Classic Audiobook Collection - Bransford Of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Rhodes ~ Full Audiobook [adventure]

Episode Date: October 6, 2023

Bransford Of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Rhodes audiobook. Genre: adventure A genuine cowboy who speaks a bit of Greek? Ditto a bit of The Litany? And more than a little verse, including (would you believe?) Alice In Wonderland. What kind of young man do we have here? And a young woman who matches him without effort? And a definitely literate narrator with his tongue firmly inserted in cheek. There’s a bank robbery and an attempted murder. A desperate ride across the desert and a warm welcome by good Mexican friends. It’s all a great deal of fun. Eugene Manlove Rhodes (1869 – 1934) was an American writer, nicknamed the 'cowboy chronicler'. He lived in south central New Mexico when the first cattle ranching and cowboys arrived in the area; when he moved to New York with his wife in 1899, he wrote stories of the American West that set the image of cowboy life in that era. Originally Published under the title of Bransford In Arcadia Or The Little Eohippus (1913). Note: eohippus, which plays a part all through the story, is the small prehistoric five-toed ancestor of the modern-day horse. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 00 (00:37:47) Chapter 01 (00:50:11) Chapter 02 (01:07:37) Chapter 03 (01:25:53) Chapter 04 (01:39:38) Chapter 05 (02:00:48) Chapter 06 (02:13:44) Chapter 07 (02:28:08) Chapter 08 (02:36:06) Chapter 09 (02:51:51) Chapter 10 (03:08:04) Chapter 11 (03:29:29) Chapter 12 (03:57:48) Chapter 13 (04:15:35) Chapter 14 (04:32:21) Chapter 15 (04:45:29) Chapter 16 (05:02:00) Chapter 17 (05:16:59) Chapter 18 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

brandford of rainbow range by eugene manlove roads prologue one the long fall roundup was over the wagon homeward bound made camp for the last night out of the sinks of lost river most of the men worn with threescore night-guards were buried under their tarps in the deep sleep of the weary sound as that of the just and much more common by the low camp-fire a few yet lingered old timers iron men whose wiry and seasoned strength was toil-proof and leo ballinger for whom youth excitement and unsated novelty served in lieu of fitness The firelighters, working the wide range again from Ancho to Waco, from the Malpais to Glenco, fell silent now to mark an unstaled miracle. The clustered lights of rainbow's end shone redly, near, and low. Beyond, above, dominant, the black, unbroken bulk of rainbow range shut out the east. The clear-cut crest mellowed to luminous curves,

feathery with far-off pines. The long skyline thrilled with frosty fire, glowed, sparkled. The cricket's chirp was stilled. The slow, late moon rose to a hushed and waiting world. On the sharp crest she paused, irresolute, tiptoe, quivering, rosily a flush. Above floated a web of Gosimer. She leaped up, spurning the black ring. glowed, palpitant, through that filmy lace, and all the desert throbbed with vibrant light. Cool and sweet and fresh, from maiden leagues of clean, brown earth, the desert winds made whisper in grass and fragrant shrub. Yucca, mesquite, and greasewood swayed, so softly you had not known, save as the long shadows, courtesied and danced. Leo flung up his side. Lio flung up his hand. The air was whined to him. A year had left the desert still new and strange. Gee, he said eloquently. Headlight nodded. You're dead right on that point, son. If Christopher K. Columbus had only thought to beach his shallops on the sundown side of this here continent,

he might have made a name for himself. Just think how much different, hysterically, these United States. This United States, corrected Bringle, disband, their fathers had disagreed on the same grammatical point headlight scowled by jings that this united colonies are and of right ought to be free and independent states he quoted i was going to give you something new to exercise your talons on you sit here every night riding bronx and forefoot and steers and never grab a horn or waste a loop not once sure things ain't amusing some variety and doubtful accuracy now would develop our guessing gifts. aforesaid Smith brandished the end gate rod. Them speculations of yours sort of opens up of themselves. If California been settled first,

the salmon would now be our national bird instead of the potato. Think of Arizona, mother of presidents, seed of the government at Milpitas, center of population about Butte, New Jersey, Hallen, about Nevada Trust. He impaled a few beef ribs and held them over the glowing embers. Georgia and South Carolina would be infested by cowpersons in decolete leather panties, said Jeff Bransford. New York and Pennsylvania would be fondly turning a credulous ear to the 24th consecutive solemn promise of statehood,

with the senator from Walla Walla, urging admission of both as one mighty state, with Maryland and Virginia thrown in for luck. Headlight forgot his peak. Wouldn't the railroad sound funny, though? Needles and Eastern, Northern Atlantic, Southern Atlantic, Union, Western, Kansas, and Central Atlantic, earnest and continuous demand for a president from east of the Mississippi. All the price fights pulled off at Boston. Columbus done just right, said Pingle decisively. You fellas ain't got no imagination at all. If this western country'd been settled first, the maps would read, Northeast Territory, uninhabitable wilderness, reach in a storm and snow, roaming savages and fierce wild

beasts. When the intrepid explorer hit the big white weather, he'd say, Little old San Diego's good enough for me, yes, sir. Oh, well, climate alone done account for the charm of this country, nor scenery, said Leo, you feel at it, but you don't know why it is. is it sure agrees with your by-laws observed pringle you're a sight change from the furtive behemoth he was you'll make a hand yet but even now your dimensions from east to west is plumb fascinating i'd sure admire to have your picture to put in my cornfield very well mr bringle i'll exchange photographs with you said leo artlessly a smothered laugh followed this remark uncertainty as to what horrible and unnamed use would make of Pringle's pictured face appealed to these speculative minds. I've studied out this charm business, said Jeff, see if I'm not right. It's because there's no habitually old men here to pattern after,

too steady us to make us ashamed of just staying boys. Now and then you've hit an octagonal cuss like Wes here, that on a mere count of years and hairs might be sized up as old by the superficial observer, But if I've ever met that man more addicted with vivid nonchalance as to further continuance of educational facilities than this same also ran, his number has now escaped me. Really aged people stay where they was. I think myself that what makes life so easy and congenial in these latigos and longitudes is the dearth of law and the ladies. Thus Pringle the cynic. a fourfold outcry ensued indignant repudiation of the latter heresy their protests rose above the customary subdued and quiet drawl of the out-of-doors man

but has the law no defenders demanded leo we've got to have laws to make us behave jure thing likewise tis the waves that make the tide come in said jeb a good law is as handy as a good pocket-book but law as simply such independent of its merits rouses no enthusiasm in my manly bosom, no more than a signboard the day after Halloween. If it occurs to me in a moment of emotional sanity that the environments of the special case in hand call for a compound fracture of the statutes made and provided for some totally different cases that happen to be called by the same name, I fall upon it with my glittering heel gag, without no special wonder. For, he declaimed, I am endowed by nature with certain inalienable rights

among which are the high justice, the middle, and the low. And who's to be the judge of whether it's a good law or not? You? Me. Me every time. Someone must. If I let some other man make up my mind,

I've got to use my judgment, picking the man I follow. By organizing myself into a permanent committee of one to do my own thinking, I take my one chance of mistakes instead of two. So you believe in doing evil that good may come, do you? Well, said Jeff judicially, it seems to be at least as good a proposition as doing good that evil may come of it. Why, Capricorn? There isn't one thing we call wrong when other men do it that hasn't been lawful sometime or other. When to break a law is to do a wrong, it's evil.

When it's doing right to break a law, it's not evil. Got that? It's not wrong to keep a just law, and if it's wrong to break an unjust law, I want a new dictionary with pictures of it in the back. But laws is useful and exciting diversions to break up the monogamy, said aforesaid, and it's a dead easy way to build up a rep. Look at the edge I've got on you fellas. You're just supposed to be honest, but I've improved on us frequent." "'Hark!' said Pringle. A weird sound reached them. The knight-rangler, a beguiling his lonely vigil, was song.

"'Oh, the cuckoo is a pretty bird she comes in the spring.' "'What do you suppose that night-hawk thinks about the majesty of the law?' He said. There was a ringing note in his voice. Smith and headlight nodded gravely, their lean brown faces hardened. "'You haven't heard of it?' old john taylor daddy to yonder warbler drifted here from the east wife and little girl both puny taylor takes up a homestead on the felice he wasn't affluent none i let him have my old paint pony freckles him being knee sprung and not out to cow work and to make an unparalleled team he got ed poe's billy bolegs knee gambler him having won a new name by a misunderstanding with the prairie dog hole taylor taylor paid poe

for him in work. It was a will-an-old rooster tailor, but futile, and left-handed all over. John, Jr., he was only thirteen. Him and the old man mozied around like two drunk ants, fixing up the little log house with rock jimbly's, a horse-pin and shelter, rail-fencing of the little Vegas to put to crops, and so on. Dunya good to drop in and hear him plan and figure. There was one happy family. How sis and l'el. bragged about their hens laying in the spring we all held a bee and made their cequias for them baker he loaned him a plough they dragged big branches over the ground for a harrow they could milk anybody's cows there was a mind to tame and the boys took to carryin over motherless calves from miss taylor to raise taylor he done odd jobs and they got along real well with their crops they went into the second winter pert as squirrels but come spring this wasn't doing well. They had the agency, doctor. Too high up and too damp, he said. So the

Mrs. and Emily, they went to Cruces, where Emily could go to school. That meant rot smart of expense, renting a house and all, so the Johnss they hires out. John Jr. made his debut as Wrangler for the Steam Pitchfork, acquiring the obvious name of Felix. Oh man, he got a job mucking in Oregon mines, kept his authors in Jeff Isaac's pasture. Saturday nights he'd get one and slip down them 18 miles to cruises for a Sunday with the folks. Well, you know, a homesteader can't be off his claim more than six months at a time. I reckon if there was ever a homestead taken up in good faith twas the butter bowl. They knew the landlaws from Ada Isard, even named their hound-pup Boney Fido.

But the old man waited at Oregon till the last bell rang, so to draw down his wages payday. Then he bundles the folks into his little old wagon and lights out. Kappa Nat Casimoro's well, halfway cross, that ornery freckles horse, has a fit of malignant nostalgia, and projects off for a Super Bowl, a foot, in his hobbles. Next day, Taylor don't overtake him till the middle of the evening, and what was going back and what with freckles being hobble sore, he's two days late and reaching home. for lake of aguashikita that prosperous person had been keeping cases he entered contest on the butter-bowl a legend abandonment now if it was me but then if twas me i could stay away six years and two months without no remonstrances from lake or his likes i'm somewhat abandoned myself

but poor old taylor he's been drug up where they hold biped life unaccountable high he sits him down resignedly the sky as the poet says meek and legal we all don't abnormally like to precipitate in another man's business but makes it up to sort of saunter in on lake spontaneous and events are disfavor with a rope but taylor says no he allows the land office won't hold him morally responsible for the sinful idiocy of a homesick spotted host that's otherwise reliable he's got one more gasconn there ain't no sympathies to machinery your intentions may be strictly honorable but if you get your hand caught in the cogs off it goes regardless of how handy it is for flanking calves holding nails and such things absent over six months entry cancelled contestant has allowed thirty days prior rights to file next that's the way that decision'll read it ain't come yet but it's due soon this here felix looks at it just like the old man, only different, though he ain't making no statements for a publication. He comes here young, and having acquired the fixed habit of risking his neck regular, for one dollar per each and every diem, showing in the reluctant steer,

or a fool-haws pirouetting across the pinnacles with a nosebag on, or maybe just for fun, why naturally don't see why life is so sweet or peace so dear as to put up with any damn foolishness, as Pat Henry used to say when the boys called on him for a few remarks. He's a some serious-minded boy, that night hawk, and if signs is any indication, he's fixing to take an appeal under the Winchester Act. I ain't no seventh son of a son of a gun, but my prognostications are that he presently removes Lake to another,

and do we trust, better world. Good thing, too, grunted headlight, this lake person is surely a muddy pool. chet yer fool head said pringle amiably you may be on the jury i'm goin to seek my virtuous couch glad we don't have to bed no cattle vivioche this night ain't he the latin scholar said headlight admiringly they blow about that wire julius caesar sent the associated press but old man pringle done him up for levity in precision when he wrote us the account of his visit to the denver carnival ever hear about a sagittarius no said leo what did he say hick walk hike two escondido half-way of the desert is designed on simple lines the railroad hauls water in tank cars from dog canyon there is one depot one section house and one combination post-office hotel store saloon stage station kept by moss sanders and pappy sanders in about the order mentioned also one one glorious green cottonwood, one pampered rosebush, jointly the pride and delight of Escondido,

ownerless but cherished by loving care, and a toted tribute of wastewater. Hither came Jeff and Leo, white with the dust of twenty starlit leagues, for accumulated mail of Rainbow South. Horse-feeding, breakfast, gossip with jolly motherly Ma Sanders, reading and answering of mail, then their beauty nap. So, missing the day's event, the passing of the flyer. When they woke, Escondido basked drowsily in the low, western sun. The far sunset ranges had put off their workaday homespun brown and grey

for chameleon hues of purple and amethyst. Their deep, cool shadows, edged with trembling rose, reached out across the desert. The velvet air stirred faintly to the promise of the night. the agent was putting up his switchlights from the kitchen came a cheerful clatter of tinware now we buy some dry goods and wet said leo they went into the store that decisions come shrilled pappy in tremulous excitement is too darn bad registered letters from land office for taylor and lake besides another for lake not registered that one from the land office too said je didn't i just tell you say it's a shame why don't some of you fellers gosh if i was only young it's a travesty on justice exclaimed leo indignantly there's really no doubt but that they decided for lake i suppose not a bit he's got the law with him then him and the register is old cronies guess this other letter is from him unofficial likely jeff seated himself on a box how long has this lake got to do his

filing in, Pappy. Thirty days from the time he signs the receipts for this letter, darn him. Someone ought to kidnap him, said Leo. Why, that's illegal. Jeff nursed his knee, turned his head to one side and chanted thoughtfully, said the little Leo, best, I'm going to be a horse, and on my middle fingernails to run my earthly course. He broke off and smiled at Leo indulgently. Leo glanced at him sharply. this was Jeff's war song a foretime, but it was to Pappy that Jeff spoke. Dad, you're a better-in-any surgeon.

Wish you'd go out and look at Leo's horse. His ankles all swelled up. I'll be mixing me up a toddy. If Ma's got any hot water, I'm feeling kind or squeamish. Hot-doddy, this weather? Some folks has queer taste, grumbled Pappy. Excuse me. Me and Leo go look at the Charlie horse.

That bottle under the shelf, is the best. He bustled out, but Jeff caught Ballinger by the sleeve. Will you hold my garments while I stone Stephen? He hissed. I will, said Leo, meeting Jeff's eye, hid him once for me. Move the lever to the right, you old retrograde, and get Pappy to gyrating on his axis some fifteen or twenty minutes. You listening reverently? Meanwhile, I'll make the necessary incantations. Get, don't look sublamed intelligent, or Pappy be suspicious. Bransford hastened to the kitchen. Ma, Sanders, a brunt fell on me yesterday, and my poor body is one big stone bruise. Can I borrow some boiling water to mix a small prescription

or maybe seven? One, when you first feel like it and repeat at intervals, the doctor says. Don't you get full in my house, Jeff Bramford, or I'll feed you to the hogs. You take three doses, and that'll be a plenty for you. Jeff put the steaming kettle on the rusty store stove, used as a waste paper basket through the long summer. Touching off the papers with a match, he smashed an empty box and put it in. Then he went into the post office corner and laid impious hands on the United States mail. First, he steamed open Lake's unregistered letter from the land office. It was merely a few typewritten lines, having no reference to the butter bowl.

in closing the plat of TP-14E of First Guide Meridian East Range south of third standard parallel south as per request. He paused to consider. His roving eye lit on the wall where the annual report of the Governor of New Mexico hung from a nail. The very thing, he said, pasted in the report was a folded map of the territory. This he cut out, refolded it until it slipped in the violated envelope, dabbed the flap neatly with Pappy's mucilage, and returned the letter to its proper pigeonhole. He replenished the fire with another box, subjected Lake's registered letter to the steaming process, and opened it with delicate caution. It was the decision, it was in Lake's favor, and it went into the fire. substituting for it the plant of TP-14 and the accompanying letter, he resealed it with workman-like neatness and then restored it with a final inspection. The editor sits on the madhouse floor

and blaze with the straws of his air, he murmured, beaming with complacent pride and reaching for the bottle. Pappy and Leo found him with his hands to the blaze shivering. I feel like I was going to have a chill, he complained. but with a few remedial measures he recuperated sufficiently to set off for rainbow after supper. Charlie's ankle seems better, said Leo artlessly. Don't you lay no stress on Charlie's ankle, said Jeff in a burst of confidence, where ignorance is bliss, tis folly to be otherwise. Just let Charlie's ankle slip your memory.

The following day, Bransford drew rein at West Pringle's shack and summoned him forth. Mr. John Wesley also ran Pringle. He said impressively, I have taken a horse ride over here to put you through your cataclysm. Will you truthfully answer the ribbuses, I shall now propound, do the best of your ability, and govern yourself accordingly till the surface of Hades congeals to glistening birds, and that with no unseemly curiosity. Is it serious? asked Pringle anxiously. This is straight talk. wringle took a long look and held up his hand i will he said soberly john wesley do you or do you not believe stephen w lake of agua chiquity to be a low-down coniferous skunk by birth inclination and training i do john wesley do you or do you not possess the full confidence and affection of felix the night-auch otherwise known and designated as john taylor junior of the butter bowl, Esquire. I do. Do you, John Wesley Pringle, esteem me, Jeff Bransford,

irrespective of color, sex, or previous condition of turpitude, to be such a one as may be safely tied to when all the hitching posts done pulled up, and will you now promise to love, honor, and obey me, till the cows come home, or till further orders? I do, I will, and may God have mercy on my soul. Here are your powders, then. Do you go and locate the above-mentioned and described Felix, and apart to him, under the strict seal of secrecy, these tidings, to wit, namely, that you have a presentiment, almost amounting to conviction, that the butter-bowl contest is decided in Lake's favor, but that your further presentiment is that said Lake will not use his prior right. If Taylor should get such a decision from the land office, don't let him or Felix

say a word to no one. If Mr. B. Bodie should ask, tell him t'was a map or land laws or something. Moreover, said Felix he is not to stab, cut, pierce, or otherwise mutilate, said Lake, nor to wickedly, maliciously, feloniously, and unlawfully fire at or upon the person of said lake with any rifle pistol musket or gun the same being then and there loaded with powder and with balls shot bullets or slugs of lead or other metal you see to that personal i'd go to him myself but he don't know me well enough to have confidence in my divinations you promulgate these prophecies as your sole personal device and construction sabbe then thirty days after lake signs a receipt for his decision and you will take steps to inform yourself of that you sidle casually down to roswell with old man taylor and see that he puts preemption papers on the butter-bowl three the first knowledge lake had of the state of affairs was when the steam-pitch-fork punchers informally extended to him the right hand of fellowship hithers too withheld under the impression that he had generously abstained from pushing home his vantage When, in the mid-flood of his unaccountable popularity, the situation dawned upon him,

he wisely held his peace. He was a victim of the accomplished fact. Taylor had already filed his preemption, so Lake reaped volunteer harvest of goodwill, bearing his honors in graceful silence. On Lake's next trip to Escondito, Pappy Sanders laid aside his marked official a tour. Lake stayed several days, praised the Rosebush and Moss Sanders cookery, and indulged in much leisurely converse with Pappy. Thereafter, he had a private conference with Stratton, the register of the Roswell Land Office, his suspicion fell quite naturally on Felix and on Jeff as accessory during the fact.

So it was that when Jeff and Leo took in Roswell Fair, where Jeff won a near prize at the roping mat, Hobart, the United States Marshal, came to their room. After introducing himself, he said, Mr. Stratton would like to see you, Mr. Bransford. Why, that's all right, said Jeff G. Neely. Some of my very great grandfokes was Dakota's, and I've got my name and who's Sue, but I'm not proud. Trot him around.

Exact who is Stratton, anyhow. He's the register of the land office, and he wants to see you there on a very particular business. I'd go if I was sure. you, said the marshal significantly. Oh, that way, said Jeff. Is this an arrest, or do you just give me this

invite, semi-officiously? You accuse yourself, sir? Were you expect an arrest? That sounds like a bad conscience. Don't you worry about my conscience. If I've ever done anything I'm sorry for, I'm glad of it. Now, this Stratton party,

is he some aged and venerable? Because if he is, I wave ceremony and seek him in his lair, at the witching hour of two this tardy and if not not he's old enough even if there were no other reasons never mind any other reasons it shall never be said that i fail to reverence grey hairs i'll be there i guess i'll just wait and see that you go said the marshal have you got any papers for me asked jeff politely no this is my room said jeff this is my fist this is me this is my door. Open at Leo. Mr. Hobart, you will now make rapid forward motions with your feet, alternately, like a man removing his company from where it is not desired, or I'll go through you like a domesticated cyclone. See you at two sharp. Hobart obeyed. He was a good judge of men.

Jeff closed the door. We went upon the battlefield, he said plaintively, before us and behind us, and every which away we looked, we seen a rosary, rhinus we went into another field behind us and before us and every which way we look we seen a rhinosaurus mr lake has been evidently browsing and peering around and poor old pappy not being posted has likely been narrating about charlie's ankle and how i got a chill warm em it looks that way confessed leo did you have a chill jeff jeff's eyes crinkled not sinai as i am now but chucks i've been in worst emergencies and I always emerged. Thanks, B, I can always do my best when I have to. Oh, what a tangled web we weave when we don't keep in practice. If I'd just come out straight forward and declare myself to Pappy,

he'd tightened up his drawstrings and forgot all about my chill. But no, well, as I know from long experience, that good old human nature only too willing to do the right thing and the fair thing, if somebody'd only tip it off to him, I must play a lone hand and not even call from my partner's best. Well, I'm going to ramify round and scrutinize this here Stratton's numbers, equipments, and disposition. Meet me in the office at the fatal hour.

The Marshal wore a mocking smile, Stratton, large, florid, well-fed, and eminently respectable, turned in his revolving chair with a severe and majestic motion, adjusted his glasses in a prolonged and offensive, examination and frowned portentously fine large day isn't it observed jeff affably beautiful little city you have here he sank into a chair smile and attitude were of pleased and sprightly anticipation a faint flush showed beneath stratons neatly trimmed mutton chops such jaunty bearing was exasperating to offended virtue ah who is this other person mr hobart oh pardon my real chaff sprang up and bowed brisk apology. Mr. Stratton, allow me to present Mr. Ballinger, a worthy representative of the yellow press.

Mr. Stratton, Mr. Ballinger. I have a communication to make to you, said the displeased Mr. Stratton, in icy tones, which in your own interest should be extremely private. The Marshal whispered to him. Stratton gave Leo a fiercely intimidating glare. "'Communicate away,' said Jeff airily. "'Excommunicate if you want to.' "'Mr. Ballinger, as a citizen, is part owner of this office.

"'If you want to bar him, you'll have to change the venue to your private residence, "'and then I won't come.' "'Very well, sir.' Mr. Stratton rose, inflated his chest and threw back his head. His voice took on a steady roll. "'Mr. Bransford, you stand under grave displeasure of the law. You are grievously suspected of being cognizant of, if not actually accessory, to the robbery of the United States mail by John Taylor, Jr. at Escondito on the 18th day of last October. You may not be aware of it, but you have an excellent chance of serving a term in the penitentiary.

Jeff pressed his hands between his knees and leaned forward. I'm sure I'd never be satisfied there, he said with conviction. His white teeth flashed in an ingratiatory smile. But why suspect young John? Why not old John? He paused, looking at the register attentively. Hmm, dear from Indiana, I believe, Mr. Stratton, he said. The elder Taylor on the day in question is fully accounted for, said Hobart.

Young Taylor claims to have passed the night at Willow Springs alone, but no one saw him from breakfast time the 17th till noon on the 19th. he rarely ever has anyone with him when he's alone that may account for them not seeing him at willow suggested jeff he did not look at hobart but regarded straton with an air of deep meditation the register paced the floor slowly ponderously with an impressive pause at each turn tapping his left hand with his eye-glass to score his points he had ample time to go to escandito in return the envelope in which mr lake's copy of his own of this office's decision in the Lake Taylor contest was enclosed, has been examined, it bears unmistakable signs of having been tampered with. Turning to mark the effect of these tactics, he became aware of his victim's contemplative gaze. It disconcerted him.

He resumed his pacing. Jeff followed him with a steady eye. In the same mail I sent Mr. Lake another letter. The envelope was unfortunately destroyed. mr lake suspecting nothing a map had been substituted for its contents and they in turn were substituted for the decision in the registered letter with the evident intention of depriving mr lake of his prior right to file by george it sounds probable jeff laughed derisively so that's it and here we all fought lake let it go out of giddy generosity my stars but won't he get the horse smile when the boys find out Stratton controlled himself with an effort. We have decided not to push the case against you if you will tell what you know, he began.

Jeff lifted his brows. We? And who's we? You two? I should have thought this was a post-office lay. We are investigating the affair, exclaimed Hobart. I see, as private individuals. Yes, yes, does a lake pay you by the day or by the job?

Stratton, blazing with anger, smote his palm heavily with his fist. Young man, young man, your insolence is unbearable. We are trying to spare you, as you had no direct interest in the matter, and doubtless concealed your guilty knowledge through a mistaken and distorted sense of honor. But you tempt us. You tempt us. You don't seem to realize the precarious situation in which you stand. What I don't see, said Jeff in puzzled tones, is why you bother to spare me at all.

If you can prove this, why don't you cinch me and Felix both? Why do you want me to tell you what you already know? But if you can't prove it, who the hell cares what you suspect? We will arrest you, said Stratton thickly, just as soon as we can make out the papers. Turn your wolf loose, you forefleshers. You may make me trouble, but you can't prove anything. Speaking of trouble, how about you, Mr. Stratton?

As a spring leaps, released from highest tension, face and body and voice, flashed from passive indolence to sudden startling attack. His arm lashed swiftly out as if to deliver the swordsman's stabbing thrust, the poised body followed up to push the stroke home. You think you're secret safe, don't you? It's been some time ago. Words only, yet it might have been a very swords point,

past Stratton's guard, for the register flinched, staggered, his arrogant face grew mottled, his arm went up. He fell back a step, silent, quivering, leaning heavily on a chair. The marshal gave him a questioning glance. Jeff kept on. You're prominent in politics, business, society, the church. You've a family to think of. It's up to you, Mr. Stratton. Is it worthwhile? Had we better drop it with a dull, sickening thud? Stratton collapsed into the chair, a shapeless bundle, turning a shriveled, feeble face to the marshal in voiceless imploring. Unhesitating, Hobart put a hand on his shoulder. That's all right, old man, we won't give you away. Brace up.

He nodded Jeff to the door. You win, he said. Leo followed on tiptoe. Why, the poor old duck, said Jeff remorsefully in the passage. Wish I hadn't come down on him so hard. I overdid it that time. Still, if I hadn't, at the Honda Bridge, Jeff looked back and waved a hand.

Goodbye, old town. Now we go. Gallopi trot, gallopy-gallopy-trop, he sang, and the ringing hoofs kept time and tune. Florence, my headable Geneva, Jane, she came home in the wind and the rain, she came home in the rain and the snow, ain't going to leave my home any more.

Jeff, said the mystified Ballinger, spurring up beside him, what has the gray-haired register done? Has the murder stained his hands with gore? Jeff raised his bridle hand. Gee, Leo, I don't know. I'd just taken a chance. End of Prologue. Chapter 1 of Bransford of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Rhodes. This liverbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 1, the pitcher that went to the well. When I bend my head low and listen at the ground, I can hear big voices that I used to know, stirring in dim places, faint and restless sound, I remember how it was when the grass began to grow.

Song of the Wandering Dust, Anna Hampstead Branch The pines thinned as she neared rainbow rim, the turfy glades grew wider. She had glimpses of open country beyond, until at last, crossing a little spit of high ground, she came to the fairest spot in all her voyage of exploration and discovery. She sank down on a fallen log with a little sigh of delight. The steep bank of a little canyon broke away at her feet, a canyon which here marked the frontier of the pines, its farther side overgrown with mahogany bush and chaparral, a canyon that fell in long, sinuous curves from the silent mystery of forest on rainbow crest behind her to widen just below into a rolling land

parked with green-black powder-puffs of juniper and cedar, and so passed on to mystery again, twisting away through the foals of the low and bare gray hills to the westward, ere the last dupendous plunge over the rim to the low desert, a mile toward the level of the wading sea. Facing the explorer across the little can, a clear spring bubbled from the hillside and fell with pleasant murmur and tinkle to a pool below, fringed with lush emerald, a spring massed about with wild grapevine, shining reeds of arrowweed, a tangle of grateful greenery, jostling eagerly for the life-giving water. Draped in clinging vines, slim acacias struggled up through the jungle.

