whence she had come. Her I s'amling ground was a rocky ridge ; which lell away more gently ou the i oilier side lor perhaps two hundred -, leer toward the same brook. She i could see through vistas in ihe trees the unloved peaks ol the main range. I'trre rhaolic. snow crowned, lormiv. : nui i.-'ile. ten i'nle. The awe of the everlasting hills is ie::ter him that of heaviug seas. SiA-c In ihe inl'i-eciuetu periods of calm. te latter always moves: the moun-. tains are the same for all time. The ocean Is quick, noisy, living; the mountains are. calm, still dead ! The girl stood as it were on t he-roof he-roof of the world, a solitary human being, so far as she knew. In the eye-of eye-of God above her. Ah, but. the eyes divine look long and see far; things beyond the human k-Pn are all revealed. re-vealed. None of the pnrty had ever come this rar from the camp In this direction she knew. And the wn glad to be the first, as she i,v0slv believed, to observe that maiest;,- ..i.j-tude. ..i.j-tude. (TO r.c. to.-r;: . i : , .wvw v -w. Read the LUen," He 8alt |