to the distant reaches beyond the great river
and she shuddered slightly as she thought of the bad lands that lay
between her and the fast dimming mountains, and of Long Bill Kearney and
his flat-boat ferry. A mile beyond the town a dark patch of pines loomed
distinctly. It was there she had said good-bye to the Texan, and--. Her
lips moved: "The cherry blossoms are in bloom over there--and the dear
little blue and white prairie flowers--" Impulsively, she started her
horse, and skirting the town, came out onto the trail beyond and urged
him into a run.

She drew up at the little creek that came tumbling out of the woods, and
peered, half fearfully, half expectantly, among the tree-trunks. "It
isn't dark yet. And, it's only a little way," she thought, and
dismounting, tied the buckskin to a low hanging limb, and plunged into
the woods. "Here are the cherry blossoms, the same as a year ago, and
yes, there is the big rock!" She stepped around the boulder, and stood
upon the edge of the tiny glade. "A year ago," she breathed, with a
catch at her throat, "and it seems like yesterday! He stood there with
his cheek resting against his horse's neck, staring out over his beloved
range--and, then he told me that Win hadn't killed Purdy. Right here on
this spot at that moment I was the happiest woman in the world--and I've
been the happiest woman in the world ever since, until--until--" The
words faltered, and she stamped her foot angrily: "Oh, why does he have
to drink? And today, of all days!" Her eyes rested upon the little
prairie flowers that carpeted the glade and stooping, she picked a huge
bouquet as the darkness gathered and when she stood erect with her hands
full of blossoms the big rock at the edge of the glade was hardly
distinguishable in the dusk. With a little cry, half surprise, half
fright, she hastened toward it. The woods were darker than the glade and
for a moment she stood peering into the thicket through which she must
pass to reach her horse, while foolish terrors of the dark crowded her
mind and caused little creepy chills to tickle the roots of her hair.
She glanced at the flowers in her hand, "If I only hadn't stopped to
pick them," she faltered, "if I were only out on the trail--" And then
she pulled herself together with a laugh--a forced, nervous laugh, but
it fulfilled its purpose. "You're a little fool, Alice Endicott, to be
afraid of the dark! And you, a prospective rancher's wife! What would
peop