ren't we seeing a good deal of each other?"

"Oh, if it is going to bore you, by all means put it off!" cried
Bennington in genuine alarm.

She laughed contentedly over his way of looking at it. "I'm not tired
then, so please you; and when I am, I'll let you know. To-morrow it
is."

"Shall I come after you? What time shall I start?"

"No, I'd rather meet you somewhere. Let's see. You watch for me, and
I'll ride by in the lower gulch about nine o'clock."

"Very well. By the way, the band's going to practise in town to-night.
Don't you want to go?"

"I'd like to, but I promised Jim I'd go with him."

"Jim?"

"Jim Fay."

Bennington felt this as a discordant note.

"Do you know him very well?" he asked jealously.

"He's my best friend. I like him very much. He is a fine fellow. You
must meet him."

"I've met him," said Bennington shortly.

"Now you must go," she commanded, after a pause. "I want to stay here
for a while." "No," as he opened his mouth to object. "I mean it!
Please be good!"

After he had gone she sat still until sundown. Once she shook her
shoulders impatiently. "It is _silly_!" she assured herself. As before,
the shadow of Harney crept out to the horizon's edge. There it
stopped. Twilight fell.

"No Spirit Mountain to-night," she murmured wistfully at last. "Almost
do I believe in the old legend."

CHAPTER VIII

AN ADVENTURE IN THE NIGHT

After supper that night Bennington found himself unaccountably alone in
camp. Old Mizzou had wandered off up the gulch. Arthur had wandered off
down the gulch. The woman had locked herself in her cabin.

So, having nothing else to do, he got out the manuscript of _Aliris: A
Romance of all Time_, and read it through carefully from the beginning.
To his surprise he found it very poor. Its language was felicitous in
some spots, but stilted in most; the erudition was pedantic, and
dragged in by the ears; the action was idiotic; and the proportions
were padded until they no longer existed as proportions. He was
astounded. He began to see that he had misconceived the whole treatment
of it. It would have to be written all over again, with the love story
as the ruling _motif_. He felt very capable of doing the love story.
He drew some paper toward him and began to write.

You see he was already developing. Every time a writer is made to
appreciate that his work is poor he has taken a step in advance of it.
Although he did not know that was the r