e night, they talked.

At noon the following day, the storm abated and when the flurries of
snow had ceased they saw the town of Del Norte well down on the
plain.

Annie was received at the home of her friends with delight and when
she told them of her recent adventures, they gave expression to
heartfelt joy for Annie's safety, and called Carson a hero.

Carson did not leave Del Norte for six weeks. Meanwhile, Annie visited
her friends. When the two were not together in the cozy parlor at
Annie's host's, Carson kept close in his room at the hotel. He wanted
to delay the meeting with Mary Greenwater as long as possible. If she
was only a man,--ah, that would be different! It would then be knife
to knife, or bullet to bullet--he would not shrink. But she was a
woman, an educated Indian woman upon whom society had some claim, and
she had some claim upon it.

Annie promised to become his wife and it was arranged that she should
return to her uncle's home, and as soon as he could arrange his
affairs at the mine they would go to an eastern state. He first
intended, however, to make a clean breast of the Mary Greenwater
affair, and trust his fate to her love for him.

When he reached the foot of the Sangre de Christo range, through the
great depths of snow, he saw the fearful havoc of the snow slide and
noted the slanting position of the edgewise cliff. Thinking it was of
but recent occurrence, he hurried to Saguache and gave the alarm that
two of his companions were buried beneath the mountain of snow.

In no place in the world does an appeal for help meet with a quicker
response than among the pioneers of the west. The news flew over the
town like wildfire that two miners were imprisoned in a snow slide. A
relief party was organized at once and Carson led them to the base of
the range.

Mary Greenwater saw Carson organizing the relief, she stood within a
few feet of him unobserved, and could have shot him, but she knew
better than shoot a man in the act of aiding the distressed. The crowd
would hang her, woman or no woman, and she knew it. Some other time
than this--she would wait.

XXV.

CORDS OF LOVE ARE STRONG.

Hattie Judson sat by the window overlooking the green wheat fields of
the Los Ossis valley. The bells in the old mission were calling the
humble worshippers of the valley, just as they had done for more than
one hundred and forty years. She watched the blue haze of the valley
growing denser i