a smell of fresh-cut jimson and cockleburr came in on the breeze.
The court decision weighed heavier on Louise than Tom. She was downcast and sad; tears were at the brim of her eyes. But indignation against the injustice of the matter was stronger in her breast than grief. She flushed to a fighting heat as they talked it over, Tom glad that she was too generous to arraign him for his weakness, as McPacken in general considered it, in surrendering the note.
"They say Withers will be the only bidder when the cattle are put up under the judgment for sale," she said.
"That's generally the case," Tom told her, having seen many such judgments satisfied in his day. "It would be foolish for me to bid on my own property, and nobody else would want to speculate ten thousand dollars and costs on that herd right now. Withers will pay the costs and take the herd over. That's the way they work it."
"But what are you going to do, Tom?"
"I'm goin' to wait till the law gets through, Louise," he replied, and would reveal no more of his intention than that.
"Ye-es-s," sighed Louise, mournfully regretful, "if you hadn't given up that note!"
Tom felt his heart go down like a bucket in a well; down until it struck the cold water, chilling the little flower of gratitude that had sprung in him for her avoidance of that subject. It struck him harder than the loss of his cattle, sharper than the biggest disap-