The exquisite fragrance of their purple bells gave a final charm to the fainting. But the larger vision, the nearer Elfin beauty dwindled, was lost, forgotten. A far through a narrow cleft in the gray westward hills, the explorer's eye leaped out over a bottomless gulf to a glimpse of shining leagues midway of the desert greatness, an ever-widening triangle that rose against the peaceful west to long foothill reaches, to a misty mountain parapet, far beckoning, whispering of secrets, things dreamed of unseen, beyond the framed and slender arc of vision, a land of enchantment and mystery, decked with strong barbaric colors, blue and red and yellow, brown and green and gray, whose changing ebb and flow by some potent

sorcery of atmosphere, distance and angle, altered daily, powerly, deep and deep, fading, combining into new and fantastic lines and shapes, to melt again as swiftly to others, yet more bewildering. The explorer, it may be mentioned in passing, that any other would have found that fairest prospect even more wonderful than did the explorer. Miss Eleanor Hoffman. We will attempt no clear description of Miss Eleanor Hoffman. Dusky, beautiful she was, crisp, fresh, and sparkling, tall, vigorous, active, strong, yet she was more than merely beautiful, warm and frank and young, brave and kind and true. Perhaps even more than soft curves, lips, glory of hair, or bewildering eyes, or altogether, her chiefest charm was her manner,

her frank friendliness, earth was sweet to her, sweeter for her. This, by way of a side and all to no manner of good. You have no picture of her in your mind. Remember only that she was young, the stars to drink from, and the sky to dance on. Young and happy and therefore beautiful, that the sun was shining in a cloudless sky, the south wind is sweet and fresh, buds in the willow. The piece was rent and shivered by strange sounds as of a giant falling downstairs. There was a crash of breaking boughs beyond the canyon, a glint of color, a swift black body hurleding madly through the shrubbery. The girl shrank back. There was no time for thought, hardly for alarm. On the farther verge the bushes parted, an apparition hurled

arching through the sunshine down the sheer hill, a glorious and acrobatic horse, his black head low between his flashing feet, red nostrils wide with rage and fear, foam flex white on the black shoulders, a tossing mane, a rider straight and tall, superb, to all seeming and integral part of the horse pitch he never so wildly. The girl held her breath through the splintered seconds. She thrilled at the shock and storm of them, straining muscles and white hoofs, lurching, stumbling, sliding, lunging, careening in perilous arcs. She saw stones that rolled with them, or bounded after, a sombrero whirled above the dust and tumult like a dilatery parachute.

A six-shooter jolted up into the air. Through the dust clouds there were glimpses of a watchful face, hair blown back above it. A broken rain snapped beside it, saddle-strings streamed out behind, a supple body that swung from curve to easy curve against shock and plunge, that swayed and poised and clung, and held its desperate dominion still. The saddle slipped forward, with a motion incredibly swift, as a hat is whipped off in a gust of wind. It whisked over withers and neck, and was under the furious feet, swifter the rider. Cat quick, he swerved, lit on his feet, leaped aside.

alas oh right or beyond compare undefeated champion pride of rainbow alas that such things should be recorded he leaped aside to shun the black frantic death at his shoulder his feet were in the treacherous binds he toppled grasped vainly at a necacia catapulted out and down head first so lit crumpled and fell with a prodigious splash into the waters of the pool ay to me a lama the blankets lay strewn along the hill but observe that the long lead rope of the hackamore a hackamore of copperly hakema is for your better understanding merely a rope halter was coiled at the saddle-horn held there by a stout horn-string as the black reached the level the saddle was at his heels to kick was obvious to go away not less so but this new terror quung to the maddened creature in his frenzied flight between his legs in the air at his heels his hip his neck a low tree leaned from the hillside the aerial saddle caught in the forks of it the bronco's head was jerked round he was pulled to his haunches overthrown but the tough horn string broke the freed coil snapped out at him he scrambled up and bunched his glorious muscles in a vain and furious effort to outrun the rope that dragged at his heels, and so passed from sight beyond the next curve. Waste deep in the pool sat the hatless horseman, or perhaps horseless

horseman, were the jester term, steeped in a profound calm. That last phrase has a familiar sound. Mark Twain's doubtless, but all things considered steeped is decidedly the word. One gloved hand was in the water, the other in the muddy margin of the pool. He watched the final evolution of his late mount with meditative interest. The saddle was freed at last, but its ex-occupant still sat there, lost in thought. Blood trickled, unnoted, down his forehead. The last stone followed him into the pool. The echoes died on the hills. The spring resumed its pleasant murmur, but the tinkle of its fall was broken by the mimic waves of the pool. Save for this troubled sloshing against the banks,

the slow settling dust and the contemplative bust of the one-time centaur, no trace was left to mark the late disastrous invasion. The invaders' dreamy and speculative gaze followed the dust of the trailing rope. He opened his lips twice or thrice and spoke, after several futile attempts, in a voice mild but clearly earnest. Oh, you little hippus! The spellbound girl rose. Her hand was at her throat, her eyes were big and round,

and her astonished lips were drawn to a round red o. Sharp ears heard the rustle of her skirts, her soft gasp of amazement. The mer-man turned his head briskly, his eyes met hers. One gloved hand brushed his breast. brow. A broad streak of mud appeared there, over which the blood meandered uncertainly. He looked up at the maid in silence. In silence the maid looked down at him. He nodded with a pleasant smile. Good morning, he said casually. At this cheerful greeting, the astounded maid was near to tumbling after, like Jill of the song. Uh, good morning, she gasped. Silence. The merman reclined gently

against the bank with a comfortable air of satisfaction. The color came flooding back to her startled face. Oh, are you hurt? she cried. A puzzled frown struggled through the mud. Hurt? He echoed. Who? Me? Why, no. Leechwise, I guess not.

He wiggled his fingers, raised his arms, wagged his head doubtfully and slowly, first sideways and then up and down, shook himself guardedly, and finally raised tentative boot, hips to the surface. After this painstaking inspection, he settled contentedly back again. Oh, no, I'm all right, he reported. Only I lost a big, black, fine, young, nice horse somehow. You ain't seen nothing of him, have you? Then why don't you get out? She demanded, I believe you're hurt.

Get out? Why, yes ma'am, certainly. Why not? But the girl was already beginning to clamber down, grasping the shrubbery to aid in the descent. Now, the bank was steep and sheer, so the myrman rose, tactfully clutching the grape vines behind him as a plausible excuse for turning his back. It followed as a corollary of this generous act that he must needs be lame, which he accordingly became. As this mishap became acute, his quick eyes roved down the canyon, where he saw what gave him pause, and he groaned sincerely under his breath. For the black horse had taken to the parked-up lens, the dragging rope had tangled in a snaggy tree-roop, and he was tracing weary circles in bootless effort to be free. Tactful still, the dripping merman hobbled to the nearest shade, wherefrom the luckless black

horse should be invisible, eclipsed by the intervening ridge, and there sank down in a state of exhaustion, his back to a friendly tree trunk. End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 of Bransford of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Rhodes This Libre Box recording is in the public domain. Chapter 2 First Aid O woman, in our hours of ease, uncertain, coy and hard to please, but seen too oft, familiar with thy face, we first endure, then pity, then embrace.

a moment later the girl was beside him pity in her eyes let me see that cut on your head she said she dropped on her knee and parted the hair with a gentle touch why you're real breathed the injured near centaur beaming with wonder and gratification she sat down limply and gave way to wild laughter so are you she retorted why that is exactly what i was thinking i thought maybe i was asleep in having an extraordinary dream. That wound on your head is not serious, if that's all. She brushed back a wisp of hair that blew across her eyes. I hurt this head just the other day, observed the bedraggled victim as one who has an assortment of heads from which to choose. He pulled off his soaked gloves and regarded them ruefully, them that go down to deep waters. That was a regular triumph of matter over mind, wasn't it? It's a wonder you're alive. My! how frightened I was.

Aren't you hurt? Truly? Ribs or anything? The patient's elbows made a convulsive movement to guard the threatened ribs. Oh, no, ma'am. I hadn't heard a bit. Indeed, I ain't, he said truthfully. But his eyes had the languid droop of one who says the thing that is not.

Don't you worry none about me? Not one bit. Sorry, I frightened you. That black horse now. He stopped to consider fully the case of the black horse. Well, you see, ma'am, that black horse, he had exactly right plumbed gentle. His eyelids drooped again. The girl considered, she believed him, both that he was not badly hurt,

and that the black horse was not exactly gentle, and her suspicions were aroused. His slow drawl was getting slower, his cowboy ease broader, a mode of speech quite inconsistent with that first sprightly remark about the little Eopis. what manner of cowboy was this from whose tongue a learned scientific term tripped spontaneously in so stressful a moment who quoted scraps of the litany unaware also her own eyes were none of the slowest she had noted that limping did not begin until he was clear of the pool still that might happen if one were excited but this one had been singularly calm more than usual calm she mentally noted. Of course, if he really were badly hurt, which she didn't believe one bit, a little bruised

and jarred, maybe, the only thing for her to do would be to go back to camp and get help. That meant the renewal of Lake's hateful attentions and, for the other girls, the sharing of her find. She stole another look at her find and thrilled with all the pride of the discoverer. No doubt he was shaken and bruised, after all. He must be satisfied. suffering. What a splendid writer he was! What made you so absurd? Why didn't you get out of the water, then? If you were not hurt, she snapped suddenly. The drooped lids raised. Brown eyes looked steadily into brown eyes. I didn't want to wake up, he said. The candor of this explanation threw

her for the moment into a vivid and becoming confusion. The dusky roses leaped to her cheeks, the long dark lashes quivered and fell. then she rose to the occasion and how about the little iopas she demanded that doesn't seem to go well with some of your other talk oh he regarded her with pained but unflinching innocence the latin you mean why ma'am that's most all the latin i know that and some more big words in that song i learned that song off of frank john just like a pole parrot sing it and iopas ain't latin it's greek why ma'am i can't just now I'm so muddy, but I'll tell it to you. Maybe I'll sing it to you some other time." A side-long glance accompanied this little suggestion. The girl's face was blank and non-committal, so he resumed.

It goes like this. Said the little lopas, I'm going to be a horse, and on my middle finger-nails to run my earthly chorus. No, that wasn't the first. It begins, There was once a little animal no bigger than a fox, and on five toes he scampered. Of course you know, ma'am. Frank John, he told me about it, that horses were little like that way back, and this one, he said his silly head that he was going to be a really, truly horse, like the song says. And folks told him he couldn't, couldn't possibly be done, nohow.

And sure enough, he did. It's a foolish song, really. I only sing parts of it when I feel like that, like it couldn't be done, and I was going to do it, you know? The boys call it my song. Look here, ma'am. He fished in his vest pocket and produced tobacco and papers and matches, last of all a tiny turquoise horse an inch long. I had a jeweler man put five toes on his feet once

to make him be a little locus. Going to make a watch-charm of him sometime? He's a lucky little leopis, I think. Peso gave him to me when, well, never mind when. Pesos a mescalero Indian, you know, chief of police at the agency. He gingerly dropped the little horse into her eager palm. It was a singularly grotesque and angular little beast, high-stepping, high-headed,

with a level stare, at once complacent and haughty. Despite the first unprepossessing rigidity of outline, there was somehow a sprightly air, something endearing in the stiff, purposed stride the alert inquiring ears the stern and watchful eye each tiny hoof was faintly graven to semblance of five tinier toes there the work showed fresh the cunning little monster prison grime was on him she groomed and polished at his dingy size until the wonderful colour shone out triumphant what is it that makes him such a deer oh i know it's something well childlike you know think of a grown-up child that toiled with pride and joy at the making of him dear me how many lifetime since and fondly put him by as a complete horse she held him up in the sun the ingrate met her caress with the same abdurate and indomitable glare she laughed her rapturous delight there how much better you look oh you darling aren't you absurd straight-backed stiff-legged thick-necked square-headed and that ridiculously baleful eye it's too high up and too far forward you know and your ears are too big and you have such a malignant look never mind now that you're all nice and clean i'm going to reward you her lips just brushed him the lucky little leopis the owner of the lucky little horse was not able to repress one swift dismal glance at his

his own vast dishevelment, nor, as his shrinking hands, entirely of their own volition, crept stealthily to hiding, the slightest upward rolling of a hopeful eye toward the leaping waters of the spring. But if one might judge from her sedate and matter-of-fact tones, that eloquent glance was wasted on the girl. You ought to take better care of him, you know, she said, as she restored the little monster to his owner. Then she laughed, Hasn't he a fierce and warlike appearance, though? Sure, that's resolution. Look at those legs, said the owner fondly.

He spurns the ground. He's going somewhere's. He's going to be a horse. And them ears, one cocked forward and the other back, strictly unequidado. He'll make it. He'll certainly do to take along. Yes, ma'am, I'll take right good care of him. He regarded the homely beast with awe.

He swathed him in cigarette papers with tenderest. care. I'll leave him at home after this. He might get hurt. I might sometimes want to give him to somebody. The girl sprang up. Now I must get some water and wash that head, she announced briskly. Oh, no, I can't let you do that. I can walk. I ain't hurt a bit. I keep telling you. In proof of which he walked to the pool with a palpably clever assumption of steadiness. The girl fluttered solicitous at his elbow. Then she ran ahead. climbed up to the spring and extended a firm cool hand which he took shamelessly and so came to the fairy waterfall here he made himself presentable as to face and hands it is just possible there was a certain expectancy in his eye as he neared the clothes of these labors but if there were it passed unnoted the girl bathed the injured head with her handkerchief and brushed back his hair with a dainty girl and brushed back his hair with a dainty girl

motion that thrilled him until the color rose beneath a tan there was a glint of gray in the waving black hair she noted she stepped back to regard her handiwork now you look better she said approvingly then slightly flurried not without a memory of a previous and not dissimilar remark of hers she was off up the hill whence despite his shocked protest she brought back the lost gun and hat her eyes were sparkling when she returned her face glowing ignoring his reproachful gaze she wrung out her handkerchief led the patient firmly down the hill into his saddle made him trim off a saddle-string and bound the handkerchief to the wound she fitted the sombrero gently there don't this head feel better now she queried gaily with fine disregard for grammar and now what won't you come back to can't you come back to can with me mr lake will be glad to put you up or to let you have a horse do you live far away i do hope you are not one of those rosebud men mr she bit her speech off midward no men there except this mr lake asked the cowboy idly oh yes there's mr herbert he's gone riding with letty and mr white but it was mr lake who got up the camping party mother and aunt lot and a crowd of us girls la l'lose girls you know, mother and I are visiting Mr. Lake's sister. He's going to give us a masquerade ball when we get back next week.

The cowboy looked down his nose for consultation, and his nose gave a meditated little tweak. What lake is it? There's some several lakes around here. Is it lake of Agua Chiquita? Where's his hair decolete? Talks like he had a washboard in his throat. Taylor made face.

walks like a duck on stilts, general sort of powder pigeon effect? At this envenomed description, Miss Eleanor Hoffman promptly choked. I don't know anything about your Aguar of Jakita, never heard of the place before. He is a banker in Arcadia. He keeps a general store there. You must know him, surely. So far, her voice was rather stern and purposefully resentful, as became Mr. Lake's guest. but there were complications rankling memories of mr lake of unwelcome attentions persistently forced upon her she spoiled the rebuke by adding tartly

but i think he is the man you mean and felt her wrongs avenged the cowboy's face cleared well i don't use arcadia much you see i mostly ranged down rainbow river arcadia folks why they're mostly newcomers health seekers and people just live living on their incomes, not working folks much, except the railroaders and lumbermen. Now, about getting home, you see, ma'am, some of the boys are riding down that way. He jerked his thumb to indicate the last flight of the imperfectly gentle horse, and they're right apt to see my runaway eopas, and sure to see the rope drag. So they'll likely amble along the back drag to see how much who's hurt. So I guess I'd better stay here. they may be along most any time thank you kindly just the same of course if they don't come at all is your camp far not not very said eleanor the mere fact was that miss ellenor had set out ostensibly for a sketching expedition with another girl

had turned aside to explore and exploring had fetched a circuit that had left her much closer to her starting-place than to her goal he misinterpreted the slight hesitation Well, ma'am, I thank you again, but I mustn't be keeping you longer. I really ought to see you safe back to your camp, but you'll understand, under the circumstances, you'll excuse me? He did not want to implicate Mr. Lake, so he took a limping step forward to justify his rudeness. And you hardly able to walk? Ridiculous. What I ought to do was to go back to camp and get someone, get Mr. White to help you. Thus, at once, accepting his unspoken explanation and offering her own apology in turn, she threw

aside the air of guarded hostility that had marked the last minutes, and threw herself anew into this joyous adventure. When, or if, your friends find you, won't it hurt you to ride? she asked, and smiled deliberate encouragement. I can be as modest as anybody when there's anything to be modest about, but in this case, I guess I'll now declare that I can ride anything that a saddle will stay on. I reckon, he added reflectively, the boys will have rot smart to say about me being throwed. But you weren't thrown. You rode magnificently. Her eyes flashed admiration.

Yes, um, that's what I hoped you'd say, said the admired one complacently. Go on, ma'am, say it again. It was splendid. The saddle turned. That's all. He slowly surveyed the scene of his late exploit. Yes, that was some riding for a while, he admitted, but you see, that saddle now scarred up there that way? Why, they'll think the elpest wasted me and then drag the saddle off under a tree. These ways they'll say they think so frequent. Best not to let on and to make no excuses. It'll be easier that way. We're great on going here. That's most all the fun we have. We sure got this joshing game down fine, just wondering what all the boys'll say. That was why I didn't get out of the water at first, before, before I thought I was asleep,

you know. So you'll actually tell a lie to keep from being thought a liar? I'm disappointed in you. Why, ma'am, I won't say anything. They'll do the talking. It'll be deceitful just the same, she began, and checked herself suddenly. A small twinge struck her. at the thought of poor Maude, really sketching on Thumb Butte, and now disconsolately

wondering what had become of lunch and fellow artists. But she quelled this pang with a sage thought of the greatest good to the greatest number, and clapped her hands in delight. Oh, what a silly I am! To be sure I've got a lunch basket up there, but I forgot all about it in the excitement. I'm sure there's plenty for two. Shall I bring it down to you, or can you climb up if I help you. There's water in the canteen, and it's beautiful up there." I can make it, I guess," said the invited guest, the consummate and unblushing hypocrite. Make it he did, with her strong hand to aid, and the glen rang to the laughter of them. While behind them, all unnoted, Johnny Deanez, reigned up on the hillside, took one sweeping

glance at that joyous progress, the scarred hillside, the saddle, and the dejected eopas, ground, grinned comprehension, and discreetly withdrew. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of Bransford of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Rhodes. This liverbox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 3, Maxwellton Bray's. Oh, the song, the song in the blood. Magic walks the forest, there's bewitchment on the air, spring is on the flood.

The gypsy heart. well sir this here feller he lit a cigarette and throwed away the match and it fell in a powder keg and do you know more'n half that powder burned up before they could put it out yes sir while cat thompson eleanor opened her basket and spread its tempting wares with pretty hostly care or is there such a word as hostessly there already mr blank i declare this is too absurd we don't even know each other's names. Her conscious eye fell upon the ampleness of the feast, amazing since it purported to have been put up for one alone, and her face lit up with mischievous delight. She curtsied, If you please, I'm the ultimate consumer. He rose, bowing gravely, I am the personal devil, glad to meet you. Oh, I've heard of you, remarked to the ultimate consumer sweetly, she sat down and extended her hand across the spotless linen.

Mr. Lake says, the personal devil flushed. It was not because of the proffered hand, which he took unhesitatingly, and held rather firmly. The blush was unmistakably caused by anger. There is no connection, whatever, he stated grimly enough, between the truth and Mr. Lake's organs of speech. Oh, cried the ultimate consumer triumphant. So you're Mr. Beebe. Bransford.

Jeff Bransford, corrected the personal devil crustily. He willfully relapsed to his former slip-shod speech. Baby, he's gone to the Pecos work, M. and Ballinger. Mr. John Wesley also ran Pringle's gone to Old Mexico to bring back another bunch of black, long-orned chihuahuas. You now behold before you the last remaining rose of rosebud. But why, Bibi? Why does Mr. Lake hate all of you so, Mr. Bransford?

Because we are infamous scoundrels. Why, B.B. I can't eat with one hand, Mr. Bransford, she said demurely. He looked at the prisoned hand with a start and released it grudgingly. Help yourself, said his hostess cheerfully. There's sandwiches and roast beef and olives for a mild beginning. Why, B.B., he said doggedly. Help yourself to the salad. and then please pass it over this way and thank you why bibi oh very well then because of the lilly opus you know and other things you said i see said the aggrieved bransford because i'm not from ohio like bieb i'm not supposed oh if you're going to be fussy i'm from california myself mr bransford out in the country at that don't let's quarrel please we were having such a lovely time and i'll tell you a secret if you're

It's ungrateful of me, and I ought not to, but I don't care. I don't like Mr. Lake much since we came on this trip, and I don't believe. She paused, pinkly conscious of the unconventional statement involved in this sudden unbelief. What Lake says about us? A much-molified Bransford to finish the sentence for her. She nodded. Then, to change the subject, you do speak cowboy talk one minute, and all boogie, polite, and proper the next, you know? why bad associations said bransford ambiguously also for tis my nature too as little dogs they do delight to bark and bite that beef sure tastes like more

and now you may smoke while i pack up announced the girl when dessert was over at long last and please there's something i want to ask you about will you tell me truly hmm you sing yes a little if you will sing for me afterward certainly with pleasure all right then what's the story about eleanor gave him her eyes did you rob the post-office at escandito really now it might well be embarrassing to be asked if you had committed a felony but there was that behind the words of this naive inquiry in look in tone and in mental attitude an unflinching and implicit faith that since he had seen fit to do this thing it must needs have been the right and wise thing to do which stirred the felon's pulses to a pleasant flutter and caused a certain tough and powerful muscle to thump foolishly at his ribs the delicious intimacy the baseless faith was sweet to him sure i did he answered lightly lake is one talkative little man isn't he by five but shucks what can you expect the beast will do after his kind and you'll tell me about it after i smoke got to study up some plausible excuses you know she studied him as she packed it was a good face lined strong expressive vivid gay resolute confident alert reckless perhaps there were lines of it disused fallen to abeyance what was well with the man had probably What was ill with him had faded and dimmed.

He was not a young man, 37-38, she was 24, but there was an unquenchable boyishness about him, despite the few frosty hairs at his temple. He bore his hard years jauntily, youth danced in his eyes. The explorer nodded to herself, well pleased. He was interesting, different. The tale suffered from Bransford's telling. as any tale will suffer when marred by the inevitable barbarous modesty of its hero. It was a long story, cozily confidential, and there were interruptions.

The sun was low ere it was done. Now the song, said Jeff, and then, he did not complete the sentence, his face clouded. What shall I sing? Well, how can I tell? What you will? What can I know about good songs, or anything else? responded Bransford in sudden moodiness and dejection for after the song the end of everything he flinched at the premonition of irrevocable loss the girl made no answer this is what she sang no you shall not be told of her voice perhaps there is a voice that you remember that echoes to you through the dusty years how would you like to describe that

oh sandy has money and sandy has land and sandy has housing set fine and sick-hand but i'd rather had jamie with knock in his hand than sandy with all of his housing and land my father looks sulky my mither looks sur they gloom upon jamie because he is poor i love them bath dearly as a daughter should but i love them not half so sweet dear jamie as you i sit up my cribby i spin up my wheel i think of the laddie that loves me so wheel oh he ha' bet a saxpans he break it in twas and he gave me the half dead er he gay de wa he said lo me lang lassie though i gang away he said lo me lang lassie though i gang away land summer is comin cold winters away and i wed with dami in spite of the may jeff's back was to a tree his hat over his eyes he pushed it up thank you he said and then quite directly. Are you rich? Not very, said Eleanor, a little breathless at the blunt query. I'm going to be rich, said Jeff steadily.

I'm going to be a horse, quote the little Eopus. The girl retorted saucily, though secretly alarmed at the import of this examination. Exactly. So that's settled. What is your name? Hoffman. Where do you live, Hoffman? Eleanor, supplemented the girl.

"'Eleaner, then. Where do you live, Eleanor?' "'In New York, just now, not in town, upstate, on a farm. You see, grandfather's grown old, and he wanted father to come back.' "'New York's not far,' said Jeff. A sudden panic seized the girl. "'What next?' In swift, instinctive self-defense, she rose and tripped to the tree where lay her neglected sketchbook, bent over, and started back with a little cry of alarm,

With a spring and a rush, Jeff was at her side, caught her up and glared watchfully at bush and shrub and tufted grass. Mr. Bransford put me down. What was it? A rattlesnake? A snake? What an idea. I just noticed how late it was. I must go.

Crestfallen, sheepishly, Mr. Bransford put her down, thrust his hands into his pockets, tilted his chin, and whistled an aggravating little drill from the ride two-step. Mr. Bransford, said Eleanor haughtily. Mr. Bransford's face expressed patient attention. Are you lame? Mr. Bransford's eye estimated the distance covered during the recent snake episode, and then gave to Miss Hoffman a look of profound respect. His shoulders humped up slightly.

His head bowed to the stroke. He stood upon one foot and traced the rainbow brand in the dust with the other. I told you all along I wasn't hurt, he said aggrieved, didn't I now? Are you lame? She repeated severely, ignoring his truthful saying. Not very, the quotation marks were clearly audible. Are you lame at all? No, ma'am, not what you might call really lame.

No, ma'am. And you deceived me like that. Indignation checked her. I'm so disappointed in you. That was a fine, manly thing for you to do. It was such a lovely time, observed the culprit doggedly, and such a chance might never happen again, and it isn't my fault I wasn't hurt, you know.

I'm sure I wish I was. She gave him an icy glare. Now see what you've done. Your men haven't come, and you won't stay with Mr. Lake. How are you going to get home? Oh, I forgot you can walk, as you should have done it, The guilty wretch wilted yet further. He shuffled his feet.

He writhed. He positively squirmed. He ventured a timid upward glance. It seemed to give him courage. Prompted doubtless by the same feeling which drives one to dive headlong into dreaded cold water, he said in a burst of candor, Well, you see, ma'am, that little horse now? He really ain't got far.

He got tangled up over there, ways. The girl wheeled and shot a swift, startled glance at the little Eopus on the hillside, who had long since given over his futile struggles, and was now nibbling grass with becoming resignation. She turned back to Bransford. Slowly, scathingly, she looked him over from head to foot, and slowly back again. Her expression ran the gamut. Wonder, anger, scorn, withering contempt. I think I hate.

you, she flamed at him. Amazement triumphed over the other emotions then. A real amazement. The detected imposter had resumed his former debonair bearing and met her scornful eye with a slow and provoking smile. Oh, no, you don't, he said reassuringly. On the contrary, you don't hate me at all. I'm going home, anyhow, she retorted bitterly. You may draw your own conclusions. Still, she did not go, which possibly had a confusing effect upon his inferences. Just one minute, ma'am, if you please. How did you know so, Pat, where the little black horse was? I didn't tell you. Little waves of scarlet followed each other to her burning face. I'm not going to stay another moment. You're detestable, and it's nearly sundown. Oh, you needn't hurry. It's not far.

She followed his gesture. To her intense mortification, she saw the blue smoke of her home campfire flaunting up from a gully not half a mile away. It was her turn to droop now. She drooped. There was a painful silence, then in a far-off hard judicial tone, How long, ma'am, if I may ask, have you known that the little black horse was tangled up? Miss Eleanor's eyes shifted wildly.

She broke a twig from a mahogany bush, and examined the swelling buzz. with minutest care. Well, said her ruthless inquisitor sternly, Since, since I went for your hat, she confessed in a half-whisper. To deceive me so. Pain, grief, surprise, reproach were in his words. Have you anything to say, he added sadly. A slender shoe peeped out beneath her denim skirt and tapped on a buried boulder.

Eleanor regarded the toe tip with interest and, curiosity. Then, half-audibly, We were having such a good time, and it might never happen again. He captured both her hands. She drew back a little, ever so little. She trembled slightly, but her eyes met his, frankly, and bravely. No, no, not now, go now, Mr. Bransford, go at once. We will have a pleasant day to remember. Until the next pleasant day, said Resolute Bransford, opened the

exultant, but see here now, I can't go to Lakes Camp or to Lakes ball. Here Miss Eleanor pouted distinctly, or anything that is Lakes, after your basketball, then what? New York, but it's only so far on the map. She held her hands apart very slightly to indicate the distance. On a little map, that is. I'll drop in Saturdays, said Jeff. Do, I want to hear you sing the rest about the little Iupus.

if you'll sing about Sandy, suggested Jeff. Why not? Goodbye now. I must go. And you won't sing about Sandy to anyone else? The girl considered doubtfully. Why, I don't know. I've known you for a very little while, if you please. She gathered up her belongings, but we're friends. No, no, said Jeff vehemently. You won't sing it to anyone else, Eleanor.

She drew a line in the dust. If you won't cross that line, she said, I'll tell you. Mr. Ransford grasped a sapling with a firm clutch and shook it to try its strength. A bird in the bush is the noblest work of God, he announced. I'll take a chance. Her eyes were shining. You've promised, she said. She paused.

When she spoke again, her voice was low and a trifle unsteady. I won't sing about Sandy to anyone else, Jeff. Then she fled. Like Lott's wife. wife, she looked back from the hillside. Jeff clung desperately to the sapling with one hand. From the other, a handkerchief, hers, fluttered a goodbye message. She threw him a farewell with an ambiguous gesture.

