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shadders；when ye mind she couldn't get the small ways o' the
ranch because she had the big ways o' Natur' that made it；then
you'll understand her。〃
Impressed by the sincerity of his visitor's manner； touched by the
unexpected poetry of his appeal； and yet keenly alive to the
absurdity of an incomprehensible blunder somewhere committed； the
editor gasped almost hysterically；
〃But why should all this make her in love with ME？〃
〃Because ye are both gifted；〃 returned Mr。 Bowers； with sad but
unconquerable conviction； 〃because ye're both； so to speak； in a
line o' idees and business that draws ye together；to lean on each
other and trust each other ez pardners。 Not that YE are ezakly her
ekal；〃 he went on； with a return to his previous exasperating
naivete； 〃though I've heerd promisin' things of ye； and ye're still
young； but in matters o' this kind there is allers one ez hez to be
looked up to by the other；and gin'rally the wrong one。 She looks
up to you； Mr。 Editor；it's part of her po'try；ez she looks down
inter the brush and sees more than is plain to you and me。 Not；〃
he continued； with a courteously deprecating wave of the hand； 〃ez
you hain't bin kind to hermebbe TOO kind。 For thar's the purty
letter you writ her； thar's the perlite； easy； captivatin' way you
had with her gals and that boyhold on！〃as the editor made a
gesture of despairing renunciation；〃I ain't sayin' you ain't
right in keepin' it to yourself；and thar's the extry money you
sent her every time。 Stop！ she knows it was EXTRY； for she made a
p'int o' gettin' me to find out the market price o' po'try in
papers and magazines； and she reckons you've bin payin' her four
hundred per cent。 above them figgershold on！ I ain't sayin' it
ain't free and liberal in you； and I'd have done the same thing；
yet SHE thinks〃
But the editor had risen hastily to his feet with flushing cheeks。
〃One moment； Mr。 Bowers；〃 he said； hurriedly。 〃This is the most
dreadful blunder of all。 The gift is not mine。 It was the
spontaneous offering of another who really admired our friend's
work；a gentleman who〃 He stopped suddenly。
The sound of a familiar voice； lightly humming； was borne along the
passage； the light tread of a familiar foot was approaching。 The
editor turned quickly towards the open door；so quickly that Mr。
Bowers was fain to turn also。
For a charming instant the figure of Jack Hamlin； handsome；
careless； and confident； was framed in the doorway。 His dark eyes；
with their habitual scorn of his average fellow…man； swept
superciliously over Mr。 Bowers； and rested for an instant with
caressing familiarity on the editor。
〃Well； sonny； any news from the old girl at the Summit？〃
〃No…o；〃 hastily stammered the editor； with a half…hysterical laugh。
〃No； Jack。 Excuse me a moment。〃
〃All right； busy； I see。 Hasta manana。〃
The picture vanished； the frame was empty。
〃You see；〃 continued the editor； turning to Mr。 Bowers； 〃there has
been a mistake。 I〃but he stopped suddenly at the ashen face of
Mr。 Bowers； still fixed in the direction of the vanished figure。
〃Are you ill？〃
Mr。 Bowers did not reply； but slowly withdrew his eyes； and turned
them heavily on the editor。 Then； drawing a longer； deeper breath；
he picked up his soft felt hat； and； moulding it into shape in his
hands as if preparing to put it on； he moistened his dry； grayish
lips； and said； gently：
〃Friend o' yours？〃
〃Yes；〃 said the editor〃Jack Hamlin。 Of course； you know him？〃
〃Yes。〃
Mr。 Bowers here put his hat on his head； and； after a pause； turned
round slowly once or twice； as if he had forgotten it； and was
still seeking it。 Finally he succeeded in finding the editor's
hand； and shook it； albeit his own trembled slightly。 Then he
said：
〃I reckon you're right。 There's bin a mistake。 I see it now。
Good…by。 If you're ever up my way； drop in and see me。〃 He then
walked to the doorway； passed out； and seemed to melt into the
afternoon shadows of the hall。
He never again entered the office of the 〃Excelsior Magazine；〃
neither was any further contribution ever received from White
Violet。 To a polite entreaty from the editor； addressed first to
〃White Violet〃 and then to Mrs。 Delatour； there was no response。
The thought of Mr。 Hamlin's cynical prophecy disturbed him； but
that gentleman； preoccupied in filling some professional
