s poor wretch had ever had. The unfortunate
cuss! York tried to tell Aunt Darby (but I headed him off successfully)
that dad started a thing that became what they call a 'blowout' here.
York Macpherson wanted to put up a big spiel to her about justice to you
and some other folks--this poor critter who got sanded over, maybe. But
it didn't move me one mite, and I didn't let it get by to Aunt Jerry's
ears, although I half-way promised York I would, to get rid of the thing
the easiest way, for that's my way, you know. Did you ever see such a
precious thing as a 'blowout' here, Jerry?"

Jerry's face was white and her eyes burned blue-black now with a steady
glow. "Never, till to-night," she said, slowly. "I never dreamed till
now how barren a thing a lust for property can create."

Gene Wellington dropped his cigarette stub and stared a moment. He did
not grasp her meaning at all, but her voice was not so pleasant, now, as
her merry laugh and soft words had been three years ago.

"By the way, coming up to-day, I heard of a dramatic situation. I think
I'll hunt up the local color for a canvas for it," Eugene began, by way
of changing the theme. "You know you had a horribly rotten storm of
thunder and lightning and wind, and a cloudburst down the river valley
where our train was stuck in the mud, and the tracks were all lost in
the sand-drift and other vile debris. Well, coming up here from the
derailed train, some one said that the young fellow who had leased that
land, or owned the land, that is just above the sand-line, the poor
devil who had such a struggle, you know--well, he was lost when the
river overflowed its banks. But somebody else said he might be marooned,
half starved, on an island of sand out in the river, waiting for the
flood to go down. The roads are just impassable around there, so they
can't get in to see what has become of him. His house was washed away,
it seems--I saw a part of it in the river--but nobody knows where he is.
Hard luck, wasn't it? I know you'll be glad to leave this God-forsaken
country, won't you, dearie? How you ever stood it for three whole years
I can't comprehend. Only you always were the bravest girl I ever knew.
Just as soon as I paint a few of its drearinesses we'll be leaving it
forever. What's the matter?"

Jerry Swaim had sprung to her feet and was standing, white and silent,
staring at her companion with wide-open, burning eyes. Against all the
culture and idle ease of her