It was late when Jeff reached Rosebud Camp, the unsaddled nigger baby, the little and not entirely gentle black horse, rather unobtrusively, but Johnny Dines sauntered out during the process announcing supper. ah sniffed jeff i s'pose i thought you'd wait until i come to get it nothing more alarming than tally's was broached during supper however afterward johnny tilted his chair back and through cigarette smoke contemplated the ceiling with innocent eyes nigger babe looks drood he suggested uh-huh had one of them poor spells a his puff puff your saddle's skinned up a heap johnny's look of innocent grew more pronounced. How'd you get your clothes so wet? Rain, said Jeff.

Puff, puff. You look rot muddy, too. Dust in the air, said Jeff. Ah, yes, silence during the rolling of another cigarette. Then, how'd you get that cut on your head? Jeff's hand went to his head and felt the bump there. He regarded his fingers in some perplexity. That?

Oh, that's where I bit myself. He stalked off to bed and my head. gloomy dignity. Half an hour later, Johnny called softly, Jeff. Jeff grunted sulkily. Camping party down their mail. A lot of girls. I saw

one of them, young person with eyes and hair. Jeff grunted again. There was a long silence. Nice bear. There was no answer. Good old bear, said Johnny tearfully. No answer. Mr. Bear, if I give you

one nice, good, juicy, bite, ugh, said Jeff. Then, said Johnny decidedly, I'll sleep in the yard. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 of Bransford of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Roads. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 4, The Road to Rome. Behold, one journeyed in the night, he sang amid the wind and rain.

My wet sands gave his feet delight, when will that traveler come again? The Heart of the Road, Anna Hempstead Branch. A hypotenuse, as has been well said, is the longest side of a right-angled triangle. There is no need for details. That we are all familiar with the use of this handy little article is shown by the existence of shortcuts at every available opportunity, and by keep-off of the grass signs in parks. Now, had Jeff Bransford desired to go to Arcadia,

to that masquerade, for instance, his direct route from Jackson's ranch would have been cater-cornered across the desert, as has been amply demonstrated by Pythagoras and others. That Jeff did not want to go to Arcadia, to the masked ball, for instance, is made apparent by the fact that the afternoon preceding said ball saw him jogging southward toward bairds

along the lonely base of that inveterate triangle, whereof Jackson's Bairds and Arcadia are the respective corners, leaving the 55-mile hypotenuse far to his left. It was also obvious from the tenor of his occasional self-communings. I don't want to make a ballet fool of myself, do I, old Grasshopper? Anyhow, you'll be too tired when we get to jeans. Grasshopper made no response other than a plucky tossing of his bit and a quickening cadence in his rhythmical stride by way of pardonable bravado i never forced myself in where my company wasn't wanted yet and i ain't going to begin now asserted jeff stoutly adding as a fervent afterthought damn lake his way lay along the plain paralleling the long westward range just far enough out to dodge the jutting foothills through bare white levels where grasshoppers hoofs left

but a faint trace on the hard-glazed earth. At intervals, tempting crossroads branched away to mountain springs. The cottonwood at independent springs came into view round the granite shoulder of strawberry, six miles to the right of him. He roused himself from prolonged pondering of the marvelous silhouette, where San Andres unfung in broken masses against the sky, to remark in a hushed whisper,

I wonder if she'd be glad to see me. Several miles later, he quoted musingly, For Eleanor, her Christian name was Eleanor, had 27 different kinds of hell in her. After all, there are problems which Pythagoras never solved. The longest road must have an end. Rich's ranch was passed far to the right, lying low in the long shadow of Helor,

then the mouth of Cambrio, Tanyan. Far ahead, a shifting flicker of Bear's windmill topped the brush. It grew taller, the upper tower took shape. He dipped into the low mirage-haunted basin, where the age-old Texas Trail crosses the narrow western corner of the white sands. When he emerged, the windmill was tall and silver-shining. The low iron roofs of the house gloomed sullen in the sun. Dust rose from the corral. Now Jeff's ostensible errand to the west side had been the search for strays. Three days before, he had prudently been three days ride farther to the north. The reluctance with which he had turned back southward was justified

by the fact that this critical afternoon found him within striking distance of Arcadia, striking distance, that is, should he care for a bit of hard riding. This was exactly what Jeff had fought against all along. So when he saw the dust, he loped. up. It was, as he had feared. A band of horses was in the water-pin. Among them a red roan head he knew, copper-head, of Pringle's Mount. Confirmed runaway, Jeff shut the gate. For the first time that day, he permitted himself a discreet glance eastward to Arcadia. Three days, he said bitterly, while Grasshopper thrust his eager muzzle into the water-trough, three days I braced back my feet and slid, like a yearling on a Brandon Bee.

And look at me now. Oh, copperhead, you darned old fool, see what you done now. In this morose mood, he went to the house. There was no one at home. A note was tacked on the door. Gone to Plomo. Back in two, three days, beef hangs under platform on windmill tower. When you get it, oil the mill.

Books and deck of cards and box under bed. Don't leave fire and stove when you go. Jean Baird. N.B. Feed. the cat. Jeff built a fire in the stove and unsaddled the weary grasshopper. He found some corn, which he put into a woven grass maraul, and hung on grasshopper's nose. He went to the water pen, roped out copperhead, and shut him in a side corral. Then he let the bunch go. They strained

through the gate in a mad run, despite shrill and frantic remonstrance from copperhead. Jeff, said Jeff soberly, are you going to be a damned first? fool all your life? That girl doesn't care anything about you. She hasn't thought of you since. You stay right here and read the pretty books. That's the place for you." This advice was sound and wise beyond Cavill. So Jeff took it valiantly. After supper he hobbled Grasshopper and took off the nosebag. Then he went to the back room in pursuit of literature. Have I leave for a slight digression to commit a long-delayed act of justice to correct grievous wrong.

Thank you. We hear much of Mr. Andrew Carnegie and his libraries, the Hall of Fame, the Little Red Schoolhouse, the five-foot shelf, and the world's best books. A singular thing is that the most effective bit of philanthropy along these lines has gone unrecorded of a thankless world. This shall no longer be. Know then that once upon a time a certain soulless corporation,

rather in the tobacco trade, placed in each package of tobacco a coupon, each coupon redeemable by one paper-bound book. Whether they were moved by remorse to this action, or by sorted hidden purpose of their own, or again by pure disinterested and far-seeing love of their kind, is not yet known, but the results remain. There were three hundred and three volumes on that list, mostly, but not altogether, fiction and each one was a classic classics are cheap they are not copyrighted could I but know the anonymous benefactor who enrolled that glorious company how gladly would

I drop a leaf on his beer or a cherry in his bidders thus it was that in one brief decade the cowboys with others became comparatively literate cowboys all smoked doubtless that was a chief cause contributory to making them the wrecks they were. It destroyed their physique, it corroded, and ate away their willpower, leaving them seldom able to work over 19 hours a day, except in emergencies, prone to abandon duty in the face of difficulty or danger, when human effort, raised to the nth power, could do no more.

All things considered the most efficient men of their hands on record. Cowboys all smoked, and the most deep-seated instinct of the human race is to get something for nothing. They got those books. In due course of time, they read those books. Some were slow to take to it, but when you stay at lonely ranches, when you are left afoot until the water holes dry up, so you may catch a horse in the water pen, why, you must do something. The books were read.

Then, having acquired the habit, they bought more books. Since the 303 were all real books, and since the cowboys had been previously uncorrupted of predigested or sterilized fiction, or by gift, uplift, and helpful books, their composite tastes had become surprisingly good, and they bought with discriminating care. Nay more. A bookcase follows books. A bookcase demands a house. A house demands. A house demands, a keeper a housekeeper needs everything hence alfalfa houseplants slotless tables bank books the chain which began with yellow coupons ends with Christmas trees in some proudest niche in the Hall of Fame a grateful nation will yet honor that hitherto unrecognized educator front de Beau. Jeff pawed over the tattered, yellow-backed volumes in profane discontent.

He had read them all. Another box was under the bed behind the first. Opening it, he saw a tangled mass of clothing, tumbled in the bachelor manner. With the rest a much-used football outfit, canvas jacket, sweater, padded trousers, woolen stockings, rubber noseguard, shin guards, ribbed shoes, all complete, for Jean Baird was full back of the El Paso 11. Jeff segregated the gridiron wardrobe with hasty hands. His eye brightened. He spoke in an odd and almost reverent voice. I'm mostly superstitious, but this looks like a leading. First, I'm here. Second, copperhead's here. Third, no one else is here. And for the final miracle, here's a costume made to

my hand, 35 miles, 10 o'clock if I hurry. Hmm. When first I put this uniform on, how did that go? I'm forgetting all my songs, getting old, I guess. Rejecting the heavy shoes as unmeat for waxed floors and the shim guards, he rolled the rest of the uniform in his slicker and tied it behind his saddle. Then he rubbed his chin. Ah, that's a true saying, too.

I am getting old. youth turns to youth. Buck up, Jeff, you old fool. Have some pride about you in just a little old horse sense. Yet he unhobbled Grasshopper, who might then be trusted to find his way to Rainbow in about three days. He went to the corral and tossed a rope on snorting copperhead. No, I won't go, he said, as he slipped on the bridle, just to uncock old copperhead, I'll make a little horse ride to hospital springs and look through the stock. He threw on the saddle with some difficulty. Copperhead was fat and frisky. Do you want to see you, Jeff? An old husband like you? No, no, I'd better not go. I won't. There, if I didn't leave that football stuff on the saddle,

I'll take it off. It might get lost. Whoa, Copperhead? Copperhead, however, declined to woe on any turns. His eyes bulged out, he reared, he pawed, he snorted, he bucked, he squealed, he did anything but woe. Exasperated, Jeff caught the bridle by the cheekpiece and swung into the saddle. After a few preliminaries in the pitching line, Jeff started bravely for Hospital Springs. It was destined that this act of renunciation should be thwarted. Copperhead stopped and dug his feet in the ground as if about to take root. Jeff dug the spurs home. With an agonized ball, Copperhead made a creditable ascension, shook himself and

and swapped ends before he hit the ground again. Woo! he said. His nose was headed now for Arcadia. He followed his nose, his roan flanks, fanned vigorously, with a doubled rope. Headstrong, stubborn, unmanageable brute. Oh, well, have it your own way, then, you old fool. You'll be sorry. Copperhead leaped out to the loosened rain.

This is just plain kidnapping, said Jeff. Kidnapped and kidnapper were far out of. on the plain as night came on. Arcadia Road stretched dimly to the east. The far lights of La Luz flashed through the leftward dusk. Straight before them was a glint and sparkle in the sky, faint, diffused, wavering. Beyond, a warm and mellow glow broke the blackness of the mountain wall, where the lights of low-hidden Arcadia beat up against rainbow rim. Jeff was past his first vexation. He sang as he rode. There was ink on her thumb when I kissed her hand, and she whispered if you should die,

I'll write you an epitaph, gloomy and grand. Time enough for that, says I. Keep a moving, here, copperhead. Time, few just ride along. You will play hooky, will you? I'm going to be a horse. End of Chapter 4. Chapter 5 of Bransford of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Rhodes.

This Libervox recording is in the public. domain. Chapter 5. The Maskers For Eleanor, her Christian name was Eleanor, had 27 different kinds of hell in her, Richard Hovey. It lacked little of the 11th hour when the football player reached the ballroom, last comer to the revels. A bandage round his head and a rubber nose guard, which also hid his mouth, served for a mask, eeked out by criss-crossed strips of court plaster. One arm was in a sling, for stage purposes only. As he leapt through the door, Diogenes hurried to meet him, held up his lantern, peered hopefully into the battered face, and shook his disappointed head,

stung again, muttered Diogenes. Jeff lisped in numbers, which fully verified the cynics misgiving. 7-11-4-11-44, he announced jerkily. This was strictly in character, and also if excused him from entangling talk, leaving him free to search the whirl of dancers. A bulky rough rider volunteered his help. He fixed a gleaming eye-glass on his nose and politely offered Jeff a big stick by way of a crutch. Hit the line hard, he barked. He bit the words off with a prize bulldog effect. He had fine teeth.

Jeff waved him off. 16. Two, one, he proclaimed controversially. He felt his spirit sinking with. a growing doubt of his ability to identify the only one, and was impatient of interruption. He kept his slow and watchful way down the floor. Topsy broke away from her partner and stopped Jeff's crippled progress. Her short hair, braided to a dozen tight and tiny pigtails, bristled away in all directions.

"'Laws, young master, you certainly does go puny,' she said. Then she clutched at her knee. She tittered as a loose red stocking dropped flappingly to her ankle. Pray do not be shocked, the effect was startling, but a black stocking, decorously tight and smooth, was beneath the red one. Jeff's mathematics were not equal to the strain of adequate comment. Topsy dived to the rescue. Got a string, she giggled, as she hitched the fallen stocking back to place.

Can't fix this good know-how. Jeff jerked his thumb over his sheet. shoulder. Man over there with an eyeglass cord, maybe you can get that. What makes you act so? He looked cold disapproval. Nevertheless, he looked. Topsie hung her head, still clutching at the stocking top. To know, I spect it's cause I's so wicked. Finger and mouth, she looked after Jeff as he hobbled away. A slender witch pounced from a chair and barred his way with a broom. Her eyes were brimming sorcery. Her lips looked. saucy challenge. She leaned close for a whispered word in his ear.

How would you like to tackle me? Poor Jeff! Ten, two, ten, two, he promised huskily, yet he ducked beneath the broom. But, said the little witch plaintively, you're going away. She dropped her broom and wept. Eight-two, eight, two, eight, two, two, said Jeff, almost in tears himself, and again fell back upon English. Mere figures or mere words can't tell you how much. much I hate to, but I've got to follow the ball. I'm looking for a fellow.

If he, if he doesn't love you, sobbed the stricken witch, then you'll come back to me, won't you? I love a liar. To the very stake, vowed Jeff. Such heroic, if conditional, constancy, was not to go unrewarded. A couple detached themselves from the dancers, threaded their way to a corner of the long hall, and stood there in deep converse. Jeff quickened pulse and pace, for one was a red devil, and the other wore the soft gray costume of a friend. She was tall, this quakeress, and the hobnobbing devil was of Jeff's own height. Jeff began to hope for a goal. Briskly limping, he came to this engrossed couple and laid a friendly hand on the devil's shoulder.

Brother, he said cordially, will you please go to home? The devil recoiled an astonished step. What? What? Show me your license. Twenty-three, please. There's a good devil. Twenty-three. I'm the right guard for this lady, I hope. Oh, please to go home. The devil took this request and very bad part. Go back fifteen yards for off-side play and take a drop-kick at yourself, he suggested sourly. A burly policeman, plainly conscious of fitting his uniform, paused for warning.

No, scrapping now, just start nothing, or I'll run in the three of you. he said and sauntered on twirling a graceful nightstick thee is a local man judging from thy letters said the quaker lady to relieve the somewhat strained situation what do they stand for e p oh yes el paso of course i saw you first said the red devil and with your disposition you would naturally find me more suitable make your choice of grid irons send him back to the sidelines disqualify him for interference don't be hurried into a decision said jeff eternity is a good while before it's over i'm going to be a well something more than a footballer golf maybe or tidly wicks the quakeress glanced attentively from one to the other doubtless he will do his best to forward thy majesty's interest she interposed why not give him a chance the devil shrugged his shoulders i always prefer to give this branch of work my personal attention he said stiffly a specialty of thine mocked the girl the devil bowed sulkily my heart is in it of course if you prefer the bungling of a novice there is no more to be said thy majesty's manners have never been questioned murmured the quakeress bowing dismissal so kind of you the devil bowed deeply and turned pausing to hurl a gloomy prophecy over his shoulder see you later he said and stalked away with an ill grace pigskin hero and girlfriend left alone eyed each other with mutual apprehension the girlfriend was first to recover speech her red lips were prim below her visor her eyes downcast to hide their dancing lights timidly she spread out fan-wise the dove-color of her sober costume how does thee light my grey gown not at all said jeff brutally you're no friend of mine i hope

a most unquaker-like dimple trembled to her chin relieving the firm austerity of straight lips also jeff caught a glimpse of her eyes through the visor they were crinkling and they were brown she ventured another tentative remark and there was in it an undertone lingering softly confidential is thee lame not very said jeff and saw a faint colour start to the unmasked moiety of the quaker cheek still if i may have the next dance i shall be glad if you will sit it out with me painfully he raised the beslinged arm in explanation sobra las olas throbbed out its wistful call they set their thought to its haunting measure By all means, she took his undamaged arm. Let us find chairs. Now, there were chairs to the left of them, chairs to the right of them, chairs vacant everywhere,

but the gallant 600 themselves were not more heedless or undismayed than these two. Still, all the world did not wonder. On the contrary, not even the anxious devil saw them after they passed behind a knot of would-be dancers who were striving to disentangle themselves, For, seeing traffic thus blocked, the policeman rushed to unsnarl the tangle.

Magnificently, he flourished his stick. He adjured them roughly. Move on, you, move on. Whereat, with one impulse, the tangle moved on the copper, swept over him, engulfed him, hustled him to the door, and threw him out. So screened the chair-hunters, vanished in far less than a psychological moment. For Jeff, in obedience to a faint or fancied pressure on his arm, dived through the portiers into a small room, set apart for such as had the heart to prefer cards or chess. The room was deserted now, and there was a broad window open to the night.

Thus, thrice favored of Providence, they found themselves in the garden, chairless but cheerful. A garden with one eve is the perfect combination in a world awry. Muffled, the music and the sounds of the ballroom came faint and far to them. Star-made shadows danced at their feet. The girl paused expectant, but it was the unexpected that happened. The nimble tongue which had done such faithful service for Mr. Bransford now failed him quite, left him struggling, dumb, inarticulate, helpless, tongue and hand alike forgetful of their cunning. Be sure, the maid had adroitly heard much of Mr. Bransford, his deeds and misdeeds, during

the tedious intervals since their first meeting. Report had dwelt lovingly upon Mr. Bransford's eloquence at need. This awkward silence was a tribute of sincerity above question. With difficulty, Eleanor mastered a wild desire to ask where the cat had gone. Oh, come ye in peace here or come ye in war! injudicious quotation trembled on the tip of her tongue but she suppressed it barely in time she felt herself growing nervous with the fear lest she should be hurried into some all-too luminous speech and still Jeff stood there lost speechless helpless

unready a clumsy oath an object of pity at last or a kindred feeling drove her to the rescue and just as she had feared she said in her generous haste far too much. I thought you were not coming? The inflection made a question of this statement. Also by implication it answered so many questions, yet unworded, that Jeff was able to use his tongue again. But it was not the crusty tongue of your witness this wooden speech.

You mean you thought I said I wasn't coming, don't you? You knew I would come? Indeed. How should I know what you would do? I've only seen you once. Aren't you forgetting that? Why else did you make up as a friend then? Oh, oh dear these men, there's conceit for you. I chose my costume solely to trap Mr. Brantford's eye. Is that it? Doubtless all my thoughts have centered on Mr. Brantford since I first saw him. You know I didn't mean that, Miss Elder. I, Miss Hoffman, if you please. Miss Hoffman, don't.

be mean to me, I've only got an hour. An hour? Do you imagine for one second? Why, I mustn't stay here. This is really a farewell dance given in my honor. We go back east today after tomorrow. I must go in. Only one little hour, and I have come a long way for my hour. They take their masks off at midnight, don't they? And of course I can't stay after that. I want only just to ask you, why did you come then? Isn't it rather unusual to go uninvited to a ball? Why, I reckon you nearly know why I came, Miss Hartman, but if you want me to say precisely, ma'am, I don't. We'll keep that for a surprise, then. Another thing, I wanted to find out just where you live in New York. I forgot to ask you, and I couldn't very well go around asking folks after you're gone, could I? Of course, I didn't have any

invitation from Mr. Lake, but I thought if he didn't know it, he wouldn't mind me just stepping in to get your address. "'Well, of all the assurance,' said Miss Eleanor, "'do you intend to start up a correspondence with me "'without even the formality of asking my consent?' "'Why, Miss Eleanor, ma'am, I thought, "'Miss Hoffman, sir.' "'Yes, and there's another thing.

"'You said you had no invitation from Mr. Lake. "'Does that mean by any chance that I invited you?' "'You didn't say a word about my coming,' said Jeff. "'He was a flustered man, this poor Bransford, "'but he managed to put a son. slight stress upon the word say. Miss Alaner, Miss Hoffman, caught this faint emphasis instantly.

Oh, I didn't say anything. I just looked in invitation, I suppose, she stormed. Melting eyes and that sort of thing. Tears in them maybe. Poor girl. Poor little child. It would be cruel to let her go home without seeing me again. I will give her a little more happiness, poor thing,

and write to her a while. Maybe it would be wiser, though, just to make a quarrel and break loose at once. She'll get over it in a little while after she gets back to New York. Well, upon my word. As she advanced these horrible suppositions, Miss Hoffman had marked out a short beat of garden path, five steps and a turn, five steps back and whirl again, with, on the whole, a caged tigrous effect.

With a double quick at each turn to keep his place at her elbow, Joe, utterly aghast at the damnable perversity of everything on earth, vainly endeavored to make coordinate and stumbling remonstrance. As she stopped for breath, Jeff heard his own voice at last, propounding to the world at large a stunned query as to whether the abode of lost spirits could afford ought to excel the present situation. The remark struck him. He paused to wonder what other things he had been saying.

Miss Eleanor walked her beat, vindictive. Her chin was at an angle of complacency. She turned up the perky corners of an imaginary mustache with an air, an exasperating little finger, separated from the others, pointing upward in hateful self-satisfaction. Her mouth wore a gratified, masculine smirk, visible even in the starlight. Her gait was a leisured and lordly strut. Her hand waved airy pity. Jeff shrank back in horror.

Miss Hoffman, I never did dream. Miss Hoffman turned upon him swiftly. Never have I heard anything like it. Never, you bring me out here, willy-nilly, and by way of entertainment you virtually accuse me of throwing myself at your head. I never, said Jeff indignly, I didn't. Miss Hoffman faced him crouchingly,

and shook an indictment from her fingers. First, you imply that I enticed you to come. Second, expecting you, I dressed to catch your eye. Third, I was watching eagerly for you. Oh, come, I say now, the baited and exasperated victim walked headlong into the trap. The first thing you did was to ask me if I was lame. Wasn't that question meant to find out who I was? When I answered, not very, didn't you know at once that it was me?

There, that proves exactly what I was just saying, rage the delighted drapper. You don't even deny it. You say in so many words that I have been courting you. I had to say something, didn't I? You wouldn't. You were limping, so I asked you if you were lame. What else could I have said? Did you want me to stand there like a stuffed Egyptian mummy? That's the thanks a girl gets for trying to help a great, awkward, blundering butterfingers. Oh, if you could just see yourself, the irresistible conqueror, not altogether, unprincipled, though, you are capable of compunction. I'll give you credit for that. Alarmed at your easy success, you try to spare me. It is noble of you. Noble! You drag me out here,

force a quarrel upon me. Oh, by Jove now, really? Stung by the poignant injustice of crowding events, Jeff took the bin in his teeth and rushed to destruction. Really, you must see yourself that I couldn't drag you out here. I've never been in that hall before. I didn't know the lay of the ground. I didn't even know that little side room was there. I thought you pressed my arm a little. So the brainless colt in the quicksands flounders deeper with each effort to extricate himself.

If Miss Hoffman had been angry before, she was furious now. So that's the way of it. Better and better. I drag you out. Really, Mr. Bransford. I feel that I should take you back to your chaperone at once. You might be compromised, you know. Goaded to desperation, he acted on this hint at once.

He turned with stiff and stilted speech. I will take you back to the window, Miss Hoffman. Then there is nothing for me to do but go. I am sorry to have caused you even a moment's annoyance. Tomorrow you will see how you have twisted. I mean how completely you have misinterpreted everything I have said. perhaps some day you may forgive me here is the window good-night good-bye miss hoffman lingered however of course if you apologize i do miss hoffman i beg your pardon most sincerely for anything i have ever said or done that could hurt you in any way if you are sure you are sorry if you take it all back and will never do such a thing again perhaps i may forgive you i won't

I am, I will, said the abject and a grovelling wretch, which was incoherent but pleasing. I didn't mean anything the way you took it, but I'm sorry for everything. Then I didn't beguile you to come, or mask as a friend in the hope that you would identify me? No, no, Miss Eleanor pressed her advantage cruelly, nor take stock of each new masquer to see if he possibly wasn't the expected Mr. Bransford. nor drag you into the garden nor squeeze your arm her hands went to her face her listam body shook oh mr bansford she sobbed between her fingers how could you how could you say that the clock chimed a pealing voice beat out into the night masks off a hundred voices swelled the cry it was drowned in waves of laughter it rose again tumultuously masks off masks off nearer came here hateful voices, too, that cried, Eleanor, where are you?

I must go, said Jeff. They'll be looking for you. No, you didn't do any of those things. You couldn't do any of those things. Goodbye. Eleanor, Eleanor, Hoffman, where are you? Miss Hoffman whipped off her mask. From the open window a shaft of light fell on her face.

It was flushed, sparkling, radiant. Masks off, she said. Stupid. Oh, you great goose? Of course I did. did. She stepped back into the shadow. No one, as the copy-book says justly, may be always wise. Conversely, the most unwise of us blunders sometimes upon the right thing to do. With a glimmer of returning intelligence, Mr. Bransford laid his noseguard on the windowsill.

Sir, said Eleanor then, how dare you? Then she turned the other cheek. Goodbye, she whispered, and fled away to the ballroom. Mr. Bransford, in the shadows, scratched his head dubiously. Her Christian name was Eleanor, he muttered. Eleanor! M. Heliner! Very appropriate name, very. And I don't know yet where she lives.

He wandered disconsolately away to the garden wall, forgetting the discarded noseguard. End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of Bransford of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Rhodes. recording is in the public domain chapter 6 the Isle of Arcadie then the moon shone out so broad and good that the barnfowl crowed and the brown owl called to as made in the wood that a dead man lay in the road will Wallace Harney Arcadia's assets were the railroad two large modern sawmills of the climate and printers ink the railroad founded a

of bare ground, six miles from water, put in successively a whistling post, a signboard, a depot, town-site papers, and a water main from the Alamo. And when the town-site papers were confirmed, established machine shops, and made the new town the division headquarters and base were northward building. The railroad then set up the sawmills, primarily to get out ties and timbers for its own lanky growth, and built a spur to bring the forest down from the rainbow to the mills. The word down is used advisedly. Arcadia nestled on the plain under the very eavespouts of rainbow range. The branch, following with slavish fidelity, the lines of the twisted corkscrew, took 27 miles, mostly tunnel and trestlework, to clamber to the logging camps with the minimum

grade that was purely prohibitive and a maximum that I dare not state. But there was a rise of 6,000 feet in those 27 miles. You can figure the average for yourself, and if the engine should run off the track at the end of her climb, she would light on the very roundhouse where she took breakfast and spoiled the shingles. Yes, that was some railroad. There was a summer hotel, cloudland, on the summit, largely occupied by slack wire performers. Others walked up or rode a horse. They used stem-winding engines with eight vertical cylinders on the right side and a shaft like a steamboat with beveled cog-wheel transmission on the axles, and they haven't had a wreck on that branch to date. No matter how late a train is, when an engine sees the tail lights of her caboose

ahead of her, she stops and sends out flagmen. The railroad, under the pseudonym of the Arcadia Development Company, also laid out streets and laid in a network of pipelines and staked out lots until the sawmill protested for lack of tie timber. It put down miles of cement walks, fringed them with cottonwood saplings, telephone poles, and electric lights. It built a hotel in a few streets of party-colored cottages, direct-tois, with lingerie, tile roofs, organdy facades, and peplum, intersecting panels and outside chimneys at the gable ends. It decreed a park with nooks, lanes, mazes, lake, swans, ball-ground, grandstand, bandstand, and the band appertaining thereon too, all of which apparently came into being overnight.

Then it employed a competent staff of word artists and capitalized the climate. The result was astonishing. The cottonwoods grew apace and a swift town grew with them, swift in every sense of the word. It took good money to buy good lots in Arcadia. People with money must be fed, served and amused by people wanting money. In three years, the trees cast a pleasant shade, and the company cast a balance. with gratifying results. They discounted the unearned

increment for a generation to come. It was a beneficent scheme selling ozone and novelty, sunshine, and delight. The buyers got far more than the worth of their money, the company got their money, and everyone was happy.

Health and good spirits are a bargain at any price. There were sandstorms and hot days, but sand promotes digestion and digestion promotes cheerfulness. Heat merely enhanced the luxury of shaded hammocks. As an adventurer thought out, he sent for seven others worse than himself. Arcadia became the metropolis of the county, and by special election, the county seat.

Courthouse, college, and jail followed in quick succession. For the company, Arcadia Life was one grand sweet song, with thus far but a single discord. As has been said, Arcadia was laid out on the plain. There was higher ground on three sides, Rainbow Mountain to the east, the deltas of La Cruz Creek, and the Alamo to the north and south. New Mexico was dry as a rule.

