"Smells like a woman—that," the bronzed
rider sometimes growled out as he delivered the
delicate missive with an unusually pleasant
flash in his great falcon eyes,—eyes made
fiercely keen by watching the horizon cut by
the fantastic outline of Indian graves, the spiral
flight of savage smoke far off which signals
danger, and the spiral flight of vultures which
signals death.
One day he came without a letter for the engineer—"She's forgotten you this week, Cap," he said in answer to the interrogating look, and rode away through the belt of woods, redolent of resinous gums and down the winding ways to the plain, where the eyeless buffalo skulls glimmered under the sun. Thus became and thus departed through the rosiness of many a Western sunset, and brought no smile to the expectant face: "She's forgotten you again, Cap."
*
* *
And one tepid night (the 24th of August, 18— ), from the spicy shadows of the woods there rang out a bird-voice with strange exotic tones: "Sweet, sweet, sweet!"—then cas-
