ride over, soon as
I can, and fix it up with her and tell her he broke his leg, all
right. Maybe," he finished optimistically, "she'll come over to see
him."

Irish kept his word, though he delayed until the next day; and the
next day it was too late. For the cabin of Take-Notice was closed and
empty, and the black lamb and the white were nosing unhappily their
over-turned pan of mush, and bleating lonesomely. Irish waited a while
and started home again; rode into the trail and met Bert Rogers, who
explained:

"Take-Notice was hauling his girl, trunk and all, to the depot," he
told Irish. "I met 'em just this side the lane. They aimed to catch
the afternoon train, I reckon. She was going home, Take-Notice told
me."

So Irish rode thoughtfully back to the ranch and went straight to the
White House where Andy lay, meaning to break the news as carefully as
he knew how.

Andy was lying in bed looking big-eyed at the ceiling, and in his hand
was the note. He turned his head and glanced indifferently at Irish.

"Yuh sure made a good job of it, didn't yuh?" he began calmly, though
it was not the calm which meant peace. "I was just about engaged to
that girl. If it'll do yuh any good to know how nice and thorough yuh
busted everything up for me, read that." He held out the paper, and
Irish turned a guilty red when he took it.

"Mr. Green: I have just been greatly entertained with the history
of your very peculiar deeds and adventures, and I wish to say that
I have discovered myself wholly lacking the sense of humor which
is necessary to appreciate you.

"As I am going home to-morrow, this is my only opportunity of
letting you know how thoroughly I detest falsehood in _any_ form.
Yours truly,

"MARY EDITH JOHNSON."

"Ain't yuh proud?" Andy inquired in a peculiar, tired voice. "Maybe
I'm a horrible liar, all right--but I never done anybody a dirty trick
like that."

Irish might have said it was Jack Bates who did the mischief, but he
did not. "We never knew it was anything serious," he explained
contritely. "On the dead, I'm sorry--"

"And that does a damned lot uh good--if she's gone!" Andy cut in,
miserably.

"Oh, she's gone, all right. She went to-day," murmured Irish, and went
out and shut the door softly behind him.

* * * * *

FOOL'S GOLD.

Andy Green, unshaven as to face and haggard as to eyes, leaned upon
his stout, willow stick and looked gloo