After the second exception, when enthusiastic citizens went about on stilts to forward a project for changing the town's name to Venice, the company acknowledged its error handsomely. When dry land prevailed once more above the face of the waters, it built a mighty moat by way of the amenda onroble, a moat with its one embankment on the inner side of the five-mile horseshoe about the town. This, with its attendant bridges, gave to Arcadia an aspect singularly medieval. It also furnished a convenient line of social demarcation.

Schaffirs, college professors, lawyers, gamblers, county officers, together with a few tradesmen and railroad officials, abode within the Isle of Arcady on more or less even terms with the Arcadian proppers. Millman, railroaders, lumberjacks, and the underworld generally dwelt without the pale. The company rubbed its lamp again, and behold an armory, a hospital, and a library. It contributed liberally to churches and campaign funds. It exercised a general supervision over morals and manners. For example, in the deed to every lot sold was an ironclad, fire-tested, automatic, and highly constitutional forfeiture clause to the effect that sale or storage on the premises of any malt, venous, or spirituous selectors should immediately cause the title to revert to the company.

The company's own vicarious saloon on lot number one was a sumptuous and magnificent affair. It was known as the Mint. All this while we have been trying to reach the night watchman. In the early youth of Arcadia there came to her borders a warlock thin of ruddy countenance and solid build. He had a Finnish name and they called him Lars Persina. Lars P. had been a seafaring man, while spending a year's wage in San Francisco, he had wandered into Arcadia by accident. There, being unable to find the sea, he became a lumberjack, with a custom when, in spirits, of beating the watchman of that date into an amulet. The indulgence of this penchant gave occasion for much adverse criticism. Fine and imprisonment failed to deter him from this playfellate. habit. One watchman tried to dissuade Lars from his foible with the club, and his successor even went so far as to shoot him, to shoot Lars P. of course, not his predecessor, the successor's

predecessor, not Lars Persinas, if he ever had one, which he hadn't. What we need is more pronouns. He, the successor, resigned when Lars became convalescent, but Lars was no whit. dismayed by this contrataun. In his first light-hearted moment, he resumed his old amusement with unabated gaiety. Thus was one of our greatest railroad systems subjected to embarrassment and annoyance by the idiosyncrasies of an ignorant but cheerful sailor-man. The railroad resolved to submit no longer to such caprice. A middleweight of renown was imported, who, when he was able to be about again, bitterly reproached to the president, and demanded a bonus on the ground that he had knocked Lars down several times before he,

Lars, got angry, and also because of a disquisition in the Finnish tongue, which Lars Persina had emitted during the procedure, which address, the prize-fighter stated, had unnerved him and so led to his undoing. It was obviously, he said, of a nature inconceivably insulting, the memory of it rankled yet, though he had heard only the beginning and did not get the, but let that pass. The thing became a scandal. Watchman succeeded watchman on the company payroll and the hospitalist,

until someone hit upon a happy and ingenious way to avoid this indignity. Lars Porcina was appointed watchman. This statesmanlike policy bore gratifying results. Lars Porcina straightway abandoned his absurd and indefensible custom, and no imitator arose. Also, Arcadia within the moat, the island, which was the limit of his jurisdiction, became the most orderly spot in New Mexico. In the first gray of dawn, Uncle Sam, whistling down Main Street on his way home from the masquerade, found Lars Parsina lying on his face in a pool of blood. The belated reveler knelt beside him,

The watchman was shot, but still breathed. Oh, murder! Help! Murder! shouted Uncle Sam. The alarm rolled crashing along the quiet street. Heads were thrust from windows, startled voices took up the outcry. Other homegoers ran from every corner. Hastily arrayed householders poured themselves from street doors. Lars Rusina was in a disastrous plight.

He breathed, but that was about all. He was shot through the box. body. A trail of blood led back a few doors to Lake's bank. A window was cut out. The blood began at the sill. Messengers ran to telephone the doctor, the sheriff, Lake. The knot of men grew to a crowd. A rumor spread that there had been an unusual amount of currency in the bank overnight. A rumor presently confirmed by Bassett, the bareheaded and white-faced cashier. It was near payday, in addition to the customary, amount to cash checks for railroaders and mill-hands, itself no mean sum, and the money for

regular business, there had been provisioned for contemplated loans to promoters of new local industries. The doctor came running, made a hasty examination, took emergency measures to stanch the freshly started blood, and swore wholeheartedly at the ambulance and the crowding Arcadians. He administered a stimulant. Lars Porcina fluttered. his eyes weakly. Stand back, you idiots, bashed those fools' faces in for him. Someone, said the medical man.

He bent over the watchman. Who did it, Lars? Lars made a vain effort to speak. The doctor gave him another sip of restorative, and took a pull himself. Try again, old man, you're badly hurt, and you may not get another chance. Did you know him?

Lars gathered all his strength to a broken speech. No, bank, found window midnight nearly shot me, didn't see him. He fell back on Uncle Sam's starry vest. Ambulance coming, said Uncle Sam. Will he live, Doc? Doc shook his head doubtfully. Poor chance lost too much blood. If he'd been found in time, he might have pulled through. Wonderful vitality ought to be dead by now by the books. Still, there's a chance. I never thought, said Uncle Sam to Cyrano de Bergerac, as the ambulance bore away its unconscious burden, that I would ever be so sorry at anything that could happen to Lars Porcina,

after the way he made me stop singing on my own birthday. He was one grand old fighting machine. End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7 of Bransford of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Rhodes. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 7 States General and they ha cailed sir charlie hay and laid the white on jordy old ballad that the master's eye is worth two servants had ever been lake's favourite maxim He had not yet gone to bed when the message reached him where he kept his masterly eye on the proper closing up of the ballroom.

He came through the crowd now, shouldering his way roughly, still in his police costume, helmet, tunic, and belt. In his wake came the sheriff, who had just arrived, sporting to the scene, on his trusty wheel. On the bank steps, Lake turned his face to the crowd. His strong canine jaw was set to stubborn fighting lines. the helmet did not wholly hide the black frown or the swollen veins at his temple come at thompson and help the sheriff sized the thing up and you aleck he stabbed the air at his choice with a strong blunt finger and turnbull you clark and you basset you keep the door admit no one lake was the local great man never had he appeared to such advantage to his admirers never had his ascendency seemed so unquestioned and so justified As he stood beside the sheriff in the growing light, the man was the incarnation of power, the power of wealth, position, prestige, success.

In this moment of yet unplumbed disaster, taken by surprise, summoned from a night of crowded pleasure, he held his mastery, chose his men, and measures with unhesident decision, planned, ordered, kept to that blunt, direct speech of his, that wasted no word. A buzz went up from the unadmitted as the door swung shut behind him. Lake had chosen well. Arcadia in Epidemy was within those pillaged walls. Thompson was president of the rival bank. Alec was division superintendent.

Turnbull was the millmaster. Clark was editor of the Arcadian Day. Clark had been early to the Storm Center. Yet, of all the investigators, Clark alone was not more or less disheveled. He was faultlessly apparelled, even to the long Prince Albert and black-string tie, in which, indeed, report said, he slept. So much for capital, industry, and the fourth estate. The last of the probers, whom Lake had drafted merely by the slighting personal pronoun you,

was nevertheless identifiable in private life by the name of Billy White, being indeed none other than our old friend the devil. His indigenous mustache still retained a Mephistophelian twist. He was becomingly arranged in slippers, pajamas, and a pink bathrobe, girdled at the waist with a most unhermit-like cord, having gone early and surly to bed. In this improvised committee he fitly represented society, while the sheriff represented society at large and exoficio,

that incautious portion under duress. Yet one element was unrepresented, for Lake made a mistake which other great men have made, of failing to reckon with the masterless men who dwell without the wall. Lake led the way. Will the watchman die, Alec, do you think? Whispered to Billy, as they filed through the grilled door to the counting room. Don't know, hope not. Game old rooster?

Good watchman, too, said Turnbull, the mill super-interested. intended. Lake turned on the lights. The wall safe was blown open. Fragments of the door were scattered among the overturned chairs. In an open recess in the vault there was a dull yellow mass. The explosion had spilled the front rows of coins to a golden heap. Behind some golden rouleauxs were intact. Others tottered precariously, as you have perhaps seen beautiful tall stacks of colored counters do. Gold pieces were so. strewn along the floor. Thank God they didn't get all the gold anyhow, said Lake, with a sigh of relief.

Then, of course, they didn't touch the silver, but there was a lot of greenbacks, over 25,000, I think. Bassett will know, and I don't know how much gold is gone. Look around and see if they left anything incriminating, Sheriff, anything that we can trace them by. He heard a poor old Lars coming, said the sheriff. Then, after he shot him, he hadn't the nerve to come back for the gold. This strikes me as being a bungler's job.

Must have used an awful lot of dynamite to tear that door up like that. Funny, no one heard the explosion. Can't be much of your gold-gone lake. That compartment is pretty nearly as full as it will hold. Or heard him shoot our watchman, suggested Thompson. Still, I don't know. There's blasting going on in the hills all the time, and almost everyone was at the masquerade or else asleep.

How many times did they shoot old Lars? Does anybody know? Is there any idea what time it was done? He was shot once, right here, said Alec, indicating the spot on the flowered silk that had been part of his Mandarin's dress. Dunn was held so close it burnt his shirt. Off a hole. Don't believe the old chap will make it. He crawled along toward the telephone station till he dropped. Say, Central must have heard that shot. It's only two blocks away.

She ought to be able to tell what time it was. "'Lars said it was just before midnight,' said Clark. "'Oh, did he speak?' asked Lake. "'How many robbers were there? Did he know any of them?' "'He didn't see anybody,' shot, just as he reached the window. "'Hope someone hangs for this,' said Clark. "'Lake, I wish you'd have this money you've picked up. I'm not used to walking on gold, or else have me watched.'

Lake shook his head, angry at the untimely pleasantry. It was a pleasantry in effect only put forward to hide uned, editorial agitation and distress for Lars Porcina. Lakes undershot jaw thrust forward. He fingered the blot of Whisker at his ear. It was a time for action, not for talk. He began his campaign. Look here, Sheriff, you ought to wire up and down the line to keep a lookout,

hold all suspicious characters, then get a posse to ride for some sign around the town. If we only had something to go on, some clue. Later we'll look through this town, with a fine-tooth comb. Most likely they, or he, if there was only one, won't risk staying here. First of all, I've got to telegraph to El Paso for money to stave off a run on the bank. You'll help me, Thompson? Of course, my burglar insurance will make good my loss, or most of it, but that'll take time. We mustn't risk a run. People lose their heads, so. I'll give you a statement

for the day, Clark, as soon as I find out where Mr. Thompson stands. I will back you up sir with the bulk of depositors money loaned out no bank however solvent can withstand a continued run without backing i shall be glad to tide you over if only for my own protection a panic is contagious thanks said lake shortly interrupting this stately financial discourse then we shall do nicely let's see to-morrow's pay-day you fellows he turned it briskly to the two superintendents can't you hold up your payday, say, until Saturday? Stand your men off. The company stands good for their money. They can wait a while. Oh, no need to do that, said Alec. I'll have the railroad checks drawn on St. Louis. The storekeepers will cash them. If necessary, I'll wire for authority to let Turnbow pay off the mill hands with railroad checks. It's just taking money from one pocket to put in the other anyhow. Then that's all right. Now, for the robbers. The banker's face betrayed impassions.

My first duty was to protect my clients, but now we'll waste no more time. You gentlemen make a close search for any possible scrap of evidence, while the sheriff and I write our telegrams. I must wire the burglar insurance company, too. He plunged a pin into an ink well and fell to work. Acting upon this hint, the sheriff took a desk. Wish Phillips was here, my deputy, he sighed. I've sent for him.

He's got a better head than I am. for noticing clues and things this was eminently correct as well as modest the sheriff was a simon pure arcadian the company's nominee his deputy was a concession to the disgruntled hinterland where the unobservant rarely reach maturity oh aleck said lake over his shoulder you sit down too and why are all your conductors about their passengers last night yes and the freight crews too we'll rush those through first and can't you scare up another operator? His pen scratched steadily over the paper. More apt to be some of our local outlaws, though, in that case it will be easier to find their trail. They'll probably be on horseback. You were an old-timer yourself, weren't you not? Ask Billy amably. If the robbers are frontiersmen, they may be easier to get track of, as you suggest. But won't they be harder to get? Billy spoke languidly. The others were searching assiduously for clues.

in the most approved manner, but Billy sprawled easily in a chair. We'll get him if we can find out who they were, snapped Lake, setting his strong jaw. He did not particularly like Billy, especially since their late trip to Rainbow. There never was a man yet so good, but there was one just a little better. By a good man in this connection, you mean a bad man, I presume, said Billy in a meditative draw. Were you a good man before you became a banker? Look here, what's this? The interruption came from Clark.

He pounced down among two fragments of the safe door and brought up an object which he held to the light. At the startled tones, Blake spun around in a swivel chair. He held out his hand. Really, I don't think I ever saw anything like this thing before, he said. Any of you know what it is? It's a noseguard, said Billy. Billy was a college man and had worn a nosepiece himself.

He frowned unconsciously, remembering his successful rival of the masquerade. A nose guard? What for? You wear it to protect your nose and teeth when you're playing football, explained to Billy, keeps you from swearing, too. You hold this piece between your teeth, and the other part goes over your nose, up between your eyes, and fastens with his band around your forehead. Why, why? gasped Clark.

There was a man at the masquerade talked out as a football player. I saw him, said Alec, and he wore one of these things. I saw him talking to Topsy. One of my guests, demanded late scoffingly. Oh, nonsense. Some young fella has been in here yesterday, talking to the clerks and dropped it. Who went as a football player, White? You know all these college boys. Know anything about this one? Not a thing. There, Billy lied, a prompt and loyal gentleman, reasoning that Budensky, as he mentally styled the interloper, who had misappropriated the Quaker lady, would have cared nothing at that time for a paltry thirty thousand. Thus was he guilty of a practice against which we are all vainly warned

of judging others by ourselves. Billy remembered very distinctly that Miss Eleanor had not reappeared until the midnight unmasking, and he therefore acquitted her companion of this particular crime entirely without prejudice to Budenski's phallonious instincts in General, for the watchman had been shot before midnight. Billy made a tentative mental decision that this famous noseguard had been brought to the bank later and left there purposely, and he resolved to keep his eye open. Oh, well, it's no great difference anyhow, said Lake. Whoever it was dropped it here yesterday, I guess, and got another one for the masquerade.

Hold on there, said Clark, holding the spotlight tenaciously, that don't go. this thing was on top of one of those pieces of the safe. For the first time, Lake was startled from his iron composure. Are you sure? he demanded, jumping up. Sure, it was right here against the sloping side of this piece. So, that puts a different light on the case, gentlemen, said Lake. Luck is with us, and—and while I think of it, said Clark, making the most of this unexpected opportunity,

I made notes of all the costumes and their wearers after the masks were off, for the paper you know and i saw no football player there i remember that distinctly i only saw him the one time confirmed alec and i stayed almost to the break-up whoever it was he left early but what possible motive could the robber have for going to the dance at all queried lake in perplexity maybe he made his appearance there in a football suit purposely so as to leave us someone to hunt for and then committed the robbery and went back in another cost whom, suggested Clark, pleased and not a little surprised at his own ingenuity. In that case, he would have left this rubber thing here of design. Hmm, Blake was plainly struck with this theory, and that's not such a bad idea either. We'll look into this football matter after breakfast. You'll go to the hotel with me, gentlemen.

Our womankind are all asleep after the ball. The sheriff will send someone to guard the bank. Meanwhile, I'll call the cashier in and find out exactly how much. much money were short. Send a Basset in, will you, Billy? You stay at the door and keep that mob out. End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 of Bransford of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Rhodes.

This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 8, Archadiz Ambo. What means this, my lord? Mary, this is milching, Melasiel. It means mischief. Hamlet. We are not here to do what service we. we may for honor and not for hire. Robert Lewis Stevenson. With Billy went the sheriff and

Alec, the latter with a sheaf of telegrams. Now, how did Badinsky's noseguard get into this bank? That's what I'd like to know, said Billy to the doorknob when the other committeemen had gone their ways. I didn't bring it. I don't believe Budinsky did. And Policeman Lake certainly saw us quarreling. He noticed a football player right enough, and he pretends. he didn't. Why? Why? Why does policeman-like pretend he didn't see that football player? Echo answers, why? Denmark's all putrefied. The low sun cleared the house-tops. The level rays fell along the windowsill, and Billy, staring fascinated at the single blotch of dried blood on the inner sill, saw something glitter and sparkle there beside it. He went closer. It was a dust of

finely powdered glass. Billy whistled. A light foot ran up the steps. There was a wrap at the door. No entrance except on business. No business transacted here, quoted Billy, startled from a deep study. A head appeared at the window. Oh, it's you, Jimmy. That's different. Come in. It was Jimmy Phillips, the chief deputy. Billy knew him and liked him. He unbarred the door. Well, anything turned up yet, demanded Jimmy. I stopped in to see Lars. Him and me. was old side partners. How's he making it, Jimmy? Oh, Doc said he had one chance in 10,000, so he's all right, I guess, responded that brisk optimist. They got any theory about the robber? They have that, a perfectly sound theory, too. Only it isn't true, said Billy, in a low and guarded tone.

They'll tell you, I haven't got time. See here, if I give you the straight tip, will you work it up and keep your head closed until you see which way the cat jumps? Can you keep it to yourself? Mum, has a sack of clams, said Jimmy. Look at this a minute. Billy pointed to the tiny particles of glass on the inner sill. Got that? Then I'll dust it off.

This is a case for your gummiest shoes. Now, look at this. He indicated the opening where the patch of glass had been cut from the big pane. Jimmy rubbed his finger very cautiously along the raw edge of glass. Cut out from the inside. then carried out there. A frame-up? Exactly, but I don't want anybody else to size it up for a frame-up, not now. But, said Jimmy good-naturedly, I'd have seen all that myself after a little if you hadn't showed me. Yes, said Billy Dryly, and then told somebody, that's why I brushed the glass dust off.

I've got inside information, some that I'm going to share with you, and some that I'm not going to tell even you. Trot it out. Lake had the key of this front door in the policeman's uniform that he wore to the dance. Isn't that queer? If I were you, I'd very quietly find out whether he went home to get that key after he got word that the bank was robbed. He was still in the ballroom when he got the message. You think it's a put-up job? Why? There is something not just right about the man Lake. His mind is too ball-bearing altogether. He herds those chumps in there round like so many sheep. He used him to make discoveries with, and then showed him how to force him on him.

Oh, they made a heap of progress. They've got evidence enough up in there to hang John the Baptist, with Lake all the time setting back in the breaching like a bulky horse. It's Lake's Bank, and the banks got burglar's insurance. Got that? If he gets the money and the insurance too, see? And I happen to know that he has been bucking the market. I dropped a roll with him myself.

Then there's revenge, as they say on the stage, and something else beside. Has Lake any bitter enemies? Oodles of them. But one worse than the others? One he hates most. Jimmy thought for a while, and then he nodded, Jeff Bransford, I reckon. Is he in town?

Not that I know of. Well, I never heard of you're Mr. Bransford, but he's in town. All right, all right. You see, Lakes got a case cooked up that'll hang someone higher than Eamon, and I'll bet the first six years of my life against a Dr. Cook lecture ticket that the first letter of someone's name is Jeff Bransford. Maybe Jeff can prove he was somewhere else, suggested Jimmy. Billy evaded the issue.

What sort of a man is this Bransford? Any good? Besides being an enemy of lakes, I mean. Mr. Bransford is one whom we all delight to humor. announced the deputy after some reflection. Friend of yours? Jimmy reflected again. Well, yes, he said.

He limps a little in the cold weather, and I got a little small ditch plowed in my skull, but our horses was both young and wild, and the boys rode in between us before there was any harm done. I pulled him out of the paco since that, too, and poured some several barrels of water out of him. Yes, we're good friends, I reckon. He'll shoot back on proper occasion then? A good sport? Stand the gaff.

On proper occasion, enjoyed Jimmy, the other man will shoot back, if he's lucky. Yes, sir, Jeff's certainly one dead game sport at any turn in the road. Considering the source and spirit of your information, you sadden me, said to Billy. The better man he is, the better chance to hang. Has he got any close friends here? He seldom ever comes here, said Jimmy. all his friends is on rainbow especially south rainbow but his particular side partners is all away just now leastways all but one can't you write to that one the deputy grinned hugely and tell him to come break jeff out of jail said he that don't seem hardly right considerin you write to him johnny deane's morningside you might wire up to cloudland and have it forwarded from there i'll pay billy made a note of it they'll be out here they'll be out here here in a jiffy now, he said.

Now, Jimmy, you listen to all they tell you, follow it up, make no comments, don't see anything, and don't miss anything. Let Lake think he's having it all his own way, and he'll make some kind of a break that will give him away. We haven't got a thing against him yet, except the right guess, and you be careful to catch your friend without a fight. When you get him, I want you to give him a message from me, but don't mention any name. tell him to keep a stiff upper lip that the devil takes care of his own.

Say, the devil told you himself, in person. I don't want you to show my hand. I'm on the other side, see? That way I can be in Lake's councils, force myself in, if necessary, after this morning. You think that if you give Lake rope enough? Exactly. Here they come. I hear their chairs.

Blonde or brunette, said Jimmy casually. What's that? The something else that you wouldn't tell me about? Jimmy explained, is she blonde or brunette? Oh, go to hell, said Billy. End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of Bransford of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Rhodes. This Liberbox recording is in the public domain.

Chapter 9, Taken Lord Huntley, then, he did speak out. O fair mortify his body, I hear we'll fight Doubler de Lane, or any thing ails Jordy. Whom has he robbed? What has he stole? Or has he killed ony? Or what's the crime that he has done

His foes they are so many? Old ballad. Hugh and cry, hubbub and mystery swept the Isle of Arkady that morning, but the most painstaking search and query proved fruitless. It developed beyond doubt that the football man

had not been seen since his one brief appearance on the ballroom floor. Search was transferred to the mainland, where, as it neared noon, Lake's perseverance and thoroughness were rewarded. In Chihuahua suburb, beyond the north wall, Lake noted a sweat-marked red roan horse

in the yard of Rosalia Marquez, better known by reason of his profession as Monte. Straightway, the banker reported this possible clue to the sheriff and to Billy, who was as tireless and, determined in the chase as Lake himself. The other masqueraders had mostly abandoned the chase. He found them on the bridge of the Lalu's Salliport.

It may be worth looking into, Lake advised the sheriff. Better send someone to reconnoiter, someone not known to be connected with your office. You go, Billy. If you find anything suspicious, the sheriff can phone to the hospital if he needs me. I'm going over to see how the old watchman is. Ought to have gone before. if he gets well, I must do something handsome for him. Billy fell in with this request.

He had a well-founded confidence in Lake's luck and attached much more significance to the trifling matter of the red-roan horse than did the original discoverer, especially since the discoverer had bethought himself to go to the hospital on an errand of mercy. Billy now confidently expected early developments, and he preferred personally to conduct, the arrest, so that he might interfere, if necessary, to prevent any wasting of good cartridges.

He did not expect much trouble, however, providing the affair was conducted tactfully, reasoning that a dead game sport with a clean conscience and a light heart would not seriously object to a small arrest, poor Billy's own heart was none of the lightest as he went on this loyal service to his presumably favored rival. bicycle back he accompanied the sheriff beyond the outwards to the mexican quarter near the place indicated by the banker billy left his wheel and strolled casually round the block he saw the red roan steed and noted the double rainbow branded on his thigh monte was leaning in the adobe doorway rolling a cigarette billy knew him in a business way hello monte good horse you got there "'Yes, that's not horse,' said Monty. "'Want to sell him?'

"'E's not my horse,' explained Monty. "'He's of a friend.' "'I like his looks,' said Billy. "'Is your friend here, or if he's downtown, what's his name? "'I'd like to buy that horse.' "'He is within, but he's not apparent. "'Is dormingendo, yes, sleeping. "'It was last night to the bail, masquerade.'

Billy nodded, yes, I was there myself. He decided to take a risk, assuming that his calculations were correct, X must equal Bransford. So he said carelessly, let's see. Bransford went as a sailor, didn't he? On a marinero? Oh, no, he was tired like one carcasse, what you call this thing, on a ballon, for jugger on those bids. Oh, see, see, one feet.

myself i come soon back i have no business the busy people leaves all for the dance said Monty with hand turned up and the shrugging shoulder do me dey an to j twelve of the clock i am here back i find here the horse of my friend and one got letter that i am not locked the door because he may come to a sleep so i meek to repose myself later i am or else my friend am to retire himself ah que ombre i am not to a smile to see him in these so ridiculous vestitos he is a poor gay ah ke jeff in all ways these is a man there's sufficiente courageous strong formidable yet he is keep the disposition the heart of a simple little child on a muchacho I'll come again, said Billy, and passed on. He had found out what he had come for.

The absence of concealment dispelled any lingering doubt of Jeff Buttinsky, yet he could establish no alibi by Monty. Perhaps Billy White may require here a little explanation. All things considered, Billy thought Jeff would be better off in jail with a friend in the opposite camp working for his interest than getting himself foolishly killed by a hasty posy. If we are cynical, we may say that being young, Billy was not averse to the role of Deos Exmachina. Perhaps a thought of friendly gratitude was not lacking.

Then, too, adventure for adventure's sake is motive enough, in youth. Or as a final self-revelation, we may hint that if Jeff was a rival, so too was lake and one more eligible. Let us not be cynical, however, or cowardly. at once shamelessly what we very well know, that youth is the season for clean honor and high empress, that boys love is best and truest of all, that poor honest Billy in his own dogged and fantastic way, but sought to give true service where he loved. There we have said it, and we are shamed. How old are you, sir?

Forty, fifty? Most actions are the result of mixed mode, as you say? Well, that is a notable concession. at your age. Let it go at that. Billy then acted from mixed motives. When Billy brought back his motives and the sheriff, Monta still held his negligent attitude in the doorway. He waved a graceful salute. I want to see Bransford, said the sheriff. He is a sleeping, said Monta. Well, I want to see him anyway. The sheriff laid a brusque hand on the gate latch. Monti waved his cigarette airily, flicked the ash from the end with a slender

finger, and once more demonstrated that the hand is quicker than the eye. The portentously steady gun in the hand was the first intimation to the eye that the hand had moved at all. It was a very large gun as to caliber, the sheriff noted. As it was pointed directly at his nose, he was favorably situated to observe, looking along the barrel that the hammer stood at full cock. "'Perhaps you have some papers for him,' suggested Monty with gentle and delicate deference, he still leaned against the door-jam.

But if not, it is best, that you do not into these my little house to disturb my guest, that would be to commit a rudeness, no? The sheriff was a sufficiently brave man, if not precisely a brilliant one, yet he showed now intelligence of the highest order. He dropped the latch. You belly, stop your laughing. Do you know, Mr. Monti, I think you are quite right, he observed, with a smiling politeness, equal to Monty's own. That would be rude, certainly. My mistake. An Englishman's house is his castle, that sort of thing. If you will excuse me, now we will go and get the papers, as you so kindly pointed out. They went away,

the sheriff, Billy, and motives. Billy still laughing immoderately. Monty went inside and stirred up his guest with the prodding boot-toe. Mr. Jeff, he demanded, what you're going to do it now? Jeff sat up, rumpled his hair, and rubbed his eyes. Zepen, he said. And before, pokey, the sheriff he has been to make arrest of you, I think. Me, said Jeff, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, I haven't done anything that I can remember now. Sure, no small little crime, not last night.

Me, I just got up. I have not here. jeff considered this suggestion carefully no i am sure not for years some mistake i guess or maybe he just wanted to see me about something else why didn't he come in i me clare zavim that he do not said monte i see jeff laughed come on we'll go see him you don't want to get into trouble they crossed the bridge and met the sheriff just within the fortifications returning in a crowded automobile jeff held up his hand the man the man The machine stopped and the posse deployed, except Billy, who acted as chauffeur. You wanted to see me, Sheriff, at the hotel? Why, yes, if you don't mind, said the Sheriff. Good dinner.

I ain't had breakfast yet. First class, said the Sheriff, forcily. Won't your friend come to? Ah, signor, you ashamed me that I am not so hospitable. Easy to not, purred Monty, as he followed Jeff into the tonneau. The sheriff reddened, and Billy choked. of the sort, said the sheriff hastily, lapsing into littleness, you were

quite within your rights. For that matter, I know you were at your own bank, dealing when the crime was committed. I am holding you for the present as a possible accessory, but if not, then, as a material witness. By the way, Monty, would you mind if I sent some men to look through your place? There is a matter of some thirty thousand dollars missing.

Lake asks us to look for it. I have papers for it, if you care to see him. Oh, no, signor. said Monty, he handed over a key, La Casa is Sue yo. Thank you, said the sheriff, with unmoved gravity. Anything of yours you want him to bring, Bransford? Why, no, said Jeff cheerfully.

I've got nothing there but my saddle, my gun, and an old football suit that belongs to Jean Baird over on the west side. But if you want me to stay long, I wish you'd look after my horse. I do have leafed down my gun, I keep to protect my needlehouse, observed Monty. Tell the one to keep before me. I'm much attacked to that gun. Why, yes, I've seen that gun, I think, said the sheriff. They'll look out for it. All right, Billy?

