le
statehood was achieved, he would be a recognized factor in its
transformation from a loosely-bound territory.

He began to think, too, of moving his residence to Oklahoma City, where
he would be closer to men of affairs--great men of great enterprises.
His farm, of course, would be managed under his superintendence--unless
Oklahoma City should be generous enough to spread out and surround it,
and lap it up, town-lot after town-lot, till not a red clod was
left.... And if a girl like Lahoma--for surely she had not
changed!--if she, little Lahoma.... And the longing grew on him to see
Annabel Sellimer and Lahoma together, that he might study the girl he
had once loved with the girl he might love tomorrow. He almost made up
his mind to take a brief trip to Chicago, on quitting the cove; perhaps
there would be something in Lahoma's next letter to force a decision.

Two weeks passed, but Wilfred did not consider the time lost; there
were letters almost daily, by coach, from Lahoma, telling of her
adventures in the great world--the house-party had been delayed on
account of Mrs. Sellimer's illness, but was to take place
immediately--so said the last letter before the arrival of the news
that changed the course of events at the cove. As yet, Lahoma had not
met Mr. Gledware, but the fame of his riches and his luxurious home had
both increased her curiosity to see him, and her conviction that Mr.
Edgerton Compton stood no chance with Annabel. She had discovered,
too, that Edgerton Compton was a brother of the Wilfred Compton who had
visited them one day in the cove--Wilfred read the letter with great
attention, but there was no further reference to himself.

Brick Willock rode over to Mangum nearly every afternoon to hear from
Lahoma, but it happened that on the day of the great news, neither he
nor Bill had returned from a certain hunting expedition in time for the
stage, so Wilfred went for the mail. There was only one letter,
addressed to "Mr. B. Willock," and it seemed strangely thin. The young
man wondered during all his ten-mile return-trip if Lahoma had fallen
ill; and after reaching the log cabin, he kept looking at the slim
missive, and turning it over, with vague uneasiness.

Brick and Bill had ridden far, and it was dusk before they reached home
with a deer slung over one of the horses.

"They're getting scarcer every year," complained Bill, as he climbed
stiffly to the ground; "I guess they'll finally