Forlorn River. Zane Grey

almost looks as if Kate does not like my coming home, and especially my clothes. Wait till she sees my graduation dress!”

      There was a clean footpath along one side of the lane, and when Ina started down it she found herself facing the sage mountains, far across the level lake basin land, and the bulge of red rocky ground beyond. The afternoon sun, low in the sky, cast a soft light upon the round gray domes and the beautiful slopes. Suddenly her heart beat quicker and fuller. An old love of the open country, of lonely hills, of the wind in her face and the fragrance of sage revived in her. That was another reason for her inward joy at returning to the scenes of her childhood. Moreover, as she gazed intently, these mountains of gray, with the shadows of purple in the clefts, seemed to call to her. It was a distinct sensation almost like an audible voice. The beckoning hills! Then it occurred to her that beyond them lay Forlorn River. She checked her thought and hurried on, with pensive gaze on the black buttes of lava to the west.

      Before she realized it she had come to the Ide farm. The same old barred gate! The untrimmed hedge! The green shady yard and the lane that led into the old house seemed exactly to fit her expectations. Almost she expected to see Rover, Ben’s dog, come bounding out to meet her. But Rover did not come. Ina entered the gate, and found that habit led her round to the back door. Yard and house had the homely appearance of use and comfort. Ina crossed the wide porch and knocked on the door.

      It opened at once, revealing a pleasant-faced girl with fine blue eyes and curly hair. She had freckles that Ina remembered. She wore a gingham apron; her sleeves were rolled up to firm round elbows; in one hand she held a broom. For a moment she stared at Ina.

      “Hettie, don’t you know me?” asked Ina.

      “I—I do and—I don’t,” gasped the girl, with her face lighting.

      “I’m Ina Blaine.”

      “Oh—of course—I knew you were, but you’re so different—so—so changed and lovely,” replied Hettie in charming confusion. “We heard you were home. I’m glad to see you. Come in. Mother is here.”

      “Hettie, you’ve grown up wonderfully, much more than Dall or Marvie,” said Ina, as she entered the big light kitchen that made her remember raids on the cupboard. “And I can return your compliment.”

      “Thanks,” replied Hettie, blushing. “You always used to say nice things, Ina. Come in and see mother.” She led the way into the large sitting room.

      “Mother,” announced Hettie, to the sad, sweet-faced woman who rose from beside a table, “this is Ina Blaine, come to call on us the very next day after she got home.”

      “Mrs. Ide, I hope you remember me,” said Ina, advancing with a little contraction of her heart. Faintly she grasped at an affinity that brought her close to this woman.

      “Ina Blaine!” exclaimed Mrs. Ide, in a slightly quavering voice, making haste to adjust her spectacles. “I ought to remember. That name is almost as familiar as Hettie’s. . . . So you are Ina! I wouldn’t have known you. Welcome home to Tule Lake, my dear. It was like you to come to us at once. I told them last night you’d never change.”

      “Oh, I’m changed, grown up, Mrs. Ide,” replied Ina, taking the proffered hand, and then yielding to a warm impulse she kissed the faded cheek. “But I’m happy to be home, and I—I intend to be as I used to be.”

      “Of course you will,” responded Mrs. Ide. “Even though you are a young woman now. Come, sit here an’ tell us all about yourself.”

      Ina had never before found such inspiring listeners and she talked for an hour, telling all about her school life, and just touching at the end on her arrival home.

      “It’s good to hear you, Ina,” murmured Mrs. Ide. “I hope an’ pray the changes that have come will not make you unhappy.”

      “I shall not let myself be unhappy,” replied Ina, spiritedly. “I confess I’d have liked to find my home—my people the same as when I left them. But—they’re not. I’ll adjust myself to it.”

      “Are you going to come to see us occasionally?” inquired Mrs. Ide, gravely.

      “Same as I used to,” replied Ina, with feeling.

      “Your father will not like that, Ina. He is a hard man, as hard in some ways as Amos Ide.”

      “We have already clashed,” said Ina, naïvely. “To my discomfiture.”

      “Mother, Ina’s as spunky as when she used to quarrel with Ben,” spoke up Hettie, impulsively.

      Manifestly it was an unfortunate allusion, for the older woman appeared to retreat within herself. Ina regretted the reference to Ben, for she knew she must say something about him, and was at a loss.

      “Yes, I remember Ben and our quarrels as well as anything,” she replied, simply. “It would be nice to—to talk over old times, but we’ll leave that till another day. Good-by, Mrs. Ide. I shall come to see you often. . . . Hettie, will you walk down the lane with me? I’m going to meet Marvie and Dall.”

      “That I shall,” rejoined Hettie, heartily.

      But once out of the house, Ina felt the constraint that bound Hettie as well as herself. She would make an end of that. But despite her overtures, it was not until they were well down the lane that she hit upon the right way to reach Hettie.

      Suddenly turning to Hettie, she had queried, bluntly: “Now tell me about Ben.”

      Hettie turned so pale that the freckles stood out prominently upon her face, and her eyes filled with tears.

      “You’ve heard?” she asked, huskily.

      “A lot of gossip,” replied Ina, swiftly. “I don’t believe a single word of it. Hettie, tell me the truth.”

      “Oh, Ina—that’s so good of you,” burst out Hettie, almost sobbing, and she seized Ina’s hand. “There’s not so much to tell. Ben loved the wild country and wild horses. He couldn’t help it. Father drove him away from home—made an outcast of him. It broke mother’s heart—and it’s breaking mine. All kinds of lies have been flying around about Ben. Of late, since that man Setter came to Tule Lake, they’re growing worse.”

      “I met Setter. I don’t like him or trust him, Hettie. He said some hard things about Ben’s friend, a cowboy from Nevada.”

      “I hate him, Ina,” flashed Hettie, with a dark flush. “I could tell you a reason outside of his lies about Ben.”

      “You needn’t. I’ve met and seen many men these four years of my absence. . . . Hettie, I just cannot believe Ben would steal. I can’t.”

      “Ina, I know he wouldn’t,” rejoined Hettie, eloquently. “It’s not easy to tell how I know, but it’s in my heart.”

      “Have your family lost faith in Ben?”

      “Yes, all except mother. But it’s hope now, more than real faith. Father has broken her. Ben was his pride, if you remember. The disappointment has made father old. . . . Oh, such a mess to make over a boy’s love of horses! I grow sick when I think of it.”

      “Well, Hettie, it seems we’re of the same mind,” went on Ina, soberly. “Now it’s not what we must do, but how.”

      “Ina, I don’t—understand you,” faltered Hettie.

      “We’ve got to save Ben before it’s too late,” declared Ina, and the strange sweet warmth that seemed liberated by her conscious words brought the hot blood to her cheeks.

      “We’ve got to! You and I?” asked Hettie, in low, wondering voice.

      “Yes. You’re his sister and I’m—his old playmate. Probably his only friends, except the cowboy from Nevada. . . . Hettie, I’m forming impressions of that cowboy Setter claimed was a horse thief. I believe he’s some one who’s