The car turned back. Oh, you were speaking about Monty being an accessory. I didn't get in till way past night, and I've been asleep all day, said Jeff, apologetically. Might I ask before or after exactly what fact Monty was an accessory? Bank robbery, for one thing. ah that would be lake spank anything else the sheriff was not a patient man and he had borne much also he liked lars porcina perfection even in trifles is rare and wins affection he turned on jeff with an angry growl murder lake murmured jeff hopefully the sheriff continued ignoring and indeed only half sensing the purport of jeff's comment at least the wound may not be more than the wound may not be more than the sheriff's comment at least the wound may not be mortal that's too bad said jeff he was if possible more cheerful than ever the sheriff glared at him billy from the front seat threw a word of explanation over his shoulder it's not lake the watchman

oh old lars porcina that's different not a bad sort lars maybe he'll get well hope so and i shot him dear me when did it happen you will find out soon enough said the sheriff grimly your preliminaries right away hell i haven't had breakfast yet jeff protested feed us first or we won't be tried at all within the jail while the sheriff spoke with his warder it occurred to billy that since jimmy phillips was not to be seen he might as well carry his own friendly message so he said guardedly bug up old man keep a stiff upper lip and be careful what you say this is only your preliminary trial remember Lots of things may happen before court sets. The devil looks after his own, you know. Jeff had a good ear for voices, however, and Billy's mustache still kept more than a hint of Mephistopheles. Jeff slowly surveyed Billy's natty attire

with a lingering and insulting interest for such evidences of prosperity as silken hoagery and a rather fervid scarf pin. At last as I met Billy's and Billy was blushing. Does he? Grawled Jeff languidly. Ah, you own the car, then.

Poor Billy. Notwithstanding the ingratitude of this rebuff, Billy sought out Jimmy Phillips and recounted to him the circumstances of the arrest. Oh, naughty, naughty, said the deputy, caressing his nose. Lakes been a cowman on rainbow. He knew the brand on that horse. He knew Jeff was chummy with Monty.

He knew in all reasons. that Jeff was in there, and most likely he knew it all the time. So he sneaks off to see Lars, after shooting him from ambush, damn him, and sends you to take Jeff. Looks like he might be willing for you and Jeff to damage either, which or both of yourselves, as the case may be. It looks so, said to Billy. Must be a fine girl, murmured Jimmy absently.

Well, what are you going to do? Looks pretty plain. It looks plain to us, but we haven't got us. single tangible thing against Lake yet. We had to be laughed out of court if we brought an accusation against him. We'll have to wait and keep our eyes open. You're sure Lake did it? There was no rubber nosepiece at Monty's house, all the rest of the football outfit, but not that. That looks bad for Jeff. On the contrary, that is the strongest link against Lake. I dare say Badenski, Mr. Ransford, is eminently capable of bank robbery at odd moments, but I know approximately where

that noseguard was at sharp midnight after the watchman was shot. Here Billy swore mentally, having a very definite guess as to how Jeff might have lost the noseguard, Lake, Clark, Turnbull, Thompson, Elic, or myself, one of the six of us brought that noseguard to the bank after the robbery, and only one of the six had a motive, and a key. only one of you had a key corrected jimmy cruelly but can't jeff prove where he was maybe he won't i'd sure like to see her said jimmy end of chapter nine chapter ten of bransford of rainbow range by eugene manlove rhodes this libri box recording is in the public domain chapter ten the alibi and all loves clanging trumpets shocked and blue the executioner's argument was that you couldn't cut off ahead unless there was a body to cut it off from that he had never had to do such a thing before and he wasn't going to begin at his time of life alice in wonderland the justice of the peace when the county court was not in session held hearings in the courtroom proper which occupied the entire second story of the county courthouse the room was crowded it was a new courthouse there are people impatient to try even

a new hearse, and this bad fare to be Arcadia's first co-celebrbe. Jeff sat in the prisoner's stall, a target for boring eyes. He was conscious of an undesirable situation. Exactly how tight a place it was he had no means of knowing until he should have heard the evidence. The room was plainly hostile. Black looks were cast upon him. Deputy Phillips, as he entered arm-in-arm with the sometime devil, gave

the prisoner an intent but non-committal look, which Jeff rightly interpreted as assurance of a friend in ambush. He felt unaccountably sure of the devil's fraternal aid. Monta lolling behind the rail of the witness box smiled across at him. Still he would have felt better for another friendly face or two, he thought, save John Wesley Pringles. Jeff looked from the open window. Cotton woods, well-watered, gave swiftest, growth of any trees and are therefore the dominant feature of new communities in dry lands the courthouse yard was crowded with them Jeff from the window could see nothing but their green plumes and his thoughts ran naturally upon gardens or

to be more accurate upon a garden would she lose faith in him had she heard yet would he be able to clear himself no mere acquittal would do because of Eleanor, there must be no question, no verdict of not proven. She would go east tomorrow. Perhaps she would not hear of his arrest at all. He hoped not. The bank robbery, the murder. Yes, she would hear of them, perhaps, but why need she hear his name?

Hers was a world so different. He fell into a muse at this. Deputy Phillips passed and stood close to him, looking down from the window. His back was to Jeff, but under cover of the confused hum of many voices, he spake low from the corner of his mouth. Play your hand close to your bosom, old-timer, wait for the draw, and watch the dealer. He strolled over to the other side of the judicial bench whence he came. This vulgar speech betrayed Jimmy as one given to evil courses, but to Jeff that muttered

warning was welcome as thunder of Blucher's squadrons to British squares at Waterloo. Down the aisle came a procession consciously important, the prosecuting attorney, the bank's lawyer, who was to assist for the people, and Lake himself. As they passed the gate, Jeff smiled his sweetest, Hello, Wally! Lake's name was Stephen Walter. Wally made no verbal response, but his undershot jaw did the Steel Trap Act, and there was a triumphant glitter in his eye. He turned his broad back pointedly, and Jeff smiled again.

The justice took his seat on the raised dais, intervening between Jeff and the sheriff's desk. Court was opened. The usual tedious preliminaries followed. Jeff waved a jury trial, refused a lawyer, and announced that he would call no witnesses at present. In an impressive stillness, the prosecutor rose for his opening statement. Condensed, it recounted the history of the crime, so far as far as. as known. Fixed the time by the watchman's statement, to be confirmed, he said, by another witness, the telephone girl on duty at that hour, who had heard the explosion and the ensuing

gunshot. Touched upon that watchman's faithful service and his present desperate condition, he told of the late finding of the injured man, the meeting in the bank, the sum taken by the robber, and the discovery in the bank of the rubber nosepiece, which he submitted as Exhibit A. he cited the witnesses by whom he would prove each statement and laid special stress upon the fact that the witness clark would testify that the nosepiece had been found upon the shattered fragments of the safe door conclusive proof that it had been dropped after the crime and he then held forth at some length upon the hand of providence as manifested in the unconscious self-betrayal which had frustrated and brought to naught the prisoners fiendish designs. On the whole, he spoke well of Providence. Now, Jeff had not once thought of the discarded noseguard since he first found it in his way. He began to see how tightly the net was drawn around him. There was a serpent in the garden, he reflected. A word from Miss Hoffman would set him

free. If she gave that word at once, it would be unpleasant for her, but if she gave it later as a last resort, it would be more than unpleasant. And in that same hurried moment, Jeff knew that he would not call upon her for that word. All his crowded life, he had kept the happy knack of falling on his feet. The stars that fought in their courses against this era had ever fought for reckless Bransford. He decided, with lovable folly, to trust to chance, to his wits, and to his friends. And now, your honor, we come to the unbreakable chain of evidence, which fatally links the prisoner at the bar to this crime. We will prove that the prisoner was not invited to the masquerade ball given last night by Mr. Lake. We will prove there was a stir in the courtroom.

The prosecutor paused, disconcerted. Eyes were turned to the double door at the back of the courtroom. In the entry at the head of the stairs, huddled a group of shrinking girls. Before them, one foot upon the threshold, stood Eleanor Hoffman. She shook off a detaining hand and stepped into the room, head erect, proud, pale. Across the sea of curious faces, her eyes met the prisoners. Of all the courtroom, Billy and Deputy Phillips alone turned then to watch Jeff's face. They saw an almost imperceptible shake of his head, a finger on lip, a reassuring gesture. saw, too, the quick pulse beat at his throat.

The color flooded back to Eleanor's face. Men nearest the door were swift to bring chairs. The prosecutor resumed his interrupted speech. His voice was deep, hard, vibrant. Your Honor, the counts against this man are fairly damning. We will prove that he was shaved in a barbershop in Arcadia at ten o'clock last night, that he then rode a roan horse, that the horse was then sweating, profuselying. that this horse was afterward found at the house of,

oh, but we will take that up later. We will prove by many witnesses that among the masqueraders was a man wearing a football suit, wearing a nosepiece similar, entirely similar, to the one found in the bank, which now lies before you. We will prove that this football player

was not seen in the ballroom after the hour of 11 p.m. We will prove that when he was next seen without the ballroom, room. It was not until sufficient time had elapsed for him to have committed this awful crime. Eleanor half rose from her seat. Again, Jeff flashed a warning at her. We will prove this, Your Honor, by a most unwilling witness, Rosalio Marquez. Monti smiled across at Jeff, a friend of the prisoner who in his behalf has not scruple to defy the majesty

of the law. We can prove by this witness this reluctant witness. that when he returned to his home shortly after midnight, he found there the prisoner's horse, which had not been there, when Mr. Marquez left the house some four hours previously, and that at some time subsequent to twelve o'clock the witness Marquez was awakened by the entrance of the prisoner at the bar, clad in a football suit, but wearing no nosepiece with it. And we have the evidence of the sheriff's posse that they found in the home of the witness, Rosalio Marquez, the football suit, which we offer as exhibit B. Nay, more, the prisoner did not deny, and indeed admitted, that this uniform was his,

but mark this, the searching party found no nosepiece there. It is true, Your Honor, that the stolen money was not found upon the prisoner. It is true that the prisoner made no use of the opportunity to escape, offered him by his lawless and disreputable friend Rosalio Marquez, a common gambler. Doubtless, Your Honor, his cunning had devised some diabolical plan upon which he relied to absolve himself from suspicion. And now, trembling, he has for the first time learned of the fatal flaw in his concocted defense, which he had so fondly deemed invincible. All eyes, including the orators, here turned upon the prisoner, to find him, so far from trembling,

quite otherwise engaged. The prisoner's elbow was upon the rail, his chin in his hand. He regarded Mr. Lake attentively, with cheerful amusement and a quizzical smile, which in some way subtly carried an expression of mockery and malicious triumph. To this fixed and disconcerting regard, Mr. Lake opposed to a question of, an iron front, but the effort required was apparent to all. There was an uneasy rustling through the court. The prisoner's bearing was convincing, natural. This was no mere brazen assuming. The banker's forced composure was not natural. He should have been an angry banker. Of the two men, Lake was the less at ease. The prisoner's face turned at last towards the door.

Blank unrecognition was in his eyes as they swept past Eleanor, but he shook his head once more, very slightly. There was a sense of mystery in the air, a buzz and a burr of whispers, a rustle of moving feet. The audience noticeably relaxed its implacable attitude toward the accused. I'd him with a different interest seemed to feel for the first time that, after all, he was accused merely, and that his defense had not yet been heard. The prosecutor felt this subtle change. It lamed his periods. It is true, Your Honor, that no eye save God saw this guilty man do this deed,

but the web of circumstantial evidence is so closely drawn, so far-reaching, so unanswerable, so damning, that no defense can avail him except the improbable, the impossible establishment of an alibi so complete, so convincing, as to satisfy even his bitterest enemy. We will ask you, Your Honor, when you have seen how fully the evidence bears out our every contention, to commit the prisoner without bail to answer the charge of robbery and attempted murder. Then, by the door, Jeff saw the girl start up. she swept down the aisle radiant brave unfearing resolute all half-god's gone she shone at him proud glowing triumphant

a hush fell upon the thrilled room jeff was on his feet his hand held out to stay her his eyes spoke to hers she stopped as at a command scarcely slower billy was at her side wait wait he whispered see what he has to say there will be always time for that jeff's eyes held hers she sank into an offered chair cheated disappointed the court took breath again their dramatic moment had to be always time for that jeffs jeffs eyes held hers she sank into an offered chair cheated disappointed the court took breath again their dramatic moment had to hermatic moment had to her been nothing but their own nerves. Their own excited imaginations had attached a pulse-fluttering significance to the flushed cheeks of a prying girl, seeking a better place to see and hear to gratify her morbid curiosity. Jeff turned to the bench. Your Honor, I have a perfectly good line of defense, and I trust no friend of mine will undertake to change it. I will keep you but a minute, he said colloquially. I will not waste your time. time combating the ingenious theory which the prosecution has built up, or in cross-examination

of their witnesses, who I feel sure, here he bowed to the cloud of witnesses, will testify only to the truth. I quite agree with my learned friend, another graceful vow, that the case he has so ably presented is so strong that it can successfully be rebutted only by an alibi so clear and so incontestable as my learned friend has so aptly phrased it, as to convince, if not satisfy, my bitterest enemy. The bow, the subtle, icy indonation, edged the words. The courtroom thrilled again at the unspoken thought, An enemy hath done this thing.

If in the stillness the prisoner had quoted the words aloud in fierce denunciation, the effect could not have been different or more startling. and that, your honor, is precisely what I propose to do. His honor was puzzled. He was a good judge of men, and the prisoner's face was not a bad face. But, he objected, you have refused to call any witnesses for the defense. Your unsupported word will count for nothing. You cannot prove an alibi alone.

Can't I? said Jeff. Watch me. With a single motion, he was through the open window, bending branches of the nearest cottonwood broke his fall. The other trees hid his flight. Behind him rose uproar, tumult, and hulabaloo, a mass of struggling men at cross-purposes. Gun in hand, the sheriff, stumbling over someone's foot,

Montes, ran to the window, but the faithful deputy was before him, blocking the way, firing with loving care, at one particular tree trunk. He was a good shot, Jimmy. He afterward showed with pride where each ball had struck in a scant six-inch space. Vainly the sheriff tried to force his way through. There was but one stairway and it was jammed. Before the foremost pursuer had reached the open, Jeff had borrowed one of the saddled horses hitched at the rack and was away to the hills. As Billy struggled through the press searching

for Eleanor, he found himself at Jimmy's elbow. A dead game sport. any turn in the road agreed billy the deputy nodded curtly but his answer was inconsequent rather in the brunette line that bit a tangible evidence end of chapter ten chapter eleven of bransford of rainbow range by eugene manlove roads this liverbox recording is in the public domain chapter eleven the nettle danger bush o'le wheat bush all ain't ready holler i hide and seek double mountain lies lost in the desert dwarfed by the greatness all about its form is that of a crater split from north to south into irregular halves through that narrow cleft ran a straight road once the well-traveled thoroughfare from rainbow to el basso for there was precious water within those upheaved walls it was but three miles from portals to portal, the slight climb to the divide had not been grudged. Time was when campfires were nightly merry to light the narrow cliffs of double mountain, when songs were gay to echo from them, when this had been the only watering place to break the long span across the desert. The railroad

had changed all this, and the silent leagues of that old road lay untrodden in the sun. Not untrodden on this day after Jeff had established his alibi. A traveler followed that lonely road to Double Mountain, and behind, halfway to Rainbow Range, was a streak of dust, which gained on him. The traveler's sorrow horse was weary, for it was the very horse Jeff Bransford had borrowed from the itching rail of the courthouse square. The traveler was that able negotiator himself, and the pursuing dust, to the best of Jeff's knowledge and belief meant him no good tidings. Now I got safe away from the foothills before day, Sylocuwise, Jeff. Some gentleman has overtaken me with a spyglass, I reckon.

Civilizations getting this country plum ruined, and their horses are fresh. Peg-along, alibi. Maybe I can pick up a stray horse at double mountain. If I can't, there's no sort of use trying to get away on you. I'll play hide and seek them. That'll let you. you out anyway, so cheer up. You're done fine, old man. If I ever get out of this, I'll buy you and make it all right with you. Benton you off if you think you'll like it. Get along now. Twenty miles to Jeff's right, the railroad parallel the wagon road, in an unbroken tangent of 90 miles stretch. A southbound passenger train crawled along the west like a resolute centipede, plodding to a date. Behind the fugitive, abreast, now far behind. Creak,

along the shining straightaway. Forty miles the hour was her schedule. Yet against this vast horizon, she could hardly be said to change place until, sighting beyond her puny length, a new angle of the far-western wall completed, the trinomial line. Escondito was hidden in a dip of plain,

whence the name, hidden when done into Saxon's speech. The train was lost to sight when she stopped there, but Jeff saw the name, the tiny steam plume of her whistling rise in the clear and taintless air. Long after, the faint sound of it hummed drowsily by, like passing far-blown horns of fairy in a dream. And at no great interval thereafter, a low-lying dust appeared suddenly on the hither rim

of Escondido's sunken valley. Jeff knew the land, as you know your hallway. That line of dust marked the trail from Escondido Valley to the far the gate of double mountain. Even if he should be lucky enough to get a change of mounts at the spring in double mountain basin, he would be intercepted. Escape by flight was impossible. To fight his way out was impossible.

He had no gun, and even if he had a gun, he could not see his way to fight under the circumstances. The men who hunted him down were only doing the right thing as they saw it. Had Jeff been guilty, it would have been a different affair. Being innocent, he could make no fight for it. He was cornered. Said the little Leopas, I'm going to be a horse. So chanted Jeff, perceiving the hopelessness of his plight. The best gift to man, or if not the best, then at least the rarest,

is the power to meet the emergency, to do your best and a little better than your best when nothing less will serve, to be a pinch hitter. It is to be thought that certain stages of a fight. and, more particularly, the presence of its object, affect unfavorably the workings of pure intellect. Certain it is that capable Bransford, who had cut so sorry a figure in Eden Garden, now in these distressing but eveless circumstances, rose to the occasion. Collected, resourceful, he grasped every possible angle of the situation, and with the rope virtually about his neck, cheerfully planned the imposterous.

the essence of his elastic plan being to climb that very rope hand over hand to safety going round the mountain is no good on a give-out horse they'll follow my tracks said jeff to jeff men who are much alone so shape their thoughts by voicing them just as you practice conversation rather to make your own thought clear to yourself than to enlighten your victim a beg pardon your neighbor just a slip of the tongue but Sino is the Spanish for neighbor, you know. Not so much to enlighten your neighbor as to find out for yourself precisely what it is you think. Hiding in the basin is no good. Can't get out. Would I were a bird? Only one way. Got to go straight up.

Disappear. Vanish in the air. Up a chimney. Up. Nah, that's backward. Up a chimney. Down or down a chimney. Down.

But not up a chimney, up. Nor down a chimney. so that's settled now let me see says the little man mighty few arcadians know me well enough not to be fooled maybe so blake blake won't come he'll be busy there's jimmy but jimmy's got a shocking bad memory for faces sometimes just now my face i think maybe i could manage jimmy the sheriff that would be real awkward i reckon i'll just play the sheriff isn't in the bunch and billy my little bluff according to that pleasing fancy for if he comes along it is all off with little Jeff now let me see if Gwen's work in that little old mine of his why he'll lie himself black in the face just for the principal of it mighty interesting talker Gwen is and if no one's there I'll be there not Jeff

Bransford he got away I'll be um long Toby long working for Gwen Toby I apprenticed my son to a miner, and the first thing he took was a new name. Far away on the side of Double Mountain he could even now see the white triangle of the tent at Gwynne's mine, the Ophir, and the gray dump spilling down the hillside. There was no smoke to be seen. Jeff made up his mind there was no one at the mine, which was what he devoutly hoped, and further developed his gleeful hypothesis. see now toby got to study this out they most always leave all their kegs full of water when they go away so they won't have to pack em up the first thing when they come back if they did i'm all right if they didn't i'm in a hell of a fix they'll leave em full though of course they did unless the kegs would all dry up and fall down he glanced over his shoulder them fellows are ten or twelve miles back i reckon they'll slow up soon as they see i'm headed on

I'll have time to fix things up, if only there's water in the kegs at the mine. He patted Alibai's head. Now, old man, do your damnedus. It's pretty tough on you, but your part will soon be over. Alibi had made a poor night of it, what with doubling and twisting in the foothills, the bitter water of a jip spring, and the scanty grass of a cedar thicket.

But he did his plucky best. On the legal other hand, as Jeff had prophesied, the dust-makers behind had slackened their gate when they perceived by the dust of Escondido Trail that their allies must cut the quarry off. So Alibi held his own with the pursuit. He came to the rising ground leading to the sheer base of double mountain, then to the narrow gap where the mountain had fallen asunder in some age-old cataclysm. To the left, the dump of Ophir Mine hung on the hillside above the pass, and on the broad trail zigzagging up to it were burrow tracks but no fresh tracks of men the flaps of the white tent on the dump were tightly closed there was no one at the mine

jeff passed within the walls through frowning gates of porphyry and nice and urged alibi up the canyon it was half a mile to the spring on the way he found three shaggy burrows grazing beside the road he drove them into the small pen by the spring and tossed his rope on the largest one. Then he unsaddled alibi, tied into the fence by the bridle rein, and searched his pockets for an old letter. This found he penciled a note and tied it to the saddle. It was brief. On route, 4 p.m. Please water my horse when he cools off your little friend Jeff Bransford.

P.S. excuse haste. He made a plain trail of high-heeled boot tracks to the spring, where he drank deep. thence beyond, through the sandy soil, to the nearest rocky ridge. Then careful that every step fell on a bare rock, he came circuitously back to the corral, climbed the fence, made his way to the Tide Burrow, improvised a bridle of cunning half-hitches, slipped from the fence to the burrow's back, a burrow, by the way, is a donkey, named the borough anew as Bailem, and went back down the canyon at the best pace of which The belabored and astonished Balaam was capable.

As Jeff had hoped, the two other boroughs, or the other two boroughs, to be precise, followed sociably braying remonstrance. Without the mouth of the canyon, Jeff rode up the steep trail to the mine, also to the great disgust of his mount. But he must not walk. It would leave boot tracks. For the same reason, after freeing Balaam, his first action was to pull off the tell-tail boots and replaced them with the smallest pair of hobnailed miners' shoes in the tent.

With these he carefully obliterated the few boot tracks at the tent door. The water kegs were full, Jeff swore his joyful gratitude, and turned his eye to the plain. The pursuing dust was still far away, seven miles, he estimated, or possibly eight. The three burrows nibbled on the bushes below the dump, plainly intending to stay round camp with an eye for possible tips. Jeff gave his whole-hearted attention to the Mise en Sen. Never did stage manager

toil so hard, so faithfully, so effectively as this one, or with so great a need. He took stock of the available stage properties, beginning with a careful inventory of the grub chest. To betray ignorance of its possibilities or deficiencies would be fagal.

Following a narrow trail round a little shoulder of hill, he found the powder magazine. Taking three sticks of dynamite with fuse and caps, he searched the tent for the candle-box, lit a candle, and went into the tunnel with a brisk trot. If this was a case of fight now, I'd have some pretty fair weapon here for close quarters, said Jeff.

But the way I'm fixed, I can't. No fighting goes, unless lake comes. In the tunnel his luck held good. He found a number of good-sized chunks of rocks stacked along the wall near the breast, evidently reserved for the ore pile at a more convenient season. Beneath three of the largest of these rocks, he carefully adjusted the three sticks of giant powder, properly capped and fused, lit the fuses, and retreated to the safety of the dump. Three muffled detonations followed at short intervals.

Having thus announced the presence of mining operations, he built, a fire on the kitchen side of the dump to further advertise a mind conscious of its own rectitude. The pleasant shadow of the hills was cool about him, the flame rose clear and bright in the windless air to be seen from far away. He looked at the location papers in the monument by the ore stack, simultaneously by way of economizing time emptying a can of salmon. This was partly for the added verisillimitude of the eminent, of the eminent, of the eminent. empty tin, partly because he was ravenously hungry. You may guess how he emptied the tin.

The mine had changed owners since Jeff's knowledge of it. It was no longer Gwyn's sole property. The notice bore the signatures of J. Gwynn, C.W. Sanders, and Walter Fleck. Jeff grinned and his eye brightened. He knew Fleck only slightly, but Fleck's reputation among the cowman was good. That is to say, as you would see it, very bad. Pappy Sanders, postmaster and storekeeper of Escondido, was an old and sorely-tried friend of Jeff's. If Pappy had grubstaped the outfit, a far-away plan began to shape vaguely in his fertile brain. He took the little turquoise horse from his pocket and laid it in the till of the violated trunk. Were you told about the violated trunk? Never mind. He had done any amount

of other things of which you have not been told, for it was his task in the brief time all to him to master all the innumerable details needful for an intelligent reading of his part. He must make no blunders. He toiled like two men, each swifter and more savagely efficient than himself. He upset the prim, old he-maidenish order of that carefully packed, spick and span camp. He rumpled the beds, strewed old clothes, books, candles, specimens, pipes, and cigarette papers with lavish hand, made untidy sprawling heaps of tin plates, knives, forks, and spoons, spilled candle grease and tobacco on the scoured table, and generally gave things a cozy

and habitable appearance. He gave a hundred deft touches here and there. He spread an open book, face downward, on the table. It was, Alison Wollison Wendell. Wonderland, and he opened it at the Mock Turtle. Meanwhile, an unoccupied eye snatched titles from a shelf of books against possible question. He penned a short note to himself, Mr. Toby Long, in Gwynne's handwriting, folded the note to creases, twisted it to a spill, lit it, burned a corner of it, pinched it out, and threw it under the table. And while doing these

and other things, he somehow managed to shed every article of Jeff Bransford's clothing and to put on the work-stained garments of a miner. The perspiration on his face was no stage makeup but good, honest sweat. He rubbed stone dust and sand on his sweaty arms and into a sweaty hair. He rubbed most of it from his hair and into the two-day stubble on his face, simultaneously fishing razor and mug from the trunk, leaving them in evidence on the table. He worked stone dust into his ears, behind his ears. He grimed it on forehead and neck. He even dropped a little into his shoes,

which all this while had been performing independent miracles to make the camp look comfortable. He threw on a dingy cap, thrust in the camp a miner's candlestick with a lighted candle that it might properly drip upon him, while he arranged further details, and so faced the world as Toby Long, a stooped and overworked man. Mr. Toby Long, working with feverish haste, dug a small cave half-way down the steep side of the dump, farthest from the road, and buried therein a tightly rolled bundle containing every article appertaining to the defunct Bransford, with the single exception of the little Eopis, A pocket-knife, which a miner must have to cut powder and fuse, having been found in the trunk, what time also the little turquoise horse was transferred to Mr. Long's pocket to bring him luck in his new career.

A poor thing compared with the cowman's keen blade, but better for Mr. Long's purpose as smelling strongly of dynamite. Then Mr. Long, Toby, hid the grave by sliding and shoveling broken rock down the dump, upon it. Next he threw into a wheelbarrow, drills, spoon, tamping stick, gads, drill hammer, rock hammer, canteen, shovel, and pick, taking care even in his haste to select a properly matched set of drills and trundled the barrow up the drift at a pace which would give a miners union the rabies. At the breast he unshipped his cargo in right

miners fashion, the drills in a graduated step-ladder row along the wall, loaded the barrel with broken ore, a bit of charred fuse, showing at the top, and wheeled it out at the same unprofessional gate, leaving it on the dump just above the spot where his late sepulchral rites had freshened the appearance of the sun-beaten dump. He next performed his ablutions in an amateurish and perfunctory fashion, scrupulously observing a well-defined waterline. There, said Mr. Long,

a near made a break that time he went back to the barrow and trundled it assiduously to the tunnel's mouth and back several times carefully never in quite the same place finally leaving it not above the sepulchre's spoil but near the ore stack as befitted its valuable contents i gotta think of everything one wong break'll fix me good said mr long he felt his neck delicately as if he detected some foreign presence there in the tunnel now there's only the one place where the wheel can go so it don't matter so much in there the fire having now burned down to proper coals mr long set about supper with the corner of his eye on the lookout for the pursuers of the late bransford he set the coffee-pot by the fire they were now in the edge of the tar-brush there were only two of them he put on a pot of potatoes in their jackets he could see them plainly he could see them plainly diminutive black horsemen, twinkling through the brush. He sliced bacon into a frying-pan and put it aside to await his cue. He disposed other cooking wear in lifelike attitudes near the fire. They were in the long shadow of Double Mountain.

Their horses were jaded, they rode slowly. He dropped the sourdough jar and placed the broken pieces where they would be inconspicuously visible. Having thus a perfectly obvious excuse for not having sourdough bread, which requires 36 hours of running start for preliminary rising, Jeff, Mr. Toby Long, mixed up a just as good baking powder substitute. They rode like young men. They rode like young men not to the saddle born, and Toby permitted himself a chuckle. By, hooky, I've got an even chance for my little bluff. He shook his head reprovingly at himself for this last admission.

