ly write because my heart is yearning for my little Junior
boy at home on the ranch with his grandmother. Dear little Mother
Stewart, I feel very tender toward her. Junior is the pride of her
heart. She would not allow us to bring him on this trip, so she is at
the ranch taking care of my brown-eyed boy. Every one is so good, so
kind, and I can do so little to repay. It makes me feel very unworthy.
You'll think I have the blues, but I haven't. I just feel humble and
chastened. When Mr. Murry pauses I can hear the soft spat, spat of the
falling snow on the tent. I will be powerfully glad when we set our
faces homeward.

Good-night, dear friend. Angels guard you.

ELINORE STEWART.

IX

AN INDIAN CAMP

CLOUDCREST, October 13, 1914.

DEAR, DEAR MRS. CONEY,--

This is the very last letter you will receive dated from this camp. We
are leaving a few days earlier than we intended and I am pretty badly
on the fence. I want to laugh, and really I can hardly keep back the
tears. We are leaving sooner than we meant, for rather a good reason.
We haven't one bite to eat except elk meat.

After the men had brought into camp the elk we killed the other
afternoon, they began to plan a sheep hunt. As sheep do not stay in
the woods, the men had to go miles away and above timber line. They
decided to take a pack horse and stay all night. I didn't want Mr.
Stewart to go because the climbing is very dangerous. No accidents
have happened this year, but last season a man fell from the crags
and was killed; so I tried to keep the "good mon" at home. But he
would not be persuaded. The love of chase has entered his blood, and
it looks to me as if it had chased reason plumb out of his head. I
know exactly how Samantha felt when Josiah _would_ go to the "pleasure
exertion." The bald spot on the Stewart's head doesn't seem to remind
him of years gone by; he is as joyous as a boy.

It was finally decided to take Mrs. O'Shaughnessy and the children and
myself to a neighboring camp about two miles away, as we didn't like
to risk being frightened by a possible intruder. Sorenson, the
game-warden, was in camp to inspect our game on the 12th, and he told
us he was on the trail of tooth-hunters and had routed them out on the
night of the storm; but what they could have been doing in our camp
was as much a mystery to him as to us.

Well, when we were ready to go, Mr. Murry and