“Just this,” replied Hugh, “I have an impression that it was written by Mrs. Osborn. I should like to show this handwriting to Captain Osborn.” “As you like,” replied Jack. “But what am I to do? Here I am, within a half-hour’s ride of Ethel; have come without her permission, only to learn of her approaching marriage to Lord Avondale. Was ever a man placed in such a trying position?” “Cheer up, old fellow,” said Hugh, good-naturedly. “Come, faint heart ne’er won fair lady—or anything else. We must prevent this widely-published marriage if possible.” “Easily enough said,” replied Jack, dejectedly. “Of course,” he went on, half jestingly, “we might raid her home some dark night and carry her off into captivity, and then take our chances on a reconciliation.” “Not a bad idea, after all,” said Hugh, elevating his eyebrows, “and if we are pushed too closely by the enemy, we may consider the plan seriously. You see, Jack, I would not be quite frank with you did I not confess that at one time I asked Ethel Horton to become my wife.” Jack looked at his friend in utter astonishment. “Yes,” Hugh went on, “and that is the way I learned of her love for you—a love that you never need doubt. I was dumfounded, for how should I be expected to know that you had ever met her. I finally pulled myself together, however, and sent for you.” Jack took his friend’s hand in both his own, and pressed it warmly. “Hugh,” said he, “you are a good fellow. The fight is now on, and, with your help, I must and shall win.” They talked far into the night, but this did not deter them from arising early next morning and making ready for a horseback ride. Immediately after breakfast they set out for Martilla, a little village some fifteen miles to the northwest. “I want to show you Kansas,” said Hugh, “and there is no better way for you to meet the people and familiarize yourself with their customs. The recent heavy rain has made the country look habitable again. If the rains had only come before the hot winds, why—we would have had no hot winds, and plenty instead of poverty would now be the farmer’s lot, to say nothing of my own condition.” The morning was an ideal one. There was an exhilarating tonic in the soft west winds. Vast herds dotted the prairie. The catde, in their lazy, contented way, went on biting shorter the short, green buffalo-grass. A little way on, at the side of the road, lay a cowboy reading, while his bronco was near him, munching and browsing. As they drew near, Hugh exclaimed, “Why, it’s Seaton Cornwall, my English friend!” They reined their horses and dismounted. Seaton Cornwall arose from where he had been lying, laid aside his book and came toward them. After an introduction, Doctor Redfield observed: “I see you pass some of your time reading. An interesting novel, I suppose?”