With every minute he looked more like Toby Long than ever, if only there had been any Toby Long to look like. His mind ran upon nuggets, pockets, placers, faults, true fissure veins, the cyanide process, concentrates, chlorides, sulfides, assays, leases, and bonds. His face took on the strained wistfulness, which marks the confirmed prospector. He was Toby Long. The bell rang. End of Chapter 11.

Chapter 12 of Bransford of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Rhodes. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 12, The Siege of Double Mountain. Temeo de naos at Donne Ferentes, the dictionary. Whoie, hello! As the curtain rose to the flying echoes, long stepped to the edge of the dump, frying pan in hand, and sent back an answering shout in the startled high notes of a lonely man taken unawares. Hello!

He brandished his hospitable pan. Then he put it down, cupped his hands to mouth, and trumpeted a hearty welcome. Chuck, come up. Supper's ready. Can't see anyone go by about two hours ago? Eh? Louder. See a man on a sorrow horse?

No. I've been in the tunnel. Come up. Can't. We're after an outlaw. What? After a murderer. Wait a minute.

I'll go down. Too hard to yell so far. Mr. Long started precipitately down the zigzag, but the writers had got all the information of interest that Mr. Long could furnish, and they were eager to be in at the death. Can't wait. He's inside the mountain somewhere, as some of the boys are waiting for him at the other end.

They rode on. Mr. Long posed for a statue of disappointment, hung on the steep trail, rather as if he might conclude to coil himself into a ball, and roll down the hill to overtake them. Stop as you come back, he bellowed, I want to hear about it. Did Jeff, Mr. Long, did Mr. Long now attempt to escape? Not so. Gifted with pre-vision beyond most, Mr. Long's mind misgave him that these young men would be baffled, in their pleasing expectations.

They would be back before sundown, very cross, and a miner's Brogan leaves a track not to be missed. That Mr. Long was unfaintedly fatigued from the varied efforts of the day need not be mentioned, for that alone would have stayed his flight. But the nearest water, save Escondido, was 35 miles, and at Escondido he would be watched for. Not to say that when he was missed, some of the... searching party would straight away go to Escandido to frustrate him.

Present escape was not to be thought of. Instead, Mr. Long made a hearty meal from the simple by-ins that had been in course of preparation when he was surprised, eked out by canned corn fried in bacon grease, to a crisp golden brown. Then, after a cigarette, he betook himself to sharpening tools with laudable industry. The tools were already sharp, but that did not stop Mr. Long. He built a fire in the forge, set up a step-latter of matched drills in the blackened water of the tempering tub. He thrust a gad and one short drill into the fire. When the gad was at a good cherry heat, he thrust it hissing into the tub to bring the water to a convincing temperature.

And when he reheated, he did it again. from time to time he held the one drill to the anvil and shaped it drawing it alternately to a chisel bit or a bull bit mr long could sharpen a drill with any having been in very truth a miner of sorts he could toy thus with one drill without giving it any very careful attention and his thoughts were now busy on how best to be mr long accordingly from time to time he added an artistic touch to Mr. Long. Grime under his fingernails, a smudge of smut on an eyebrow, his hands displeased him. After some experimenting to get the proper eat of it, he grasped the partially cooled gad with the drill-pinsers and held it very lightly to a favored few of those portions of the hand, known to chiro-maniacs as the mounts of Jupiter, Saturn, and other extinct immortals. Satisfactory blisters while you wait were thus obtained. These were pricked with a pin. Some were torn to tatters, with dust and coal rubbed in to give them a venerable appearance. The pain was no light matter,

but Mr. Long had a real affection for Mr. Bransford's neck, and it is trifles like these that make perfection. The next expedient was even more heroic. Mr. Long assiduously put stone dust in one eye, leaving it tearful bloodshot and violently inflamed and the other one was sympathetically read pittat steal in my eye explained mr long unselfish devotion such as this is all too rare all this time at proper intervals mr long sharpened and resharpened that one long-suffering drill he tripped into the tunnel and smote a mighty blow upon the country rock with a pick therefore qualified that pick for repointing, and laid it on the forge as next on the list. What further outraged he meditated is not known, for he now heard a horse coming up the trail. He was beating out a merry tattoo when a white-headed head rose through a trap-door, rose above the level of the dump, rather.

Hammer in hand long straightened up joyfully as best he could, but could not straighten up the tell-tailed droop of his shoulders. It was not altogether assumed either, this hump. Jeff, Mr. Long, had not done so much work of this sort for years, and there was a very real pain between his shoulder-blades. Still, but for the exigencies of art, he might have borne his neck less turtle-wise than he did. Hello? Got him? Where's your partner? Watching the gap. The young man arrested. breathless from the climb answered the last question first as he led his horse on the dump no we didn't get him but he can't get away hiding somewhere in the basin afoot found his horse pretty well done up the insolence of the outwall's letter smote him afresh he reddened no tracks going out of the basin two of our friends guarding the other end they say he can't get out over the cliffs anywhere that's so the speech came jerkily

he was still short of breath from his scramble. Not without a flying machine, said Long. No way out that I know of, except where the wagon road goes. What's he done? Robbery, murder. We'll see that he don't get out by the wagon road, asserted the youth confidently. Watch the gaps and starve him out. Oh, speaking of starving, said Toby, go into the tent and I'll bring you some supper while you tell me about it.

Baked up another batch of bread on the chance you come back. why thank you very much mr uh long toby long mr long my name is gurdon steel glad to meet you why if you will be so kind that is what i came up to see you about if you can let us have what we need of course we will pay you for it of course you won't it had not needed the offer to place mr gurdon steel quite accurately he was a handsome lad fresh complexion dressed in the western manner as practised practiced on the boardwalk. You're welcome to what I got, sure, but I ain't got much variety. Gwen, the old liar, said he was coming out the 20th. Sure enough, he didn't. So the grubs run low. Table and a tent. Come on. Oh, no, I couldn't, you know. Rex, that's my partner, is quite as hungry as I am, you see. But if you could give me something,

anything you have to take down there, I really couldn't, you know. the admirable doctrine of a noblessebleege in its delicate application by this politeness was easier for its practitioner than to put it into words suited to the comprehension of his hearers he concluded lamely i'll take it down there and we will eat it together see here said toby i'm as hungry to hear about your outlaw as you are to eat i'll just throw my bedding and a lot of chuck on your saddle we'll carry the coffee-pot and frying-pan in our hands and the sugar can and things like that. You can tank up and give me the news in small chunks at the same time. Afterward, two of us can sleep while one stands guard. This was done. It was growing dark when they reached the bottom of the hill. The third guardsman had built a fire. Rex, this is Mr. Long, who has been kind enough to grubstake us and share our watch with us. Mr. Steele, you have observed, had accepted Mr. Long without question, but his first impression of Mr. Long

have been gained under circumstances highly favourable to the designs of the latter gentleman. Mr. Steele had come upon him unexpectedly, finding him, as it were, in Medias Reyes, with all his skillfully arranged scenery to aid the illusion. The case was now otherwise the thousand-tongued vouching of his background lacked to him. Mr. Long had not save his own unthinkable audacity to belie his face with a from the first instant Mr. Rex Griffith was the prey of suspicion. Acute, bigoted, churlish, deep, dark, distrustful, damnable, and so on, down to zealous. He had a sharp eye. He wore no puttees, and Mr. Long had a vaguely uncomfortable memory holding over from some previous

incarnation of having seen that long shrewd face in a courtroom. The host on hospitable rights intent, likewise all ears and eager questionings was all unconscious of hostile surveillance nothing could be more care-free more at ease than his bearing his pleasant anticipatory excitement was the natural outlook for a lonely and newsless man as the heart panteth for the water so he thirsted for the story but his impatient hasty questions following false sense delayed the telling the telling of the Arcadian tale. So innocent was he, so open and above board, that Griffith, watching, alert, felt thoroughly ashamed of himself. Yet he watched, doubting still, though his reason rebelled at the monstrous imaginings of his heart, that the outlaw, unarmed and unasked, should venture, such effrontery was inconceivable. He allowed Steele to tell the story, himself contributing only an occasional grafting question, designed to enable his host to

betray himself. Bransford, interrupted Mr. Long. Not Jeff Bransford? Up south, Rainbow Way? That's the man, said Steele. I don't believe it, said Long flatly. He was sipping coffee with his guests. He put his cup down.

I know him a little. He don't. Oh, there's no doubt of it, interrupted Steele in his turn. He detailed the circumstances with skillful care. Besides, why did he run away? Gee, you ought to have seen that escape. It was splendid. Well, now, Houda thought that, demanded Long,

Still only half convinced. He didn't strike me like that kind of a man. Well, you never can tell. How come you fellas to be chasing him? You see, said Steele, everyone was sure he'd gone up to Rainbow. The sheriff and posse is up there now. looking for him. But we four, Stone and Harlow, the chaps at the other end, were with us, you know. We were up at the foothills on a deer hunt. We were out early. Sunup is the best time for deer,

they tell me, and we had a spyglass. Well, we just happened to see a man ride out from between two hills quite a way off. Stone noticed right away that he was riding a sorrel horse. It was a sorrel horse that Bransford stole, you know. We didn't suspect. though who it was till a bit later. Then Rex tried to pick him up again and saw that he was going out of his way to avoid the ridges, keeping cover, you know. Then we caught on and took after him, Palmel.

He had a big start, but he was riding slowly so as not to make a dust, that is, till he saw our dust, and then he lit out. You're not deputies, then, said Long. Oh, no, not at all, said Steele, secretly flattered, so Harlow and Stone galloped off to town. The program was that they'd wired down to Escandito to have horses ready for them come down on number six and head him off.

They were not to tell anyone in Arcadia. There's five thousand dollars reward out for him, but it isn't that exactly. It was a cowardly, beastly murder, don't you know? And we thought it would be rather a big thing if we could take him alone. You got him penned, all right, said Toby. he can't get out so far as i know unless he runs over us or the men at the other end by george we must get away from this fire too he set the example dragging the bedding with him to the shelter of a big rock he could pick us off too slick here in the light how are you going to get him there's a heap of country in that basin all rough and broken full of boulders mighty good cover starve him out said griffith this was bayon

deceit. Deep in his heart he believed that the quarry sat beside him, well-fed and contented, yet the unthinkable insolence of it, if this were indeed Bransford, doled his belief. Long laughed as he spread down the bed. He'll shoot a deer. Maybe if he had it all planned out, he may have grub cashed in there somewhere. There's water tanks in the rocks. Day, what are your partners at the other side going to do for grub? oh they brought out cheese and crackers and stuff said gerd i'll tell you what boys you've bit off more and you can chaugh said jeff toby that is he can't get out without a fight but then you can't go in there to hunt for him without weakening your guard and he'd be under shelter and have all the best of it he'd shoot you so dead you'd never know what happened i don't want none of it ida's leave put on boxing gloves and crawl into a hole after a bear look here now this is your show but i'm a heap older new boys want to know what i think certainly said rex going to talk turkey to me an avaricious light came into long's eyes

of course you're in on the reward said rex diffidently and rather stiffly we're not in this for the money i can use the money whatever share you want to give me said long dryly but if you take my advice my shares won't be but a little I think you ought to keep under shelter at the mouth of this canyon, one of you, and let the other one go to Escondido and send for help, quick, and a lot of it. What's the matter with you going? asked Griffith, disingenuously. He wanted Long to show his hand. It would never do to abandon the siege of Double Mountain to arrest this Suad de Saint, long on mere suspicion. On the other hand, Mr. Rex Griffith had no idea of, let's be able to,

letting Long escape his clutches until his identity was established, one way or the other, beyond all question. That was why Long declined the offer. His honest gaze shifted. I ain't much of a rider, he said evasively. Young Griffith read correctly the thought which the excuse concealed. Evidently Long considered himself an elder soldier, if not a better, than either of his two young guests, but wished to spare their feelings by not

letting them find it out. Griffith found this plain solution inconsistent with his homicidal theory. A murderer, fleeing for his life, would have jumped at the chance. There are two sides to every question. Let us this once prove both sides. wholly oblivious to Griffith's linkside watchfulness and his leading questions, Mr. Long yet recognized the futility of an attempt to ride away on Mr. Griffith's, horse with Mr. Griffith's venison. There we have the other point of view. We'll have to send for grub any way, pursued the sagacious, Mr. Long. I've only got a little left, and that old liar Gwen won't be out for four days, if he comes then. And look, now, if I was you boys, I'd let the sheriff and his posse smoke your badger out. They get paid to tend to that.

That looks to me like someone was going to get hurt. You've done enough. All this advice was so palpably sound that the doubter was, for the second, staggered, for a second only. This was the man he had seen in the prisoner's stock. He was morally sure of it. For all the difference of appearance, this was the man. Yet those blasts, the far-seen fire, the hearty welcome, this delivery of himself into their hands? Griffith scarcely knew what he did think.

he blamed himself for his unworthy suspicions he blamed gertie more for having no suspicions at all anything else he said that sounds good toby studied for some time well he said at last there may be some way he can get out i don't think he can but he might find a way he knows he's trapped but likely he has no idea yet how many of us there are so we know he'll try and he won't be just climbing for fun He'll take a chance. Steel broke in. He didn't leave any rope on his saddle. Toby nodded. So he means to try it. Now here's five of us here.

Seems to me that someone ought to ride round the mountain the first thing in the morning and every day afterward. Only here's hoping there won't be many of them to look for tracks. There isn't one chance in a hundred he can climb out, but if he goes out of here afoot, we've got him sure. The man on guard wants to keep him. in shelter. It's light tonight. There's no chance for him to slip out without being seen. You say the old watchman ain't dead yet, Mr. Griffith? No, the latest bulletin was that he was

almost hold in his own. Hope he gets well, said Long. Good old geezer. Now, Cap, I've worked hard and you've ridden hard. Better set your guards and let the other two take a little snooze. Griffith was not proof against the insidious flattery of this unhesitant preference. He flushed with embarrassment and pleasure. Well, if I'm to be captain, Gerd will take the first guard, till eleven. Then you come in till two, Mr. Long. I'll stand from then on till daylight. In five minutes Mr. Long was enjoying the calm and restful sleep of fatigued innocence,

but his poor captain was doomed to have a bad night of it, with two Bransford's on his hands, one in the basin and one in the bed beside him. His head was dizzy with a vicious circle. Like the gentlewoman of the nursery rhyme, he was tempted to cry, "'Rock a mercy on me, this is none of I!' If he hailed his bedmate to justice and the real Bransford got away, that would be a nice predicament for an ambitious young man. He was sensitive to ridicule, and he saw here such an opportunity to earn

it as knocks but once at any man's door if on the other hand while he held bransford cooped tightly in the basin this thrice a cursed long should escape him and there should be no bransford in the basin what nonsense what utter twaddle bransford was in the basin he had found his horse and saddle his tracks no tracks had come out of the basin immediately on the discovery of the outlaw's horse gurd had ridden by post haste and held the pass while he the captain had gone on to the mouth of the southern canyon and posted his friends he had watched for tracks of the footmen every step of the way going and coming there had been no tracks bransford was in the basin he watched the face of the sleeping man but by heaven this was brantford was ever a poor captain in such a predicament a moment before he had fully indebted but he had fully indebted but by heaven this was brantford was ever a poor captain in such a predicament a moment before he had fully indebted definitely decided once for all that this man was not bransford could not be bransford that it was not possible his reason underweaveringly told him one thing his eyesight the other yet bransford or an unfortunate twin of his lay now beside him and for further mockery slept peacefully serene untroubled he looked upon the elusive mr long with a species of horror the face was drawn and lined, yet but 48 hours of tension would have left Bransford's face not otherwise.

He had noticed Bransford's hands in the courtroom, notice their well-kept whiteness due as he had decided to the perennial cowboy glove. This man's hands, as he had seen by the campfire, were blistered and calloused. Calluses were not made in the day. He took another look at Long. Oh, thunder! crept from bed. He whispered a word to sentry steel, not to outline the distressing state of his own mind, but merely to request steel not to shoot him as he was going up to the mine. He climbed

up the trail, chewing the unpalatable thought that Gerdin had seen nothing amiss, yet Gerd had been at the trial. The captain began to wish he had never gone on that deer hunt. He went into the tent, struck a match, lit a candle, and examined everything closely. There was no gun in the camp and no cartridges. He found the spill of twisted paper under the table, smothered his qualms, and read it. He noted the open book for future examination in English, and now Toby's labor had their late reward, for Rex missed nothing. Every effort brought fresh disappointment, and every disappointment spurred him to fresh effort. He went into the time, and he went into the tunnel he scrutinized everything even to the drills in the tub the food supply tallied with long to count no detail escaped him and every detail confirmed the growing belief that he captain griffith was a doddering imbecile

he returned to the outpost convinced at last nevertheless merely to quiet the ravings of his insubordinate instincts now in open revolt he restaked the horses nearer to camp and cautiously carried both saddles to the head of the bed concession merely encouraged the rebels to further and successful outrages the government was overthrown he drew sentry steel aside and imparted his doubts That faithful follower heaped scorn, mockery, laughter, and abuse upon his shrinking superior, recounted all the points from the first blasts of dynamite to the present moment, which favored the charitable belief above-mentioned as newly entertained by Captain Griffith concerning himself. This belief of Captain Griffith was amply endorsed by his subordinate in terms of point and versatility. of course they look alike. I noticed that the minute I saw him. The same amount of legs and arms features all in the fore part of his head, hair on top, one body, wonderful. Why, you pitiful ass,

that Bransford person was a mighty keen-looking man in any company. This fellow's a yokel, an old rusty cap-and-ball single-shot muzzle-loader. The Bransford was an automatic steel-frame high velocity. The better head he has, the more apt he is to do the unexpected. Ah, shut up. You've got insipient, perisist. Stuff your ears in your mouth and go to sleep. The captain saw his couch convinced, but holding his first opinion, savagely minded to arrest Mr. Long rather than let him have a gun to stand guard with. He was spared the decision. Mr. Long declined Gerdin's proffered gun, saying that he would be right there. and he was a poor shot anyway.

Gerdon slept. Long took his place, and Captain Rex from the bed, watched the watcher. Never was there a more faithful sentinel than Mr. Long. Without relaxing his vigilance, even the smoke,

he strained every faculty, lest the wily Bransford should creep out through the shadows. The captain saw him, a stooped figure, sitting motionless by his rock, always alert. peering this way and that, turning his head to listen.

Once Toby saw something. He crept noiselessly to the bed and shook his chief. Griffith came with his gun. Something was stirring in the bushes. After a little it moved out of the shadows. It was a prowling coyote. The captain went back to bed once more, convinced of Long's fidelity,

but resolved to keep a relentless eye on him just the same, and all unawares, as he revolved the day's events in his mind, the captain dropped off to troubled sleep. Mr. Long woke him at three. There had been a temptation to ride away, but the saddles were at the head of the bed. The ground was stony. He would be heard. He might have made an attempt to get both guns from under the pillow, but detection that meant ruin for him, since to shoot these boys or to hurt them, was out of the question. Escape by violence would have been easy and assured. Jeff preferred to trust his wits.

He was enjoying himself very much. When the captain got his relentless eyes open and realized what had chanced, he saw that further doubt was unworthy. Half an hour later, the unworthy captain stole noiselessly to Long's bedside and saw to his utter rage and distraction that Mr. Bransford was,

there again. It was almost too much to bear. He felt that he should always hate Long, even after Bransford was safely hanged. Bransford's head had slipped from Long's pillow. Hating himself, Griffiths subtly withdrew the miners' folded overalls and went through the pockets. He found there a knife, smelling of dynamite, matches a turquoise carved to what was plainly meant to be the form of a bad-tempered horse and two small specimens of ore altogether the captain passed a wild and whirling night end of chapter twelve chapter thirteen of bransford of rainbow ranged by eugene manlove rhodes this libervox recording is in the public domain chapter thirteen the siege of double mountain continued if the bowl had been stronger my tail had been longer mother goose when the sun peeped over rainbow range captain griffith bent over toby long's bed his eyes were aching burned and sunken the lids twitched his face was haggard and drawn but he had arrived at an unalterable decision this thing could not and should not go on his brain reeled now another such night would entitle him to state

protection. He shook Mr. Long roughly. See here, I believe you're Bransford himself. Thus taken off his guard, Long threw back the bedding, rose to one elbow, still half-asleep, and reached for his shoes, laughing and yawning alternately. Then as he woke up a little more, he saw a better way to dress, dropped the shoes and unfurled his pillow, which by day he wore his overalls. Fumbling behind him, where the pillow had lain, he found, a much soiled handkerchief and tenderly dabbed at his swollen eye bit a steel in my eye from a drillhead he explained gemony but it's sore plainly he took the accusation as a pleasantry calling for no answer i mean it i want to keep you under guard said captain griffith bitingly poor sleepy toby half-way into his overalls stared up at mr griffith his mouth dropped open he was quite at a loss for words the captain glist lared back at him. Toby kicked the overalls off and cuddled back into bed.

Bully, he said, then I won't have to get breakfast. Gerdon Steele sat up in bed a happy man. His eye gave Mr. Long a discreetly confidential look, as of one who restrains himself out of instinctive politeness, from a sympathetic and meaningful tap of one's forehead. A new thought struck Mr. Long. He reached over behind Steele for the rifle at the, bed's edge and thrust it into the latter's hands. Here, Boy Scout, watch me, he whispered.

Don't let me escape while I sleep a few lons. I'm Bransford. Gertie rubbed his eyes and giggled. Don't you mind, Rex. That's the worst of this pipe habit. You never can tell how they'll break out next. Yeah, laugh, you blind bat, said Rex bitterly. I've got him all the same and I'm going to keep him while you go to Escondido. His rifle was tucked under his arm. He the barrel significantly. It slowly dawned upon Mr. Long that Captain Griffith was not joking after all, and an angry man was he. He sat up in bed. Oh, piffle, oh fudge, oh pickled moonshine, if I'm Bransford, what the deuce am I doing here? Why, you was both asleep, I could have shot your silly heads off, and you'd have never woke up. You make me tired. Don't mind him,

long, he'll feel better when he takes a nap, said Gerd joyfully. He has poor spells like this, and he misses his nurse. We always make allowances for him. Mr. Long's indignation at last overcame his politeness, and in his wrath he attacked friend and foe indiscriminately. Do you mean to tell me you two pealing infants are out hunting down a man you never saw? Don't the men at the other side know him either? By jinks, you? hike out of this after breakfast and send for some grown-up men i want part of that reward and i'm going to have it look here he turned blackly to gurdon are you sure that bransford or anyone else came in here at all yesterday or did you dream it or was it all a damn fool kid joke listen here i worked like a dog yesterday if you have me stand guard three hours tired as i was for nothing there's going to be more to it what kind of a sack and snipe is this anyway you just come one at a time and i'll lick the stuffing out of both of you i ain't

feeling like any schoolboy prank's death now no no that parts all straight bransford's in there all right protested gurdon if you hadn't been working in the tunnel you'd have seen him when he went by here's the note he left and his horse and saddle are up at the spring we left the horse there because he was lame and about all in bransford can't get away on him rex is just except sighted that's all the matter with him hankering for glory i told him last night not to make a driveling idiot of himself here read this insolent note will you long glowered at the note and flung it aside anybody coulda wrote that i'm oughtn't know this thing ain't some more of your funny streaks you take these horses to water and bring back bransford's horse and saddle and then i'll know what to believe be damn sure you bring them to or we'll go producing glory right to here great gobs and chunks of it you griffith put down that gun or i'll knock your fool head off i'm taking charge of this outfit now and don't you forget it and i don't want no maniac wandering round me with a gun you go to gathering up wood as fast as ever god let you say i was mistaken said the deposed leader thoroughly convinced once more you do look like bansford you know he laid down his rifle obediently look like your grandmother's left hind foot sneered the outraged miner my eyes is brown and so's

bransford's outside of that no but you do a little said his ally's deal i noticed it myself last night not much but still there's a resemblance poor cat griffith just let his nerves and imagination run away with him that's all long sniffed funny i never heard of it before he said he was somewhat mollified, nevertheless, and, while cooking breakfast, he received very graciously a stammered and half-hearted apology from young Mr. Griffith, now reduced to the ranks. Oh, that's all right, kid, but say, you be careful and don't shoot your partner when he comes back. Gerdon brought back the sorrow horse and the saddle, thereby allaying Mr. Long's wrathful mistrust that the whole affair was a practical joke. I told you, Butter wouldn't suit the works,

said Rex triumphantly, and watched the working of his test with a jealous eye. Long knew his alice, but it was the best butter, he said. He surveyed the sorrow horse. His eyes brightened. We'll whack up that blood money yet, he announced confidently. Now I'm going to walk over to the south side and get one of those fellas to ride sign round the mountain. You boys can sleep, turn and turn about till I get back. then i want steel to go to escondito and wire up to arcadia that we got our bear by the tail and want help to turn him loose and tell pappy sanders to send me out some grub or i'll skin him pappy's putting up for the mine you know i'll stay here and keep an eye on griffith he gave that luckless warrior a jeering look as one who has forgiven but not forgotten why don't you ride one of our horses said gurdon want to keep em fresh then if bransford

gets out over the cliffs, you can run him down like a mad dog, said Toby. Besides, if I ride a fresh horse in here, he'll maybe shoot me to get the horse, and if he could catch you lads away from shelter, maybe so he'd make a dash for it, a-shooting. See here, if I was dodging in here like him, know what I'd do? I'd just shoot a few lines on general principles to draw you away from the gates. Then, if you would end to sea about it, I'd either kill you if I had to. or slip out if you give me the chance you just stay right here whatever happens keep under shelter and keep your horses right by you we got em bottled up and we won't draw the cork till the sheriff come i'll tell him to do the same way at the other end i won't take any gun with me and i'll stick to the main road that way bransford won't feel no call to shoot me likely he's way up in the cliffs anyhow

ride the sorrel horse then why don't you he isn't lame enough to hurt much but he's lame enough that bransford won't want him thus mr griffith again dissimulating every detail of mr long's plan forestall's suspicion that these measures were precisely calculated to disarm suspicion now occurred to griffith's stubborn mind for he had a stubborn mind the morning's coffee had cleared it of cobwebs and it clung more tenaciously than ever to the untenable and thrice exploded theory that long and bransford were one and inseparable now and forever he meditated an ungenerous scheme for vindication and to that inn wished mr long to ride the sorrow horse for mr long for mr longe to ride the sorrow horse for mr mr long if he were indeed the murderer as of course he was would indubitably upon some plausible pretext attempt to pass the guards at the farther end of the trip where was no clear-eyed griffith on guard what more plausible that a modification of the plan already rehearsed for long to tell the wardens that griffith had sent him to telegraph to the sheriff to the sheriff let him once pass those warders on any pretext that would be final but for all his shrewdness there was no possibility that long and bransford could complete their escape on that lame sorrow he would not be allowed to get much of a start just enough to betray himself then he griffith would bring him back in triumph it was a good scheme all things considered it reflected great credit upon mr griffith's imagination as in pose a game of odd or even where you must outguess your opponent and follow his thought mr rex griffith had guessed correctly in every respect such indeed had been mr long's plan only rex did not guess quite often enough

mr long had guessed just one layer deeper namely that mr griffith would follow his thought correctly and also follow him therefore mr long switched again it was a bully game better than poker mr long enjoyed it very much Just as Rex expected, Toby allowed himself to be over-persuaded and rode the sorrel horse. He renamed the sorrel horse Goldie on the spot, saddled him awkwardly, mounted in like manner, and rode into the shadowy depths of Double Mountain. Once he was out of sight, Mr. Griffith followed, despite the angry protest of Mr. Steele, alleging falsely that he was going to try for a deer. rode slowly up the crooked and brush-lined canyon. Behind him, cautiously hidden, came Griffith, the hawk-eyed avenger, waiting at each bend until Mr. Long had passed

the next one, for closer observation of how Mr. Long bore himself in solitude. Mr. Long bore himself most disappointingly. He rode slowly and awkwardly, scanning with anxious care the hillsides before him. Not once did he. did he look back lest he should detect Mr. Griffith. Near the summit, the Goldie horse shied and jumped. It was only one little jump, whereunto Goldie had been privately instigated by Mr. Long's thumb. Thumbing a horse, as done by one conversant with equine anatomy,

produces surprising results, but it caught Mr. Long unawares and tumbled him ignominiously in the dust. Mr. Long sat in the sand and rubbed his shoulder. Goldie turned and looked down at him in unqualified astonishment. Mr. Long then cursed Mr. Brantford's sorrow horse. He cursed Mr. Bransford for bringing the sorrel horse. He cursed himself for riding the sorrel horse. He cursed Mr. Griffith with one last, longest, heartfelt, crackling, hair-raising, comprehensive

and masterly curse for having him. persuaded him to ride the sorrel horse. Then he tied the sorrel horse to a bush and hobbled on foot, saying it all over backward. Poor Griffith experienced the most intense mortification, except one, of his life. This was conclusive. Bransford was reputed the best rider in Rainbow. This was long. He was convinced positively, finally, and irrevocably. He did not even follow Mr. Long to the other side of Double Mountain, but turned back to camp, keeping a sharp eye out for traces of the real Bransford, to no effect. It was only by chance, a real chance, that clambering on the gate-posts clist to examine a curious whirl of nice, he happened to see

