with that unquestioning acceptance of another's
reasons for secrecy which marks the frontiersman. "Say, Ban," he added,
"you ain't much of an advertisement for Manzanita as a health resort,
yourself. Better have that doc stick his head in your mouth and look at
your insides."

Banneker raised tired eyes and smiled. "Oh, I'm all right," he replied
listlessly.

"Come to next Saturday's dance at the Coyote; that'll put dynamite in
your blood," prescribed the other as he spurred his horse on.

Banneker had no need to turn the dun pony aside to the branch trail that
curved to the door of his guest; the knowing animal took it by habitude,
having traversed it daily for a long time. It was six months since
Banneker had bought him: six months and a week since Willis Enderby had
been buried. And the pony's rider had in his pocket a letter, of date
only four days old, from Willis Enderby to Camilla Van Arsdale. It was
dated from the Governor's Mansion, Albany, New York. Banneker had
written it himself, the night before. He had also composed nearly a
column of supposed Amalgamated Wire report, regarding the fight for and
against Governor Enderby's reform measures, which he would read
presently to Miss Van Arsdale from the dailies just received. As he
dismounted, the clear music of her voice called:

"Any mail, Ban?"

"Yes. Letter from Albany."

"Let me open it myself," she cried jealously.

He delivered it into her hands: this was part of the ritual. She ran her
fingers caressingly over it, as if to draw from it the hidden sweetness
of her lover's strength, which must still be only half-expressed,
because the words were to be translated through another's reading; then
returned it to its real author.

"Read it slowly, Ban," she commanded softly.

Having completed the letter, his next process was to run through the
papers, giving in full any news or editorials on State politics. This
was a task demanding the greatest mental concentration and alertness,
for he had built up a contemporary history out of his imagination, and
must keep all the details congruous and logical. Several times, with
that uncanny retentiveness of memory developed in the blind, she had all
but caught him; but each time his adroitness saved the day. Later, while
he was at work in the room which she had set aside for his daily
writing, she would answer the letter on the typewriter, having taught
herself to write by position and touch, and he would take