d the
opposite wall in frames of massive gilt, one on either side of the
organ--"that's what you can call art--drawn by a reg'ler one down to
Durango--everything showin' like it ort to, expressions _an'_ all, even
down to Ma Pierce's breastpin an' my watch chain, made out o' my own
mother's hair. They're _decent_ pitchers. That other one was plumb
indecent, I can tell you. Ma she up an' hid it away, quick as she seen
it."

"And has he done other things?"

"Hey?"

"Painted other pictures?"

"Slathers--horses an' animals an' Ben Crider with his gun an' all sech,
an' deer. Say now, I seen another artist down to the Durango fair last
fall that was a genuine wonder an' no mistake. He was writin' callin'
cards at a little table, an' he could draw a runnin' deer all in
flourishes an' curlycurves, without liftin' his pen from the card, all
slick an' natural as you'd want to----"

"Did you know his mother?"

"No-o-o--didn't even know him. I jest stopped to look an' he drawed a
fine big bird right while I watched, havin' a ribbon in its bill with my
name on it in red ink; about as tasty a thing as you'd care to see, fur
a quarter of a dollar. It's round the house somewhur now, I reckon, if
you----"

"Ewing's kid's mother?"

"Hey? Oh, no, I never knew that lady. She passed away sommers off up the
state before these other parties moved in."

"Does the boy resemble his father?"

"Ewing? Wa'al, not to _say_ resemble. In fact he didn't favor him, not
at all, that I can rec'lect. He must of been most like his ma."

The lady had been speaking as from a distance, staring fixedly into the
fire, with the distraction of one engaged in some hopeless feat of
memory. So intently aloof was she that Pierce had to repeat his next
remark.

"I say, you don't never want to let Cooney git you started up that trail
you was speakin' about. First place, it's steeper'n the side of a house.
Next place, ever let him git you to the top, he'd land you slambang over
to Ewing's, spite of all you could do."

"Thank you! I'll be sure to remember that. Good night!"

She left him, still with the far-centered, puzzled look on her face--the
shadow of some resemblance, indefinite, nameless, but insistent.

CHAPTER II

A LADY LOSES HERSELF

Only a few miles separate Bar-7 from the Ewing place; but they are
interesting miles and at least one of them will be found exciting by the
town-bred novice. There is a stretch where the trail leaves