They of the High Trails. Garland Hamlin

of the shack with vague intent to apologize. Something very sudden and very terrible must have fallen upon the postmaster.

      After some hesitation he knocked timidly on the door.

      "Have they gone?" the girl asked.

      "Yes; I've scared 'em away. They didn't mean no harm, I reckon. I want to know can't I be of some kind of use?"

      The door opened cautiously and the girl again appeared. She was very pale and held a pistol in her hand, but her voice was calm. "You're very good," she said, "and I'm much obliged. Who are you?"

      "I am Roy Pierce, foreman for McCoy, a cattleman north of here."

      "Was it really a band of Indians?"

      "Naw. Only a bunch of cow-punchers on a bat."

      "You mean cowboys?"

      "That's what. It's their little way of havin' fun. I reckon they didn't know you was here. I didn't. Who's sick?"

      "My uncle."

      "You mean the postmaster?"

      "Yes."

      "When was he took?"

      "Last night. They telegraphed me about six o'clock. I didn't get here till this morning – I mean yesterday morning."

      "What's the ail of him?"

      "A stroke, I'm afraid. He can't talk, and he's stiff as a stake. Oh, I wish the doctor would come!"

      Her anxiety was moving. "I'll try to find him for you."

      "I wish you would."

      "You aren't all alone?"

      "Yes; Mrs. Gilfoyle had to go home to her baby. She said she'd come back, but she hasn't."

      Roy's heart swept a wide arc as he stood looking into the pale, awed, lovely face of the girl.

      "I'll bring help," he said, and vanished into the darkness, shivering with a sense of guilt. "The poor old cuss! Probably he was sick the very minute I was bullyragging him."

      The local doctor had gone down the valley on a serious case, and would not be back till morning, his wife said, thereupon Roy wired to Claywall, the county-seat, for another physician. He also secured the aid of Mrs. James, the landlady of the Palace Hotel, and hastened back to the relief of the girl, whom he found walking the floor of the little kitchen, tremulous with dread.

      "I'm afraid he's dying," she said. "His teeth are set and he's unconscious."

      Without knowing what to say in way of comfort, the herder passed on into the little office, where the postmaster lay on a low couch with face upturned, in rigid, inflexible pose, his hands clenched, his mouth foam-lined. Roy, unused to sickness and death, experienced both pity and awe as he looked down upon the prostrate form of the man he had expected to punish. And yet these emotions were rendered vague and slight by the burning admiration which the niece had excited in his susceptible and chivalrous heart.

      She was tall and very fair, with a face that seemed plain in repose, but which bewitched him when she smiled. Her erect and powerful body was glowing with health, and her lips and eyes were deliciously young and sweet. Her anxious expression passed away as Roy confidently assured her that these seizures were seldom fatal. He didn't know a thing about it, but his tone was convincing.

      "I knew a man once who had these fits four or five times a year. Didn't seem to hurt him a bit. One funny thing – he never had 'em while in the saddle. They 'most always come on just after a heavy meal. I reckon the old man must of over-et."

      Mrs. James came in soon – all too soon to please him – but he reported to her his message to Claywall. "A doctor will be down on 'the Cannonball' about five o'clock," he added.

      "That's very kind and thoughtful of you," said the girl. Then she explained to Mrs. James that Mr. Pierce had just driven off a horrid band of cowboys who were attacking the town.

      The landlady snorted with contempt. "I'm so used to boozy cowboys howlin' round, I don't bat an eye when they shoot up the street. They're all a lot of cheap skates, anyway. You want to swat 'em with the mop if they come round; that's the way I do."

      Roy was nettled by her tone, for he was now very anxious to pose as a valorous defender of the innocent; but agreed with her that "the boys were just having a little 'whiz' as they started home; they didn't mean no harm."

      "Ought I to sit in there?" the girl asked the woman, with a glance toward the inner room.

      "No; I don't think you can do any good. I'll just keep an eye on him and let you know if they's any change."

      The girl apologized for the looks of the kitchen. "Poor uncle has been so feeble lately he couldn't keep things in order, and I haven't had any chance since I came. If you don't mind, I'll rid things up now; it'll keep my mind occupied."

      "Good idea!" exclaimed Roy. "I'll help."

      He had been in a good many exciting mix-ups with steers, bears, cayuses, sheriffs' posses, and Indians, but this was easily the most stirring and amazing hour of his life. While his pony slowly slid away up the hill to feed, he, with flapping gun and rattling spurs, swept, polished, and lifted things for Lida – that was her name – Lida Converse.

      "My folks live in Colorado Springs," she explained in answer to his questions. "My mother is not very well, and father is East, so I had to come. Uncle Dan was pretty bad when I got here, only not like he is now. This fit came on after the doctor went away at nine."

      "I'm glad your father was East," declared the raider, who was unable to hold to a serious view of the matter, now that he was in the midst of a charming and intimate conversation. "Just think – if he had 'a' come, I'd never have seen you!"

      She faced him in surprise and disapproval of his boldness. "You're pretty swift, aren't you?" she said, cuttingly.

      "A feller's got to be in this country," he replied, jauntily.

      She was prepared to be angry with him, but his candid, humorous, admiring gaze disarmed her. "You've been very nice," she said, "and I feel very grateful; but I guess you better not say any more such things to me – to-night."

      "You mustn't forget I chased off them redskins."

      "You said they were cowboys."

      "Of course I did; I wanted to calm your mind."

      She was a little puzzled by his bluffing. "I don't believe there are any Indians over here."

      "Well, if they were cowboys, they were a fierce lot."

      She considered. "I've told you I feel grateful. What more can I do?"

      "A good deal; but, as you say, that can go over till to-morrow. Did I tell you that I had a bunch of cattle of my own?"

      "I don't remember of it."

      "Well, I have. I'm not one of these crazy cowboys who blows in all his wad on faro and drink – not on your life! I've got some ready chink stacked away in a Claywall bank. Want to see my bank-book?"

      She answered, curtly: "Please take that kettle of slop out and empty it. And what time did you say the express was due?"

      Roy was absorbed, ecstatic. He virtually forgot all the rest of the world. His herders could ride to the north pole, his pony might starve, the Cannonball Express go over the cliff, the postmaster die, so long as he was left in service to this princess.

      "Lord A'mighty! wasn't I in luck?" he repeated to himself. "Suppose I'd 'a' roped her instead of the old man!"

      When he returned from listening for the train he found her washing her hands at the end of her task, and the room in such order as it had never known before. The sight of her standing there, flushed and very womanly, rolling down her sleeves, was more than the young fellow could silently observe.

      "I hope the old man'll be a long time getting well," he said, abruptly.

      "That's a nice thing to say! What do you mean by such a cruel wish?"

      "I see my finish when you go away. No more lonely ranch-life for me."

      "If you start in on that talk again I