Mr. Long as he returned. Mr. Long came afoot, leading the sorrel horse. Just before he came within sight of camp, he led the horse up beside a boulder, climbed clumsily into the saddle, clutched the saddle horn, and so rode into camp. The act was so natural a one that Griffith, already convinced, was convinced again, the more so because Long preserved a discreet silence as to the misadventure with the sorrel horse. Mr. Long reported profanely that the men on the other side had also been disposed to arrest him and had been dissuaded with difficulty. So I guess I must look some like Bransford, though I would never a guess it, reckon nobody knows what they really look like. Chances are a fellow wouldn't know himself if he met him

in the road. That squares you, kid, no hard feelings? Not a bit. I certainly thought you were Bransford at first, said Griffith. Well, the black-eyed one, Stone, he's coming round on the west side now, cutting a sign. You'll be all ready to start for Escondido as soon as he gets here, Gerd. Say, you don't want to wait for the sheriff if he's up on rainbow. You wire a lot of your friends to come on the train at nine o'clock tonight. Sheriff can come when he gets back. There ain't but a few horses, said Escondido. You get Pappy Sanders to send your gang out in a wagon, such as can't find horses. Better take in both of ours, Gerd, said Griffith. he knew long was all right as has been said but he was also newly persuaded of his own fallibility he had been mistaken about long being bransford therefore he might be mistaken about long being long

in this spirit of humility he made the suggestion recorded above and was grieved that long endorsed it and i want you to do two errands for me kid you give this to pappy sanders the storekeeper you know here he produced the little eopus from his pocket and tell him to send it to a jeweler for me and get a whole board in it so it'll balance want to use it for a watch charm when i get a watch and if we pull off this bransford affair i'll have me a watch now don't you lose that it's turquoise worth a heap of money besides he's a lucky little horse i'll put him in my pocket-book said gurdon better give him to pappy first off else you're liable to forget about him he's so small then you tell pappy to send me out some grub i won't make out no bill he's grub-staking the mine he'll know what to send you just tell him i'm about out of patience tell him i want about everything there is and he'll know what to send you just tell him i'm about everything there is and-i'll know what to send you just tell him i want about everything there is and I want it quick, and a jar for sourdough. I broke mine, and get some newspapers. He hesitated perceptibly. See here, boys, I hate to mention this,

but old Pappy, him and this Jeff Bransford is pretty good friends. I reckon Pappy won't much like it to furnish grub for you while you're putting the kibosh on Jeff. You better get some of your own. You see how it is, don't you? Taint like it was my chalk. Stone that came while they saddled. he spoke apart with griffith as to mr long and a certain favour he bore to the escaped bank robber but griffith emitting his own self-deception in that line outlined the history of the past unhappy night

stone who had suffered only a slight misgiving was fully satisfied as steel started for the railroad mr stone set out to complete the circuit of double mountain in the which he found no runaway tracks and griffith and long sleeping alternately especially griffith kept faithful ward over the gloomy gate of double mountain end of chapter thirteen chapter fourteen of bransford of rainbow range by eugene manlove rhodes this liber box recording is in the public domain chapter fourteen flight keep away from that wheelbarrow what the hell do you know about machinery elbert hubbard just after dark a horseman with a lead horse came jogging round the mountain on the trail from escondito on the lead horse was a pack bound rather slouchily not to a pack saddle but to an old riding saddle the horses were unwilling to enter the circle of firelight so the rider drew rein just beyond a slender and boyish rider with a flopping wide-rimmed hat too large for him oh look who's here said toby as one who greets an unexpected friend hello toby here's your food grub chuck and provisions got your outlaw yet them other fellows will be out long toward midnight he went on without waiting for an answer put me on your payroll pappy said i was to go to work and if you was going to quit work to hunt down his friend you'd better quit for good lead on to your little old mine i don't know where it is even i'll go up and unpack rex said toby but of course i'm not going to lose my part of that five thousand pappy's foolish he's getting old i'll be back after a while and bring down the papers chatting of the trapped outlaw the ophir men climbed the zigzag to the zigzag to the

mine. To Griffith, their voices dwindled to an indistinct murmur. A light glowed through the tent on the dump. The stranger pressed into Jeff's hand something small and hard. The little leopus. Here's your little old token. Pappy caught on at once and he sent me along to represent. Let's get this pack off and get out of here. Do we have to go down the same trail again? Oh no, said Jeff. There's a wood trail leads round the mountain to the east. Who are you? I don't know you? Charlie Gibson. Pappy knows me. He sent the little stone horse to vouch for me. I'm okay. Time enough to explain when we've made a clean getaway. You're damn right there, said Jeff. That boy down yonder is nobody's fool. I'll light a candle in the tent and he'll think I'm reading

the newspapers. That'll hold him a while. I'll be going on down the trail, said Gibson. This way, isn't it? Yes, that's the one. All right. Go slow and don't make any more noise. than you can help. Jeff would have liked his own proper clothing and effects, but there was no time for resuscitation. Lighting the candle, he acquired Alice in Wonderland and thrust it into the bosom of his shirt. It had been years since last he read that admirable work. His way now led either to hiding or to jail, and with Alice to share his fate, he felt equal to either fortune. He left the candle burning, the tent shone with a mellow glow. If he didn't hear our horses coming down, we're a little bit of all right, said Jeff, as he rejoined his rescuer on the level. Even if he does, he may think we've

gone to hobble him, only he'd think we ought to water him first. Now for the way of the transgressor to Old Mexico. This little desert will be one busy place tomorrow. They circled double mountain, making a wide detour to avoid rough going, and riding at a high hard gallop, until, behind and to their right, a red spark of fire came into view from behind a hitherto intervening shoulder, marking where Stone and Harlow held the southward pass. Jeff drew rain and bore off obliquely toward the road at an easy trot. They're there yet, so that's all right, he said. They've just put on fresh wood.

I saw it flame up just then. He was in high feather. He began to laugh, or more accurately, he said. he resumed his laughter, for he had been too mirthful for much speech. That poor devil Griffith will wait and fidget and stew. He'll think I'm in the tent, reading the newspapers, reading about the Arcadian bank robbery, likely. He'll wait a while, then he'll yell at me,

then he'll think we've gone to hobble the horses, he won't want to leave the gap unguarded. He won't know what to think. Finally he'll go up to the mine and see that pack piled off any which way, and no saddles. Then he'll know, but he won't know what to do. He'll think we're for old Mexico, but he won't know it for sure, and it's too dark to track us. Oh my stars, but I bet he'll be mad. Which shows that we all make mistakes. Mr. Griffith, though young, was a firm character, as has been lightly intimated. He waited a reasonable time to allow for paper reading,

then he waited a little longer and shouted. But when there was no answer, he knew at once precisely what had happened he had not been a fool at all whatever Steele and Bransford had assured him and he was a bigger fool to have allowed himself to be persuaded that he had been it is true that he didn't know what was best to do but he knew exactly what he was going to do and did it promptly seriously annoyed he spurred through double mountain gathered up stone and Harlow and followed the southward road Bransford had been on the way to old Mexico. He was on that road still. Griffith put everything on the one bold cast. While the other

saddled, he threw fresh fuel on the fire with a rankling memory of the candle in the deserted tent, and Hannibal had St. Joe. For the first time, Griffith had the better of the long battle of wits. That armful of fuel slowed Jeff from Gallup to Trot, turned assured victory into a doubtful contest. When the fugitives regained the El Paso Road, Griffith's vindictive little band was not five miles behind them. The night was lightly clouded, not so dark, but that the pursuers noticed, or thought they noticed, the fresh tracks in the road when they came to them. They stopped, struck matches, and confirmed their hopes, two shod horses going south at a smart gate. The dirt was torn up too much for travelers on their lawful occasions. From that moment, Griffith

urged the chase unmercifully. The fleeing couple in fancied security lost ground with every mile. How on earth did you manage it? Didn't they know you? demanded Gibson, as the pace slackened. Well, it wasn't me. It was Toby Long. You may not have lived much under the sea, and perhaps you were never even introduced to a lobster, quoted Jeff. Rocking in the in the saddle he gave a mirthful resume of his little a vanishment and oh just think of that candle burning away in that quiet empty tent if i could have seen griffith's faith he gloated oh me oh my and he was so sure say gibson how do you come in this galley as a lone prospector his speech had been fittingly coarse now with every mile he shook off the debasing influence of mr long kettle washing makes black hands aren't you you're afraid you'll get into trouble. Nobody knows I'm kettle-washing,

except Pappy Sanders and you, said Gibson. I was careful not to let your friends see me at the fire. I'll do you a good turn sometimes, said Jeff. He rode on in silence for a while and presently was lost in his own thoughts, leaning over with his hands

folded on his horse's neck. In a low and thoughtful voice, he half-repeated, half-chanted, to himself, I'll leo le goadie in the garden there alone. There came to me no murmur of the fountain's undertone, so mystically magically mellow as your own. Another silence.

Then Jeff roused himself with a start. I'll tell you what, Gibson, you'd better cut loose from me. So far as I can see, you were only a kid. You don't want to get mixed up in a murder scrape. This would go pretty hard with you if they can prove it on you. Of course, I'm awfully obliged to. you and all that, but you'd better quit me while the quitting's good." "'Oh, no, I'll see you through,' said Gibson lightly.

"'Besides, I know you had nothing to do with the murder.' "'Oh, the hell you do,' said Jeff. "'That's kind of you, I'm sure. See here, who sold you your chips, anyway. How'd you get in this game?' "'Well, I got in this game, as you put it, because I jolly well wanted to,' replied Charlie, with becoming spirit. That ought to be reason enough for anything in this country.

nothing against it in the rules and i don't use the rules anyhow if you must have it all spelled out for you i knew or at least i'd heard that your friends were away from rainbow so i judged you wouldn't go up there then i knew those four amateur sherlocks there in my said and arcadia when two of the deer hunters after starting at two a m came back to arcadia the same morning they left looking all wise and important and slipped off on the two of the deer hunters after starting at two a m came back to arcadia the same morning they left looking all wise and important and slipped off on the train to Escondido, saying nothing to anyone, and when the other two didn't come home at all, I began to think, went down to the depot, found they had gone to Escondido, and I came on the next train. I found out Pappy was your friend, and when he got your little hurry-up call, volunteered my services, seeing Pappy was too old and not foot-loose anyhow, with a wife and property, that's the how of it. Oh yes, that's all right, but what makes you think I'm I know Mr. White, you see, and Mr. White seems to think that at about the time the bank was

robbed, you were in a garden. Charlie's voice was edged with faint mockery. Ah, said Jeff startled. Who in hell is Mr. White? Uh, Mr. White in hell is the devil, said Charlie. At this unexpected disclosure, Jeff lashed his horse to a gallop. His spurs, you remember, being certain feet under the Ophir dump, and, strut. and strove to bring his thoughts to bear upon this new situation. He slowed down, and Charlie drew up beside him. You seem to have stayed quite a while in a garden, suggested Charlie.

That tongue of yours is going to get you into trouble yet, said Jeff. You'll never live to be gray-headed. Charlie was not to be daunted. Say, Jeff, she's pretty easy to get acquainted with, what? And those eyes of hers. A little on a see-you-later style, aren't they? Jeff turned in his saddle. Now you look here, Mr. Charlie Gibson.

I'm under obligation to you and so on, but I've heard all of that kind of talk that's good. Sabie? Oh, I know her, persisted Charlie. Know her by heart. Know her like a book. She made a fool of me, too. She drives him single, double, tandem, random, and four of rest.

You little beast, Jeff launched his horse at the traducer, but Gibson spurred aside. stop now, Jeffie, easy does it. I've got a gun. Shut your damn head, then. Gun or no gun, don't you take that girl's name in your mouth again? Or, hark, what's that? It was a clatter, far behind, a ringing of swift hoofs on hard ground. By, George, they're coming. Griffith will be a man yet, said Jeff approvingly. Come on, kid, that we've got to burn the breeze. I suppose that talk of yours is only your damn fool idea of fun, but I don't like it. Cut it out. now and ride like a drunk Indian. He laughed loud and long. Think of that candle, will you,

burn away with a clear, bright, steady flame, and nobody within ten miles of it. They raced side by side, but Gibson, heedless of their perilous situation, or perhaps taking advantage of it, took a malicious delight in goading Jeff to madness, and he refused, either to be silent or to talk about candles, notwithstanding Jeff's preference for that topic. I'm not joking, I'm telling you, for your own good. Here the tormentor prudently fell back half a length and raised his voice so as to be heard above the flying feet. Hasn't she gone back to New York?

I'd like to know, and left you to get out of it the best way you can. She could have stayed if she'd wanted to. Don't tell me. Haven't I seen how she bosses her mother around? No, sir. she's willing to let you hang to save herself a little slander, or more likely a little talk. Jeff whirled his horse to his haunches, but once more Gibson was too quick for him. Gibson's horse was naturally the nimbler of the two, even without the advantage of spurs.

That's a lie. She was going to tell. She was bound to tell. I made her keep silent. After I jumped out, she couldn't well say anything. That's why I jumped. Was I going to make her a target for such a vote? vile tongues as yours? For me? Oh, you ought to be shot out of a red-hot cannon through a barbed-wire fence into hell. You lie, you coward, you know you lie. I'll cram it down your throat if you'll get off and throw that gun down. Yeah, it's likely I'll put the gun down, scoffed Gibson. Right on, you fool. Do you want to hang? Right on and keep ahead. Remember, I've got a gun. Hanging's not so bad, snarled Jeff. I'd rather be hung decently.

than be such a thing as you. Oh, if I just had a gun. The sound of pursuit was clearer now, and of course the pursuers could hear the pursuit as well and fought for every inch. Jeff rode on furious at his helplessness. For several miles his tormentor raced behind in silence, fearing if he persisted longer in his evil course that Jeff would actually stop and give himself up. They gained now on their pursuers, who had pressed their horses over, hard to make up the five-mile handicap as they came to a patch of sandy ground they eased the pace somewhat charlie drew a little closer to jeff now don't get mad i had no idea you thought so much of the girl shut up will you or i wouldn't have deviled you so i'll quit how was i to know you'd stop to fight for her with the very rope around your neck it's a pity she'll never know about it you can't have seen her more than two or three times and heaven only knows where that was on that camping trip i reckon what kind of a girl is she anyhow to hold clandestine interviews with a stranger she'll write to you by and by a little scented note with a little stilted meaningless word of thanks no she won't it'll be gushy oh my dear hero how can i ever repay you

she won't let you out of her clutches anybody so long as it's a man there none of that go on now if you want to live who the hell wants to live A noose flew back from the darkness. Jeff's horse darted aside, and Gibson was jerk sprawling to the sand at the rope's end. Hat flew one way, gun another. Jeff ran to the six-shooter. Who's got the gun now? He cheered, as he loosened the rope. I only wish we had two of them. You hair-brained idiot, Charlie grabbed up his hat and spit sand from his mouth.

Get your horse and ride, you unthinkable donkey. pleasure first, business afterward. Jeff unbuckled Gibson's gun belt and transferred it to his own waist, jerking Gibson to his feet in the violent process. Now, you little blackguard, you either take back all that, or you'll get the licking of your life. You're too small, but all the same. Oh, I'll take it back, you big bully.

All I said, and a lot more I only thought, said Charlie spitefully. He was almost crying with rage as he limped to his horse. She's an angel on earth. Sure she is. Ride, you maniac, ride, or you ought to be hung. I hope you do hang him miserable ruffian. The following hoofs no longer rang sharply. They took on a muffled beat. They were on the sand's edge, not a mile behind. Right ahead you. I've got the gun, remember? observed Jeff significantly. But if you slur that girl again, I'll not shoot you. I'll naturally wear you out with you. this belt. End of Chapter 14. Chapter 15 of Bransford of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Rhodes. This Libervoct recording is in the public domain. Chapter 15, goodbye. They have ridden the low moon out of the sky. Their hoofs drum up the dawn. Two strong men, Kipling. I'm not speaking to her now, and I'm not going to protested Gibson in a changed tone. I'll promise. my horse is failing jeff i rode hard and fast from escondito your horse carried nothing much but a saddle that pack was mostly bluff you know and those fellow's horses have come twenty miles less than either of ours no answer

i don't believe we're going to make it jeff there was a forlorn little quaver in charlie's voice jeff grunted eh maybe not griffithal be real pleased gibson rode closer can't we turn off the road and hide "'Till daylight,' said Jeff. "'Then they'll get us. "'No way out of this desert except across the edges somewhere. "'You go if you want to. "'They won't bother to hunt for you, maybe, if they kept me. "'No, it's my fault. "'I'll see it out.

"'I'm sorry, Jeff, but it was so funny.' "'Here, rather to Jeff's surprise, "'Charlie's dejection gave place to laughter. "'They rode up a sandy slope "'where mesquites grew black along the road. "'Blone sand had lodged to a hummocks in their thick and matted growth. The road was a sunken way. How far is it from here, Jeff? Ten miles, maybe only eight, to the river. We're in Texas now. Have been for an hour.

Think we can make it? Kinzabe. Gibson drew rain. You go on. Your horse isn't so tired. Oh, I guess not, said Jeff. Come on. The sound of pursuit came clear through the quiet night. There was silence for a while. well you do jeff fight i can't said jeff hurt those boys i couldn't fight the way it is hardly even if twas the sheriff i'll just hang i reckon they reached the top of the little slope and turned down the other side i don't altogether like this hanging idea said gibson i got you into this jeff so i'll just get you out again like the man in our town who was so wondrous wise going to use bramble bushes too volatile gibson in distress of danger had forgotten his wrath he was light-hearted happy frivolously gay give me your rope and your gun jeff quick now no i won't mention your girl not once hurry what are you going to do asked jeff thoroughly mystified ever read the fool's errand charlie chuckled no well i have jump off and tie the end of your rope to that mesquite root quick he sprang down snatched one end of the coil from jeff's hand and stretched it taut across the road a foot from the ground now you're done quick he snatched the gun tied an end of his own saddle rope to the stretched one near the middle plunged through the mesquite over a hummock paying

out his rope as he went, wedged the gun firmly in the springing crotch of a mesquite tree, cocked it, and tied the loose end of the trailing rope to the trigger. He ran back and sprang on his horse. Now ride, it's our last chance. Kid, you're a wonder, said Jeff. You'll do to take along. They'll lope off when they turn down that slope, hit that rope and pile in a heap. And my rope will fire the gun off, shrilled joyous Charlie. They'll think it's us and an ambusiness. skate. They'll take to the sand hills. Jeff broke in. They'll shoot into the bushes. They'll think it's us firing back half the time. They'll scatter out and surround that lonesome, harmless mott, and watch it till daylight. You bet they won't go projecting round it any till daylight either.

He looked up at the sky. There's the morning star. See it? They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, only there isn't any moon. Their hoofs drum up the dawn. Then they'll find our tracks, and if I only could see the captain's face. Oh, my threshings and the corn of my floor. And by then we'll be in Mexico and asleep. When Griffith finds that gun, oh, he'll never show his head in Arcadia again. Say, Charlie, I hope none of them get hurt when they strike your skip rope. Ah, it's Sandy. A heap you cared about me getting hurt when you dragged me from my horse, said Gibson rather snappishly. You did hurt me too. You did hurt me too. You. You you nearly broke my neck and you cut my arms and i got full of mesquite thorns when i set that gun you don't care i'm only the man that came to save your neck that's the thanks i get but the men that are trying to hang you

that's different you'd better go back they might get hurt you'll be sorry sometime for the way you've treated me there it's too late now a shot rang behind them there was a brief silence then came a sharp fusillade followed by scattering sharp shots dwindling to longer intervals. Jeff clung to a saddle horn. I guess they ain't hurt much, he laughed. Wish I could see him when they find out. Slow down, kid. We've got lots of time now. We haven't, protested Charlie.

Keep moving. It's hard on the horses, but they'll have a lifetime to rest in. They've telegraphed all over the country. You want to cross the river before daylight. It would be too bad for you to be caught now. Is there any Ford, do you know? not this time of here river's up cross in a boat then guess we'd better that horse of yours is pretty well used up don't believe he could swim it oh i'm not going over i'll get up to el paso i've got friends there you'll get caught no i won't i'm not going across i tell you and that's all there is to it i guess i'll have something to say about things i'm going to see you safely over and that's the last you'll ever see of charlie gibson oh well jeff

reflected a little if you're sure you won't come along i'd rather swim my horse is strong yet you see it takes time to find a boat and a boat means a house and dogs and i'll need my horse on the other side how will you get to el paso griffa will likely come down here about an hour by sun cross lots a-criin i'll manage that said gibson curtly enough you tend to your own affair oh all right jeff wrote ahead he whistled and then he chanted his war-song, said the little yopus, I'm going to be a horse, and on my middle fingernails to run my earthly course. The choreophon was horrified, the Ninacaris was shocked, and the chased young Yel hippus, but he skipped away and mocked. Said they, you always were as small and mean as now we see, and that's conclusive evidence that you're always going to be. What, be a great tall, handsome beast with hoofs to gallop on? Why, you'll have to change your nature, said the loxelofondon. Jeff. Well, Jeff turned his head. Charlie was drooping visibly.

Stop that foolish song. Jeff rode on in silence. This was a variable person, Gibson. They were dropping down from the mesa into the valley of the Rio Grande. Jeff. Jeff fell back beside Charlie. Tired, partner? Jeff, I'm terribly tired. I'm not used to riding so far, and I'm sleepy. So, sleepy. All right, pardon. We'll go slower. We'll walk. Most there now. There's the railroad. Keep on trotting. I can stand it. We must get to the river before daylight. Is it far? Charlie's voice was weary. The broad sombrero drooped sympathetically. Two miles to the river. El Paso seven or eight miles up the line. Brace up, old man, you've done fine and dandy. It's just because the excitement is all over. Why should you go any farther anyhow? There's

is letta up the track a bit, follow the road up there, and flagged the first train. That'll be best. No, no, I'll go all the way. I'll make out. Charlie straightened himself with an effort. They crossed the SB track and it came to a lane between cultivated fields. Jeff, I'd like to say something. It won't be breaking my promise, really. I didn't mean what I said about, you know, I was only teasing. She's a good enough girl, I guess, as girls go. jeff nodded i did not need to be told that and you left her in a cruel position when you jumped out of the window she can't tell now so long as there's any other way what a foolish thing to do if you just said at first that you were in the garden oh why didn't you but after the chances you took rather than to tell why jeff it would be terrible for her now i know that too said jeff i suppose i was a fool but i didn't want her to get mixed up with it and at the same time i cared less about hanging than any time i can remember you see i didn't know till the last minute that the garden was going to cut any figure and do you suppose i'd have that courthouse full of fools buzzing and whispering at her not

much. Maybe it was foolish, but I'm glad I did it." I'm glad of it, too. If you had to be a fool, said Charlie, I'm glad you were that kind of fool. Are you still mad at me? Since Charlie had recanted, and more especially, since he had taken considerate thought for the girl's compulsory silence, Jeff's anger had evaporated. Well, that's all right, partner. Only you oughtn't never to talk that way about a girl, even for a joke. That's no good kind of a joke. Men, now that's different see here i'll give you an order to a fellow in el paso hibbler to pay for your horses and your gun here's your belt too charlie shook his head impatiently i don't want any money settle with pappy for the horses i won't take this one back keep the belt you may want it to beat me with some time what are you going to do jeff aren't you ever coming back juror i'll come back if only to see griffith again i'll write to john wesley pringle he's my mainest side partner and sick him on to find out who robbed that bank to prove it rather i just about almost nearly know who it was old wessel straightened things out of flying

I'll be back in no time. I've got to come back, Charlie. The river was in sight, the stars were fading. There was a flush in the east, a smell of dawn in the air. Jeff, I wish you'd do something for me. Sure, Charlie, what is it? I wish you'd give me that little turquoise horse to remember you by. Jeff was silent for a while. He had framed out another plan for the little leopas,

namely to give him to Miss Eleanor. He sighed, but he owed a good deal to Charlie. All right, Charlie, take good care of him. He's a lucky little horse. I think a heap of him. Here we are. The trees were distinct in the growing light. Jeff rode into the river. The muddy river swirled about his horse's knees. He halted for parting. Gibson rode in beside him. Jeff took the precious Alice book from his bosom, put it in the crown of his miner's cap, and jammed the cap tightly on his head. Better change your mind, Charlie. Come along. we'll root somebody out and find a dish of stewed eggs there is another shore you know upon the other side the farther off from england the nearer tis to france then turn not pale beloved snail but come and join the dance will you won't you

no i won't i told you once snapped the beloved snail here's the lily opus horse then as charlie took it jeff wrung his hand by george i've got to change my notion of arcadia people if there's many like you and griffith arcadia's going to crowd the map well so long it looks awful wide jeff oh i'll be all right swim it myself if the horse plays out and if i don't have no cramps as i might of course after this ride well here's a-o'n't have no cramps as i might of course after this ride well here's goes nothing. Take care of the little horse. I hope he brings you good luck. Well, so long, then. Bransford rode into the muddy waters. They came to the horse's breast, his neck. He plunged in, sank, rose, and was borne away down the swift current, breasting the flood stoutly, and so went quartering across to the farther bank. It took a long time. It was quite light when the horse found footing on a sandbar, half a mile below, rested and splashed whitely through the shallows to the bank. Gibson swung his sombrero, Jeff waved his hand, rode to

the fringing bushes, and was gone. End of Chapter 15. Chapter 16 of Bransford of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Rhodes. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 16, The Land of Afternoon. Dreaming once more loves old, sad, dream divine. Los Abagnos de Santa Eulia del Nott, otherwise known as Mud Springs, is a Mexican hamlet with one street of about the same length. Los Banos and company lies in a loop of the Rio Grande, half of a long day from El Paso in mere miles, otherwise a contemporary of Damascus and Arpad. Thither, a mindful of the hot springs which supply the Brinacier,

preliminaries of the name, Mr. Bransford made his way, mindful too, of sturdy old Don Francisco, a friend twice bound by ancient service, given and returned. He climbed the slow, long ridges to the high mesa, for the river bent here in a long oxbow, where a bold promontory shouldered far out to bar the way. Weary miles were to be saved by crossing the neck of this oxbow, and the tough horse tired and lagged. The slow sun rose as he reached the rim. It showed the wide expanse of desert behind him, flooded with trembling light. Eastward, beyond the river, the buttressed and fantastic petes of Frey Cristobal. They're jutting shadows streaming into the Gulf beyond, athwart the silvery ribbon of gleaming

water, twining in mazy loops across the valley floor. It shows, the black rim at his feet a frowning level wall of lava cliff where the plain broke abruptly into the chasm beneath the iron desolation of the steep sides boulder-strewn savage and forbidding a land of old up heaven from the abyss long since there had been a flourishing mexican town in the valley a wagon road had painfully climbed a long ridge to the rim twisting doubling turning clinging Hazing hazardously to the hillside, its outer edge a wall built up with stone, till it came to the shoulder under the tremendous barrier. From there it turned northward, paralleling the rim in a mile-long curve above a deep gorge, turning in a last desperate climb to a solitary gateway in the black wall, torn out by floodwaters through slow centuries. Smallpox had smitten the people, the treacherous river, had devastated the fertile valley, and subsiding left the rich

fields a waste of sand. The town was long deserted, the disused road was gullied and torn by flood, the soil washed away, leaving a heaped and crumbled track of tangled stone. But it was the only practicable way as far as the sand hills, and Jeff led his horse down the ruined path, with many a turning back and a scrambling detour. The shadows of the eastern hills drew back before him as he reached the sand dunes. When he rode through the silent streets of what had been Alamosita, the sun peered over Freik Cristobal, gilding the crumbling walls, where love and laughter had made music,

where youth and hope and happiness had been, silent now and deserted, given over to lizard and bad an owl, the smiling gardens choked with sand and grass springing with mesquite and tournillo a few fruit trees gnarled and tangled drooping for days departed when young mothers sang low lullaby beneath their branches passed away and forgotten hopes and fears tears and smiles birth and death joy and sorrow hatred and sin and shame falsehood and truth and courage and love the sun shone cheerfully shone cheerfully and love the sun shone cheerfully on these gray ruins, as it has shown on a thousand such, and will chime. Jeff turned down the river, past the broken asciquias, to where a massive spur of basaltic rock had turned the fury of the floods and spared a few fields. In this sheltered cove dwelt Don Francisco Escobar in true pastoral and patriarchal manner.

His stalwart sons and daughters, with their sons and daughters in turn, in clustering adobes around him, for neighbors, the allied family of Gonzales and Ortega. A cheerful settlement, this of Los Bagnos, nestling at the foot of the friendly rampart, sheltered alike from flood and wind. South and west the close black rim walled the horizon, the fantasy of Freikwithabal, closed in the narrow east. But northward beyond the low sand hills and the blue heat hills, the high peaks of O'Agon, Guadalupe, and rainbow, swam across the sleepy air, far and soft and dim.

In their fields, the Hinté of Gonzales I. Oortega and of Escobar raised ample crops of alfalfa, wheat, corn, frioles, and chili, with orchard, vineyard, and garden. Their cows, sheep, and goats, grazed the foothills between river and rim, watched by the young men or boys, penned nightly in the great corrals in the old Spanish fashion, as if the moor still swooped and forayed. Their horses roamed the hills at will, only a few being kept in the alfalfa pasture. They ground their own grain, tanned their cowhides at home.

