wing from some sudden
energy; so were Zuleika's with the excitement of curiosity. Presently
the sound of sleigh-bells again filled the room. It was Hays leading the
horse and sleigh to the door, beneath a sky now starlit and crisp
under a northeast wind. The fair stranger cast a significant glance at
Zuleika, and whispered hurriedly, "You know he must not come with me.
You must keep him here."

She ran to the door muffled and hooded, leaped into the sleigh, and
gathered up the reins.

"But you cannot go alone," said Hays, with awkward courtesy. "I was
kalkilatin'"--

"You're too tired to go out again, dad," broke in Zuleika's voice
quickly. "You ain't fit; you're all gray and krinkly now, like as when
you had one of your last spells. She'll send the sleigh back to-morrow."

"I can find my way," said the lady briskly; "there's only one turn off,
I believe, and that"--

"Leads to the stage station three miles west. You needn't be afraid of
gettin' off on that, for you'll likely see the down stage crossin' your
road ez soon ez you get clear of the ranch."

"Good-night," said the lady. An arc of white spray sprang before the
forward runner, and the sleigh vanished in the road.

Father and daughter returned to the office.

"You didn't get to know her, dad, did ye?" queried Zuleika.

"No," responded Hays gravely, "except to see she wasn't no backwoods or
mountaineering sort. Now, there's the kind of woman, Zuly, as knows her
own mind and yours too; that a man like your brother Jack oughter pick
out when he marries."

Zuleika's face beamed behind her father. "You ain't goin' to sit up any
longer, dad?" she said, as she noticed him resume his seat by the fire.
"It's gettin' late, and you look mighty tuckered out with your night's
work."

"Do you know what she said, Zuly?" returned her father, after a pause,
which turned out to have been a long, silent laugh.

"No."

"She said," he repeated slowly, "that she reckoned I came back here
to-night to have the pleasure of her acquaintance!" He brought his
two hands heavily down upon his knees, rubbing them down deliberately
towards his ankles, and leaning forward with his face to the fire and a
long-sustained smile of complete though tardy appreciation.

He was still in this attitude when Zuleika left him. The wind crooned
over him confidentially, but he still sat there, given up apparently to
some posthumous enjoyment of his visitor's departing witticism.

It was