to anxious Mrs. Ford
beyond the statement:

"Things don't happen often, 'twixt here an' Denver. Been one or two
hold-ups, of men known to carry money, but beyond a murder or so, ain't
been no excitement this long spell."

"Murder!" cried Helena aghast, and folding her arm a bit more tightly
about Gray Lady's trembling body.

"Oh! yes'm. A few has been. But nobody'd touch to harm them children.
You needn't worry. They've thought it smart to take a hand in the
business, that's all. Mattie won't say 'yes' nor 'no' to my askin', but
the 'calico's' out of the corral and Long Jim's Belezebub ain't hitched
no longer. Ha, ha, ha! If either them kids tries to ride Beelzy--Hmm.
But Chiquita, now, she's little but she's great. Pa and Matt claim she's
worth her weight in gold. She's likely, anyway. An' don't fret, lady.
They'll all be home to breakfast, an' seein's I've got that to cook,
I'll hump myself to bed and advisin' you to do the same. If not, make
yourselves comfortable's you can, and good night."

After the landlady's departure the house became strangely quiet. The men
who had been talking outside sought their own rest, and the anxious
watchers missed the murmur of voices and the sense of protection which
the presence of even these strangers gave.

While Mrs. Ford was still restlessly pacing the long piazza, Alfy
slipped within. With her keen observation of details, she had seen where
the woodpile was and that the fire on the hearth in the main room of the
house had about died out. This had been lighted for the guests'
enjoyment, the inn folks caring nothing for it and therefore easily
forgetting to replenish it. When she had gathered an armful of wood,
Alfy carried it to the fireplace and lustily blew upon the embers till a
little blaze started. Then she heaped the sticks upon this and
presently had a roaring flame. At once the room grew cheerful, its
bareness furnished, as it were, by this open fire.

"Now, dear Lady Gray, please come right inside. You'll get your death
out here in this night air, with not even your cloak on. Come, Helena,
you both come in," said Alfaretta, appearing on the porch.

But her first words had started the mother's tears.

"Lady Gray." That had been her son's pet name for her, its use still
more frequent than "Mother," and with a little cry she murmured:

"Ah! my boy! Shall I ever hear you say that again!"

"I don't see why not," said practical Alfaretta, nodding to Helena to
hel