Mattress and pillow were wool of their raising, their blankets and cloth their own weave. There were granaries, a wine-press, a forge, a cumbrous stone mill, a great adobe oven like a monstrous beehive. Once a year their oxen drew the great high-sided wagons up the sandy road to El Paso, and returned with the year's marketing. Salt, axes, iron, and steel,

powder and lead, bolts of white domestic, or amanta for sheets and shirtlings, matches, tea, coffee, tobacco, and sugar. Perhaps, if the saints had been kind, there were a few ribbons, trinkets, or brightly-colored prints, of Joseph and Virgin and Child, St. John the Beloved, the Annunciation, the Children, and Christ, perhaps an American rifle or a plow. But for the most part they held not with innovations, plowed, sowed, and reaped as their fathers did, threshing with oxen or goats.

The women sowed by hand, cooked on fireplaces, or better still, in the open air, under the trees with few and simple utensils. The family ate from whitest and cleanest of sheepskins spread on the floor. But the walls were snowy with whitewash, the earthen floors smooth and clean, the coarse linen fresh and white. The scant furniture of the rooms, a pine bed, a chair or two, a mirror, a brass candlestick with homemade candles, a cheap print on the wall, a great chest for clothes, blankets, and simple treasures, the bright fire in the cozy fireplace, all combined to give an indescribable air of cheerfulness, of homely comfort, and of rest. This quiet corner where people still lived as simply as when Abraham went up from Ower of the Caldees

in the springtime of the world, held, foreseeing eyes, an incommunicable charm. When Jeff came at last to Casa Escobar, the cattle were already on the hills, the pigs and chickens, far afield. Don Francisco, white-haired, erect, welcomed him eagerly indeed, but with stately courtesy. Is it thou indeed, my son? Now my old eyes are gladdened this day. Enter then, Amigo Meal, thrice welcome, the house is thine in very truth. nay, the young men shall care for thy horse. He raised his voice, Three tall sons, Abron, Zenoble, Donociano, came at the summons,

gave Bransford grave greeting, and stood to await their father's commands. Fathers of families themselves, they presumed not to sit unbidden to join in the conversation or to loiter. Breakfast was served presently in high state on the table reserved for honored guests. Savory venison, chili, fish, eggs, tortillas, etoile, enchiladas, cream, and steaming coffee.

Such was the fair. Don Francisco sat gravely by to bear him company, while a silently hovering damsel anticipated every need. Thence, when his host could urge no more upon him to the deep, shading, cottonwoods. Wine was brought, and the makings of service. cigarettes, corn husks, hand-cut, a great jar of tobacco, and a brazier of mesquite embers. At a little distance, women washed, wove, or sewed, the young men made buckskin, fashioned quirts, whips, ropes, bridal reins, tie-straps, hobbles, pack-sacks, and chaparejos of

raw-hide, made cinches of horsehair, wrought ox-oaks, blow beams, and other things, needful for their simple husbandry. Meanwhile, Don Francisco entertained his guest with grave and leisurely recital of the year's annals. Mateo, son of Sebastian, had slain a great bear in the pass of all the winds. Alicia, daughter of their eldest, was wed with young Roman de la O'h of Cagnada Nogales

to the much healing of feud and ancient hatred. Diego, son of Ucibio, was proving a bold and fearless rider of wild horses with reason as behooved his father's son. He had carried away the gallio at the Fiesta de San Juan with the fleet dung cold creased from the wild bunch at Camado. The herds had grown, the crops prospered, all sorrow passed them by through the intercession of the Blessed Saints. The year's trophies were brought, he fingered with simple pride the great pelt of the silver tip. Antlers there were, and lion-skins, gleaming prisms of quartz, flint arrowheads, and agates brought in by the shepherds, the costly Navajo blanket

won by the fleet-limbed Dunn at Canyada races. Hither came presently another visitor, Florentino, baker of wild horses, despite his fifty years, whizzed and withered and small, merry and cheerful singer of forgotten folk songs chanting even as he came the song of macario writing joyous and light-hearted spite of warning omen and sign love lured to doom and death conseilama a licensea voy a ira vera me shata Dice, Macario Romero, Perando in los atribos, Madre,

puits, this to voy, Aver, if all are my amigos. And so, listening, weary and outworn,

Jeff fell asleep. Observe now how nature insists upon averages. Mr. Jeff Bransford was, as has been seen, an energetic man, but outraged nerves, will have their revenge.

After making proper amends to his damaged eye, Jeff's remnant of energy kept up long enough to dispatch young Tomas Escobar and Mendoza to El Paso with a message to Hibler, which message enjoined Hibler at once to carry tidings to John Wesley Pringle somewhere in Chihuahua,

asking him kindly to set right what Arcadian times were out of joint, as he, Jeff, felt the climate of old Mexico, more favorable for his throat trouble than that of new mexico with a postscript asking hibler for money by bearer and young thomas was instructed to buy at warrez a complete outfit of clothing for jeff including a gun this done the reaction set in aided perhaps by the innervating lassitude of the hot baths and the sleepy atmosphere of that forgotten village jeff spent the better part of a week asleep or half awake at bed he had pleasant dreams too one perhaps the best dream of all was that on their wedding trip they should follow again the devious line of his flight from arcadia that would need a prairie schooner no a prairie steamboat a prairie yacht he could tell her all the hideous details show her the mine the camp of the besiegers the ambuscade on the road and if he could have eleanor meet griffithan gibson for a crowning touch. After the strenuous violence of handstrokes, here was a drowsy and peaceful time.

The wine of that land was good, the shade pleasant, the Elysian philosophy more delightful than of yore. He had all the accessories but one of an earthly paradise. Man is ungrateful. Jeff was a man, neglectful of present bounties, his dreaming thoughts were all of the absent accessory, of a time when that absence should be no more, nor paradise be empty. Life, like the Griffin's classical master, had taught him laughter and grief. He turned now the forgotten pages of the book of his years. Enough black pages were there, as you will know well, having yourself searched old records before now, with tears. He cast up that long account, the wasted lenders, the outlawed debts, the dishonored promise,

the talents of his stewardship unprofitable and are brought to not set down how gladly the items on the credit side so men have set the good upon one side and the evil on the other side since crusoe's days and before against the time when the great accountant whose values are not ours shall strike a final balance take that book at your elbow yes either one it doesn't matter now Turn to where the hero first discovers his frightful condition, long after it has become a neighborhood property. He bent his head in humility. He was not worthy of her. Something like that? Those may not be the precise words, but he groaned. He always groans.

By the way, how this man-saying must amuse womankind. Yes, and they actually say it, too. Real live flesh and blood men. who was it said life was a poor imitation of literature happily either these people are insincere or they reconsider the matter else what might we do for families it is to be said that jeff bransford lacked this becoming delicacy if he groaned he swore also if he decided that miss eleanor hoffman deserved a better man than he was he also highly resolved that she should not have him for after all you know said Jeff to Alice, I'm sure he's nothing extra, a quiet man in plain, and modest, though there isn't much of which he could be vain, and had I mind to chant his praise this with a kindest

line, somehow she loves him dearly, this little love of mine. End of Chapter 16. Chapter 17 of Bransford of Rainbow Range by Eugene Manlove Rhodes, this Librevox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 17. 20th century. And there that hulking prejudice sat all across the road. I took my hat, I took my coat, my load, I settled fair. I approached that awful incubus with an absent-minded air,

and I walked directly through him as if he wasn't there. An obstacle, Charlotte Perkins Stetson Johnny Deanez rode with a pleasant jingle down the shady street of spanios de santa yulele de laurte his saddle was new a caravan wrought with silver his bridle shown as the sun his spurs as bright stars he shed music from his feet jeff saw him turn to casa eskobar apple blossoms made a fragrant lane for him he paused at jeff's tree alt-o ali said johnny the words as sharp command can be managed in two brisk syllables the sound is then all we it is a crisp and startling sound and the sense of it in our idiom is hands up jeff had been taking a late breakfast al fresco he made glad room on his bench light stranger and look at your saddle pretty slick saddle too guess your playmates must a went home talking to themselves last night they're going to kill a maverick for you at arcadia and give a barbecue said johnny the cult of neal admirerary reaches its highest pitch of prosperity in the cow countries, and Johnny knew that it was for him

to broach tidings unasked. Oh, that reminds me. How old Lars Forsyna, said Jeff, now free to question. Him, he's all right, said Johnny casually, gonna marry one or more of the nurses. They're holding elimination contest now. Say, Johnny, when you go back, I wish you'd tell him I didn't do it. Cross my heart and hope to die if I did. oh he knows it wasn't you said johnny jeff shook his head doubtfully evidence was pretty strong pretty strong who was it then why lake himself the old hog

if lake keeps on like this he's going to have people down on him said jeff who did the homesing john wesley oh john wesley john wesley said dinah scornfully you think the sun rises and sets in old john wesley pringle nah he didn't get back till it was all over i cannot tell a lie i did it with my little hatchet must have had it sharpened up said jeff tell it to me why there isn't much to tell said dinez suddenly modest come to think of it i had a right considerable help there was a young college chap he first put it into my head that it wasn't you that would be the devil said jeff ignoring the insult just so names white and so's he billy white s m and he GP. I don't just remember them degrees, said Jeff. Ah, keep still and you'll hear more. They stand for some man and good people. Well, as I was a saying, Billy, he seemed to think it wasn't you. He stuck to it that Badinsky, that's what he calls you, was in a garden just when the bank was robbed. Johnny contemplated the apple tree over his head. It was a wandering and sober glance, but a muscle twitched in his cheek, and he made no further explanation about the garden.

And then I remembered about nigger babe throwing you off, and I began to think maybe you didn't crack the safe after all, and there was some other things, little things, that made Billy and Jimmy Phillips, he was taking cards in the game too, made him think maybe it was like, but it wasn't no proof, not to say proof, and that's where I come in. well said Jeff as Johnny paused simple enough once you knowed how said Johnny modestly I'd been reading lots of them detective books Sherlock Holmes and all them fellas I got Billy to have his folks stole Lake's sister away for the night so she wouldn't be scared

then me and Billy and Jimmy Phillips and Monty we broke in and blowed up Lake's private safe no trouble at all since the bank robin everyone's been telling round just how it ought to be done crackin' safes. Funny how a fellow picks up little scraps a useful knowledge like that. Things you'd think he'd remember might come in handy most any time, and then forgets all about him. I wrote it down this time.

Won't forget it again. Well, said Jeff again. Oh, yes, and there was the nice money, all the notes and all the gold he could tote. Jeff's eye wandered to the new saddle. I kept some of the yellow stuff as a souvenir, half a quarter, maybe a pint, said Johnny. I don't want no reward for doing a good deed, and that's all.

Lake is a long, ugly word, said Jeff thoughtfully. Well, what do you say, prompted Johnny. Oh, thank you, thank you, said Jeff. You showed marvelous penetration, marvelous. But say, Johnny, if the money hadn't been there, wouldn't that have been awkward? Oh, Billy was pretty sure Lake was the man, and we figured he hadn't bothered to move it. You be in the goat that way.

What made you be a goat, Jeff? That whole performance was the most idiotic break I ever knew a grown-up man to get off. I knew you were not strictly accountable, but why didn't you say, Judge, your honors, sir? At the time the bank was being robbed, I was in a garden with a young lady

talking about the hereafter, the here and the here-to-four. On the contrary, what made your billy think it was like? johnny told him in detail pretty good article of plain thinking wasn't it he concluded yet he mightn't have got started at all on the right track if he hadn't had the straight tip about your being in a garden johnny's eye reverted to the apple-tree lake found your nose-guard you know where you left it i reckon maybe he saw you leave it there say jeff lake's grandfather must have been a white man anyhow he's got one decent drop of blood in him from somewhere for when we arrested him, he didn't say a word about the garden. That was rather a good stunt, I think. Bulley for Lake just once. Right, you are, and Mr. J. Dinas, I've been thinking, Jeff began, Johnny glanced at him anxiously, and I've about come to the conclusion that we're

some narrow, contracted, and bigoted in rainbow. We don't know at all. We ain't the only pebble. From what I've seen of these Arcadia men, they seem to be pretty good stuff. and like it's not it's just the same way all along the beach there's your mr white and griffith and gibson did i tell you about gibson johnny flashed a brilliant smile his smiles always looked larger than they really were because johnny was a very small man i saw griffith and he gave me his version several times he's real upset griffith last time he told me he leaned up against my neck and wept because there was only ten commandments didn't see gibson did you you know him nope pappy picked him up or he picked pappy up rather hasn't been seen since i guess gibby old boy has gone to the wild bunch he wouldn't suspect you of being innocent and he dreamed he dwelt in marble halls making shoes for the state so he gets cold feet and he just naturally evaporates good-night yes he said he was going to hike out or something to that effect responded jeff absently The fact being that he was not thinking of Gibson at all, but was pondering deep upon Miss Allender Hoffman.

Had she gone to New York, according to the original plan? It did not seem probable. Her face stood out before him, bright, vivid, sparkling, as he had seen her last in the courtroom of Arcadia. Good heavens! Was that only a week ago? Seven days? It seemed seven years.

No, she had not gone. at least certainly not until she was sure that he, Jeff, had made good his escape. Then perhaps she might have gone. Perhaps her mother had made her go. Oh, well, New York wasn't far as he had told her that first wonderful day on Rainbow Rim. What a marvelous day that was. Jeff was suddenly struck with the thought that he had never seen Eleanor's mother. Great, Scott.

She had a father, too. How annoying. He meditated upon this unpleasant theme for a space. Then, as if groping in a dark room, he had suddenly turned on the light, his thought changed to, what a girl! Ah, what a wonderful girl! Where is she? Looking up, Jeff became once more aware of Johnny Deanez, leg curled around the horn of the new saddle,

elbow on knee, cheek on hand, contemplating his poor friend with benevolent pity. And then Jeff knew that he could make no queries of Johnny Deanez. Johnny spoke soothingly, You are in North America. This is the 20th century. Your name is Bransford. That round, bright object is the sun.

This direction is east. This way is called up. This is a stream of water that you see. It is called the Rio River Grande Big. We are advertised by our loving friends. I cannot sing the old songs. There's a reason. Two of a kind flock together.

Never trump your partner's ace. It's a wise child that dreads the fire. Wake up! Come out of it. Change cars. I ought to kill you, said Jeff. Now giggle, you idiot, and make everybody hate you. Wait till I say adios to my old compadre and the rest of the Escobarhinte,

and I'll side you to El Paso. Not I, little Johnny, he'll make make san elizario's ferry by noon and helms by dark thought maybe so you'd be going along why no said jeff uneasily i guess maybe i'll go up to el paso and adjun around the spell oh well just as you say such be in the case i'll be jogging better wait till after dinner i'll squire it with don fronisco if anything's missing no that makes too long a jaunt for this afternoon me for san elizario so long but beyond the first asiqia he turned and rode back funny thing jeff remember me telling you about a girl i saw on may hill the day nigger babe throwed you off now what was that girl's name i've forgotten again oh yes hoffman miss eleanor hoffman well she's at arcadia still the mother lady was all for going back to new york but no sir girl said she's 21 likes Arcadia and she's going to stay a spell these ways so i hear i will kill you said Jeff here wait till I saddle my nag and say goodbye beyond San Elisario as they climbed the pass of all the winds the two friends halted to breathe their horses Jeff said Johnny rather soberly

you can kick me after I say my little piece I'll think poorly of you if you don't but ain't him makin maybe a mistake that girl now nice girl and all that but that girl's got money jeff i hate a fool worse than a knave any day of the week said jeff and the man that would let money keep him from the only girl why johnny he's so much more of a fool than the other fellow is a scoundrel i get you said johnny you mean that a submarine boat is better built for rope and steers than a mogul engine is is skilful at painting steeples and you wonder if you can't get a fresh horse somewhere and go on through to arcadia to-night something like that admitted jeff besides he added lightly well i'd like that girl just as well if i didn't have a cent why as it happens i'm pretty well fixed myself i've got money to throw at the little dicky birds all kinds of money got a fifty-one interest in a copper mine over at harquahalla that's been paying me all the way from ten to five thousand clear per each and every year for the past seven years besides what i pay a lad for lookout to keep anybody but himself from stealing any of it he's been buying real estate for me in los angeles lately johnny's jaw dropped in unaffected amazement all this while before you and leo hit rainbow sure said jeff and you working for forty a month and stealing your own beef then saving up and buying your little old brand along with beebe and leo and old west jogging along working like a yaller dog with fleas well why not wasn't i having a heap of fun where can i see any better time than i had here

or find better friends. Money's no good by itself. I haven't drawn a dollar from Arizona since I left. It was fun to make the mine go round at first, but when it got so it worked, I looked for something else more amusing. I should think you'd want to travel anyhow. Travel, echoed Jeff. Travel, why, you damn fool, I'm here now. Will you stay here if you marry her, Jeff? So you've no objection to make if I've got a few dollars? That squares everything. all right, does it? Not a heap of protest from you now? See, here, you everlasting fool, I'm just the same man I was fifteen minutes ago when you thought I didn't have any money. If I'm fit for her now, I was then. If I wasn't good enough then, I'm not good enough now. But I wasn't thinking of her. I was

thinking of how it would look. Look, who cares how it looks? Just a silly prejudice. They say, what say they let them say johnny maybe i was just bringing you if i was lying about the money how about it then changed your mind again you wasn't lying was you can't tell you it doesn't really make any difference anyhow end of chapter seventeen chapter eighteen of bransford of rainbow range by eugene manlove rhodes this liverbox recording is in the public domain chapter eighteen at the rainbow's end. Helen's lips are drifting dust. Ileon is consumed with rust. All the galleons of Greece drink the ocean's dreamless peace, lost with Solomon's purple show, restless centuries ago.

Stately empires wax and wane, Babylon, Barbary, and Spain. Only one thing, undefaced, lasts, though all the worlds lie waste, and the heavens are always. overturned. Dear, how long ago we learned, Frederick Lawrence Knowles. Starlet and Moonlit Leagues, the slow, fresh dawn, in the cool of the morning, Bransford came to the crest of the groundswell, known as Frenchman's Ridge, and saw low-lying Arcadia dim against the north, a toy town huddling close to the shelter of Rainbow Range. He splashed through the shallow waters of Alamo, failing to

a trickle before it sank in the desert sands, and so came at last to the mode of Arcadia. With what joyous and eager choking heartbeat, you may well guess, not the needlessness of those swift pulses, or of that joy, for Eleanor was not there. With Mrs. Hoffman, she had gone to visit the Sutherlands at Rainbow's End, and Jeff could not go on. Arcadia rose to greet him in impromptu Roman holiday. Poor Bransford has never known clearly what chanced on that awful day. There is a jumbled, whirling memory of endless kaleidoscopic troops of joyful Arcadians, Billy White, Monta, Jimmy, Clark, the grim-smiling sheriff, the judge.

It was dimly borne upon him by one or both of the two last that there were yet certain forms. formalities to be observed in the matter of his escape from custody of the law and of the horse he had borrowed from the courthouse square. Indeed, it seemed to Jeff in a hazy afterthought that perhaps the sheriff had arrested him again. If so, it had slipped Jeff's mind, swallowed up in a gruesome horror of congratulations, hand-shakings, back-slapping, baddnage, and questions, heaped on a hero, heart-sick, dazed, and dumb, pleading, weariness, he tore himself away at last, almost by violence, and flung himself down in a darkened bedroom of the Arcadian at Alanta. One thing was clear. Headlight was there. aforesaid Smith Madison, but his nearest friends, Pringle, B. B. B. B. Ballinger, though they had hasted back to Arcadia to fight Jeff's battles, were ostentatiously absent from his hollow and hateful triumph. Johnny Deinas had, had, pointedly refused to share his night ride from Helms, and Jeff knew why, sadly enough,

the gods take pay for the goods they give, and now that goodly fellowship was broken. The thought clung fast. It haunted his tossing and troubled slumbers, where Eleanor came through a sunset glow, swift-footed to meet him, where his friends rode slow and silent into the glimmering dusk, smaller and smaller, black against the sky. The Sutherland Place made an outer corner of Rainbow's End, bowered about by a double row of close and interlaced cottonwoods on two sides, by vigorous orchards on the other two. The house had once been a one-storied adobe, heroically proportioned, thick-walled,

cool against summer, warm in what went by the name of winter. The old-time princely hospitality was unchanged, but Sutherland had bought lots in Arcadia of early days, and now the old grey walls of the house were smooth with creamy stucco rod of gypsum from the white sands. The windows were widened, and there was a superimposed story, overhanging, wide and low. The gables were double-windowed, shingled, and stained nut brown. The gentle sloping roof shingled, dormered, and soft green. The overflow projecting two broad verandas on either side, very like an umbrella, a bungalow with two birthdays, 1866, 1896.

Miss Eleanor Hoffman had deserted veranda, rocking chair, and hammock, with a sewing basket beside her, she sat on a pine bench under a cottonwood of 1867, ostensibly basting together a kimono. tinted like a dripping sea-shell and faced with peach-blossom. The work went slowly. Her seat was at the desert corner of the homestead, which was itself the desert outpost of a desert town,

and her blood stirred to these splendid horizons. The mysterious desert, scoffed and questioned, drew her with promise of strange joys and strange griefs. The Iron-Hard Mountains beckoned and challenged from afar, wove her their spells of wavering lights and shadows, the misty warp and woof of them, shifting to swift, fantastic hues of trembling rose and blue,

and violet, half veiling, half revealing, steep's unguessed, and dreamed of sheltered valleys, and all the myriad voice of moaning waste and world-rimming hill cried, Come! Faint, fitful undertones of drowsy cords,

far peeling of elfin bells, that was pulsing of busia acycleas, tinkling of mimic waterfalls. The clean breath of the desert groaned by, bearing a grateful fragrance of apple blossoms near. It rippled the deepest green of alfalfa to undulating sheen of purple and flashing gold. The broad fields were dwarfed to play-garden prettiness by the vastness of overwhelming desert to right to left, before, whose nearer blotches of black and gray and brown faded far off to a nameless shimmer, its silent leagues dwindling to immeasurable blur, merging indistinguishable in the burning sunset. East by up, over guarding the oasis, the colossal bulk of rainbow walled out the world, with grim-tiered cliffs, cleft only by the deep gashed gates of rainbow pass, where the

swift river broke through to the rich fields of rainbow's end, bringing fulfillment of the fabled pot of gold, or unused to shrink and fail and die in the thirsty sand. Below the Willowm Channel wandered forlorn, rainbow no longer but lost river, to a disconsolate delta, waterless, save as infrequent floods, found turbulent way to the sink, where wild horse and Antelope revisited their old haunts for the tender green luxury of these brief belated springs. Incidentally, Miss Hoffman's outpost commanded a good view of Arcadia Road, winding white through the black tar brush. Had she looked, she might have seen a slow horseman, tiny on the bare plain below the tar brush, larger as he climbed the gentle slope along that white winding road. But she bent in

industrious to her work, smiling to herself, half-singing, half-humming, a foolish and lilty little tune. A tisket, a tasket, a green and yellow basket, I wrote a letter to my love, and on the road I lost it, I crithed it, I crossed it, I locked it in a casket, I missed it, I lost it, and here Miss Hoffman did an unaccountable thing. Wise Penelope unraveled by night, the work she wove by day. Like her in this, Miss Eleanor Hoffman, now placidly sniffed and ripped the basting threads, unravelled them patiently, and set to work afresh.

Now, there's no such thing as a ginkgo tree. There never was, though there ought to be, and tis also true, though most absurd, there's no such thing as a wallaby bird. Miss Hoffman was all in white with a white middy blouse, dreamt in scarlet, a scarlet ribbon in her dark hair of fine-linked gold chain showing at her neck. A very pretty picture she made, cool and fresh against the deep shade and the green, but of course she did not know it. She held the shaping kimono at arm's length, admiring the delicate color and fell to work again.

Oh, the jolly miller he lives by himself, as the wheel rolls round he gathers in his felf, a hand in the hopper and another in the bag, as the wheel rolls round he calls out grab. So intent and preoccupied was she that she did not hear the approaching horse. Good evening! Oh, Miss Hoffman jumped, dropping the little suffering kimono. A horseman with bared head had rained up in the shaded road alongside. How silly of me not to hear you coming! If you're looking for Mr. Sutherland, he's not.

here, Mr. David Sutherland, that is, but Mr. Henry Sutherland is here, or was a while ago, maybe half an hour since, he was trying to get up a set of tennis. Perhaps they're playing, over there on the other side of the house, and yet if they were there, we'd hear him laughing, don't you think? Mr. Bransford, for it was Mr. Bransford, and he was all dressed in clothes, waited with extreme patience for the conclusion of these feverish and hurried remarks. But I'm not looking for Sutherland. I'm looking for you. Oh, said Eleanor again. Then, after a long and deliberate survey, the light of recognition dawned slowly in her eyes.

Oh, I do know you, don't I? To be sure I do. You're Mr. the gentleman I met on Rainbow Mountain near Mayhill, Mr. Oh, yes, Bransford. Why, so I am, said Jeff, leaning on the saddle horn. One half of Mr. Bransford wondered if he had not been making a fool of himself and taking a great deal for granted. The other half, though considerably alarmed, was not at all deceived. Miss Eleanor did not actually put her finger in the corner of her mouth. She merely looked as if she had. "'Oh, won't you get down?' she said helplessly.

"'What a beautiful horse.' "'Why, yes, thank you. I believe I will.' He left the beautiful horse to stand with dangling reins, and came over to the bench, silent and rather grim. Won't you sit down? said Eleanor politely. Fine day, isn't it? It's a wonderful day, a marvelous day. A stupendous day, said this exasperated young man.

No, I guess it's not worthwhile to sit down. I just wanted to find out where you lived. I asked you once before, you know, and you didn't tell me. Oh, didn't I? Oh, do sit down. You look so grumpy, tired, I mean. Rather grudgingly, she swept the sewing basket from the bench to the grass. Jeff's eyes followed the action. He saw, if you call it, seeing, the snipped threads on the grass, the yet unpicked bastings, white against the peach pink facing, but he was a mere man, hard circumstanced, and these eloquent tidings were wasted

upon his clumsy intellect, as had been the surprising good fortune of finding Miss Eleanor exactly where she was. Nerving himself, with memory of the Quaker lady at the masquerade, if indeed that had ever really happened, Jeff took the offered seat. The young lady matched two edges together, smoothed them, eyed the result critically, implied a nimble needle. Then she turned clear and guileless eyes on, her glooming seat-mate.

You look older somehow than I thought you were, now that I remember, she observed, biting the thread. You've been away, haven't you? I thought you were going away yourself, so wild and fierce, said Jeff, evading. Been away, indeed. Eleanor threaded her needle. Mama was talking of going for a while, she said tranquilly, but I'm rather glad we didn't. We're having a splendid time here, and Mr.

White's going to take us to the White Sands next week. He'll be down tomorrow, at least I think so. He's fine. He took us to Mescalero early in the spring, and the young people here at Rainbow's End are simply delightful. You must meet them. Listen, there they are now. I hear them. They are playing tennis. Come on up and I'll introduce you. I can finish this thing any time. She tossed the poor kimono into the basket. No, said, this unhappy young man rising. I believe I'll go on back. Goodbye, Miss, Miss Hoffman. I wish you much happiness. Why, surely you're not going now. There are some nice girls here. They have heard so much of you, but they say they've never met you. Don't you want? Jeff groaned,

fumbling blindly at the bridle. No, I wish I'd never seen a girl. Why, that's not very polite, is it? Are you, are you mad at me," said Eleanor, in a meek little voice. "'Mad? Oh, no,' said Jeff bitterly. I'm just coming to my senses. I've been dreaming. Now I woke up."

"'Angry, I mean, of course. I just say it that way. Are you mad at me? Sometimes to be—to be nice, Mr. Granford. You needn't bother. Goodbye.' "'But I'll see you again?' Never.

When you're not so cross?' Jeff reached for his stirrup. oh well if you're going to be huffy never it is then by all means no wait i must give you back your present i have never given you a present some other man doubtless you should keep a list said jeff with bitter and cutting scorn the girl turned half away from him and hid her face with trembling hands her shoulders shook with emotion look the other way sir turn your head you shall have your present back and then if you are so anxious to go go Miss Hoffman, I never gave you a present in my light, Jeff protested. You did, sobbed Eleanor. She turned upon him, stamping her foot. You said when you gave it to me that you hoped it would bring me good luck,

and you've forgotten. You'd better keep a list. Turn your head away, I tell you. She sank down on the bench. Confused, mazed, bewildered, Jeff obeyed her. She sprang to her feet. She was laughing, blushing, glowed. In her hand was the little gold chain.

Now you may look. Hold out your hand, sir. Jeff's mind was whirling. He held out his hand. She laid a little gold locket in his palm. It was warm, that little locket. I have never seen this locket before in my life, gasped Jeff. Open it.

He opened it. The little Eopas glared up at him. Eleanor, Charlie Gibson. Toby, Jeff. jamy the little leopis stared unweaking from the grass end of chapter eighteen end of bransford of rainbow range by eugene manlove rhodes