engagements in Sacramento； gave him no chance to acquire further
explanations as to the past or the future。 The youthful editor was
at first in despair and filled with a vague remorse of some
unfulfilled duty。 But； to his surprise； the readers of the
magazine seemed to survive their talented contributor； and the
feverish life that had been thrilled by her song； in two months had
apparently forgotten her。 Nor was her voice lifted from any alien
quarter； the domestic and foreign press that had echoed her lays
seemed to respond no longer to her utterance。
It is possible that some readers of these pages may remember a
previous chronicle by the same historian wherein it was recorded
that the volatile spirit of Mr。 Hamlin； slightly assisted by
circumstances； passed beyond these voices at the Ranch of the
Blessed Fisherman； some two years later。 As the editor stood
beside the body of his friend on the morning of the funeral； he
noticed among the flowers laid upon his bier by loving hands a
wreath of white violets。 Touched and disturbed by a memory long
since forgotten； he was further embarrassed； as the cortege
dispersed in the Mission graveyard； by the apparition of the tall
figure of Mr。 James Bowers from behind a monumental column。 The
editor turned to him quickly。
〃I am glad to see you here；〃 he said； awkwardly； and he knew not
why； then； after a pause； 〃I trust you can give me some news of
Mrs。 Delatour。 I wrote to her nearly two years ago； but had no
response。〃
〃Thar's bin no Mrs。 Delatour for two years；〃 said Mr。 Bowers；
contemplatively stroking his beard； 〃and mebbe that's why。 She's
bin for two years Mrs。 Bowers。〃
〃I congratulate you；〃 said the editor； 〃but I hope there still
remains a White Violet； and that； for the sake of literature； she
has not given up〃
〃Mrs。 Bowers；〃 interrupted Mr。 Bowers； with singular deliberation；
〃found that makin' po'try and tendin' to the cares of a growin'…up
famerly was irritatin' to the narves。 They didn't jibe； so to
speak。 What Mrs。 Bowers wantedand what； po'try or no po'try；
I've bin tryin' to give herwas Rest！ She's bin havin' it
comfor'bly up at my ranch at Mendocino； with her children and me。
Yes； sir〃his eye wandered accidentally to the new…made grave
〃you'll excuse my sayin' it to a man in your profession； but it's
what most folks will find is a heap better than readin' or writin'
or actin' po'tryand that's Rest！〃
THE CHATELAINE OF BURNT RIDGE
CHAPTER I
It had grown dark on Burnt Ridge。 Seen from below； the whole
serrated crest that had glittered in the sunset as if its
interstices were eaten by consuming fires； now； closed up its ranks
of blackened shafts and became again harsh and sombre chevaux de
frise against the sky。 A faint glow still lingered over the red
valley road； as if it were its own reflection； rather than any
light from beyond the darkened ridge。 Night was already creeping
up out of remote canyons and along the furrowed flanks of the
mountain； or settling on the nearer woods with the sound of home…
coming and innumerable wings。 At a point where the road began to
encroach upon the mountain…side in its slow winding ascent the
darkness had become so real that a young girl cantering along the
rising terrace found difficulty in guiding her horse； with eyes
still dazzled by the sunset fires。
In spite of her precautions； the animal suddenly shied at some
object in the obscured roadway； and nearly unseated her。 The
accident disclosed not only the fact that she was riding in a man's
saddle； but also a foot and ankle that her ordinary walking…dress
was too short to hide。 It was evident that her equestrian exercise
was extempore； and that at that hour and on that road she had not
expected to meet company。 But she was apparently a good horsewoman；
for the mischance which might have thrown a less practical or more
timid rider seemed of little moment to her。 With a strong hand and
determined gesture she wheeled her frightened horse back into the
track； and rode him directly at the object。 But here she herself
slightly recoiled； for it was the body of a man lying in the road。
As she leaned forward over her horse's shoulder； she could see by
the dim light that he was a miner； and that； though motionless； he
was breathing stertorously。 Drunk； no doubt！an accident of the
locality alarming only to her horse。 But although she cantered
impatiently forward； she had not