Oh! you'll learn. If you would only let yourself be easy and
comfortable. But, beg pardon, you do it this way--so stiff, with
your hands all clinched. Your horse feels that something's wrong, and
that's why he fidgets so. You should get Samson to show you how.
He's a magnificent rider. I'll coax him to do some tricks for you,
to-night, when we get through supper. I'm off. Just drop all care and
let the horse do the work and--catch me if you can."

As they approached the foothills they had dropped into a little hollow
where the sandy ground was moist and retained an impression distinctly,
and it was thus that Jessica's keen eyes discovered the peculiar
footprints of "Forty-niner's" halting steed. But she quickly forgot
these in the interest of the race she had started and was now bent
upon nothing save beating Mr. Hale at the goal, the miner's cabin.

"He has by far the better horse. He ought to win, but he shall not--he
can't. He mustn't! Go, Buster! A taste of Elsa's honey if you get
there first!"

Bending forward the girl rested her cheek against the broncho's neck
and, as if the touch fired him with new ambition, he shot forward so
swiftly that the question of winning was soon settled. However, Mr.
Hale's own pride was touched, and he put to the test the advice just
given him, and with such good results that he, too, soon came in sight
of a small house at the end of the trail, a dark hole in the mountain
side, and a group of people eagerly surrounding his little guide.

Indeed, Elsa had already drawn the child upon her capacious lap, and was
tenderly smoothing the tumbled curls with her hard hand, while she asked
endless questions, yet waited for no answers.

Till, suddenly remembering, Lady Jess demanded:

"But have you seen our Ephraim? Is he here? Has he been here?"

Elsa's fat form grew quite rigid and her hand ceased its caressing
stroke. Not for her to betray the confidence of one who had taken refuge
with her.

"Why ask that? What if he has and is? Is he not the old man, already?
Even here there is no room for the old. When one is fifty one should die.
That would be wisdom."

"Elsa Winkler, nonsense! That's not polite for me to say, but it's
true. You're fifty, yourself, I guess, and you don't want to die, do
you?"

Elsa shivered slightly. "When the right time comes and the usefulness
is past. As the Lord wills."

Jessica laughed and kissed the woman's cheek, then sprang to the ground,
demanding: