The Lure of the Dim Trails

had left there so unceremoniously; for Mona, not being aware of his cynicism, received him on the old, friendly footing, and seemed to ha

s to ask what was keeping him so long; and assured him that he was missing much by staying away. Thurston mentally agreed with him long enough to begin packing his trunk; it was idiotic to keep

the beef roundup going to start before long-he really ought to stay and take that in; there would be some fine chances for pictures. And really he didn't care so much

gly-just why he could not possibly go home at present. After that he saddled and rode over to the Steve

fter two or three big drives the novelty wore off quite suddenly, and nothing then remained but a lot of hard work. For instance, standing guar

like to blow him out of the saddle; also standing at the stockyard chutes and forcing an unw

ipping because cars were not then available. He promptly took advantage of it and rode by the very shortest trail to the ranch-and Mona. But Mona was visiting friends in Chinook, and there was no telling when she w

e and rope like an old-timer, and he was well qualified to put up

ished stories, in each of which the heroine had big, blue-gray eyes and crimply hair, and the title and bare skeleton of a seventh, in which the same sort of eyes and hair wou

had grown keen with the habit of studying objects at long range. He walked with that peculiar, stiff-legged gait which betrays lo

own, and he made practical use of the slang and colloqu

f fiction, that he might write as one knowing whereof he spoke. So far as he had gone, he was in touch with it; he was steeped to the eyes in local color-and there was the rub The

he complained, while he pulled the icicles from his mustache and cast them into the fire.

eservations; so far the editors couldn't see

all goldy yellow, and prairie dogs chip-chip-chipping on the 'dobe flats. (Prairie dogs would go all right in poetry, wouldn't they? They're sassy little cusses, and

he half-inch layer of frost on the cabin window. "Why,

gets to lapping over each other they never know when to quit. Every darn one has got to be continued

erever's hot enough. He can get yuh in, you being in the writing business. He says to tell yuh it's a good chance to take notes, so yuh can write a real stylish s

hurston sprawled across the table for them. One was from Reeve-Howard; he put it by. Another had a printed address in the corner-an address that started his pulse a beat or two faster; for he had not yet reach

and tore off an end impatiently. From the great fireplace Gene watched him curiously and half enviously. He wished he co

he West-writing in fear and trembling, for now he knew how great was his subject and his ignorance of it. In the long evenings, while the fire crackled and the flames played a game they had invented, a game where they tried which could leap highest up the great chimney; while the north wind whoo-ooed around the eaves and fine, frozen snow meal swished against the one little window; while shivering, drifting range cattle tramped restlessly through the sparse willow-growth seeking comfort where was naught but cold and snow and bitter, drivi

wouldn't mind writing stories myself." Gene kicked a log back into the flame where it wou

en like Gene-strong, purposeful, brave, the West would lose half its charm. He was like Bob in many ways, and for tha

sod roof over his head. There were times when the wind blew its fiercest and rattled dirt down into his face unless he covered it with a blanket. And every other day he had to wash the dishes and cook, and when it was Gene's turn to cook, Thurston cho

convincing. By day he could push the coffee-box that held his typewriter over by the frosted window-when he had an hour or two to spare-and whang away at a rate which filled Gene with wonder. Somet

r for days, came down from the north; and with them came the drifting herds. By hundreds they came, hurrying miserably before the storms. When the wind lashed them without mercy even in the bottom-land

ood and shelter and warmth for their chilled bodies. When the Canada herds pushed down upon them the boys gave over trying to keep them north of the river; while the

r heels; humpbacked yearling with little nubs of horns telling that he was lately in his calfhood; red cattle, spotted cattle, white cattle, black cattle; white-faced Here

weary, fruitless, endless march of the range. "Where do they all come from?" he

erday that I know belongs up in the Cypress Hills country. If things don't loosen up pretty soon, the wh

y from the sight. "I've had the bellowing of starving cattle in my ea

he fire; for the cold bit through even the thick walls of the cabin when the flames in the fireplace died, and

ven argument with Gene, fruitless though it perforce must be, would be a relief. "It's their own fault. I don't pity them any-why d

nd Lazy Eight cattle walking the range somewhere today. How the dickens is old Hank going to feed

hay," Thurst

alize that's some cattle. All ails you is, yuh don't savvy the size uh the thing. I'll be

ong in Canada-you

he other cow States. Why, Bud, when yuh talk about feeding

able pity!" Thurston

ow, and more coming; they say it's twelve feet deep up in the mountains. You'll

ered. "I ought to have gone last fall, but I didn't. It will probably

, and every Northern outfit has got to go down and help work the range from there back. I tell yuh, Bud, yuh want to lay in a car-load uh films and throw away all them little, jerk-water snap-shots yuh got. There's going to be roundups like these old P

dup, boys, I tel

bread and a litt

fee, boys, chuck

oat, boys, and g

addles, oil your sl

onesome Prairie when