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almost pleasing. "Good-bye, Smith, remember your failings."

"Do you want to see him?" I gathered my horse.

"Oh, yes,--it would be--if it was only iso. Trouble is, you keep remembering he's such a stumbling-block to any real spiritual inquirer. Yes, and to himself; for, you know, spiritually there's so much less hope for the moralist than what there is for the up-and-down reprobate! You know that,--Smith."

The pair looked at each other behind my neck for full ten seconds. Then the younger man leaned to his horse's mane in a silent laugh while Sergeant Jim looked me over again and remarked that he would be horn-swoggled!

A sweet color was I. "Yes, that's what I said; Cockerel. Isn't your last name Cockerel?"

I almost leaped from the ground in consternation. My whole frame throbbed, my mouth fell open, my tongue was tied.

"Oh, no, no! I cannot let you!" She clutched the hand she had been stroking.

At the edge of the wood, where we had parted, I tied my horse, and crept along the moonlight shadows of the melon-patch to the stable. The door was ajar. In the interior gloom I passed my hands over the necks and heads of what I recognized to be the pair of small mules I had seen at Gallatin. Near a third stall were pegs for saddle and bridle, but they were empty. So was the stall; the mare was gone.

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