of her parents ought not to be visited on her. Larry remembered her just as he had seen her that first summer morning in July when her flaxen hair was streaming in the morning breeze. Her eyes were of heavenly blue and sparkling with pleasure and her cheeks like roses while her mouth was stained red with wild strawberries.
He had taken her upon the pommel of his saddle and given her a ride on Patches' back and they had been good chums from that hour. He could not forsake her now. Patches who was hitched in a clump of aspens a score of rods away was greatly astonished a minute later when his master came tearing through the bushes and sprang into the saddle pulling the reins free from a sapling as he sprang.
Patches could not imagine why his master was in such a hurry. There were no cattle in sight and there was no race on, but he, like the good horse he was, took his cue from his impatient master and they flew down the little bridle path leading to the wagon trail at a breakneck gallop. Larry leaned low over the horse's neck in order to escape a lashing from the limbs of over-hanging trees. The pathway was rough but Paches was used to rough riding and hummocks and depressions did not break their head-long gallop.
In the shortest possible time they had covered the mile to the wagon trail. Larry pulled sharply on the
