But the girl who asked for such a sacrifice--what was she? All the jealousy, all the humiliation he had suffered on her account, came back to him; she would have her father steal provided she got her piano. How vain she was and self-willed; without any fine moral feeling or proper principle! He would be worse than a fool to give his life to such a woman. If she could drive her father--and such a father--to theft, in what wrongdoing might she not involve her husband? He was warned in time; he would not be guilty of such irreparable folly. He would match her selfishness with prudence. Who could blame him? That was what the hard glitter in her eyes betokened--cold selfishness; and he had thought of her as Hebe--a Hebe who would give poisoned wine to those who loved her. He was well saved from that. The old Greek word called her up before him, and the spell of her physical charm stole over his astonished senses like perfumed summer air. Sitting beside her that evening, his arm round her waist, he had felt the soft, full curves of her form, and thinking of it his pulses throbbed. How fair her face was! That appealing air made her irresistible; and even when she was angry, how splendidly handsome! What a pity she should be hard and vulgar! He felt estranged from her, yet still cherished the bitterness of disappointment She was detestably vain, common and selfish; he would be on his guard. Next day at breakfast Mr. Morris came in. He was an ordinary young Western farmer, rough but kindly, ill-educated but sensible. When his appetite was satisfied he wanted to know whether they had heard the news. “No,” Mrs. Conklin replied eagerly, “we've heard nothing unless p'r'aps the Elder in Eureka “--but her husband shook his head, and Morris went on: “Folks say the Government in Washington has sent General Custer out with troops to pertect the Indian Territory. Away East they think the settlers have been stealing the Reserve, an' the soldiers are coming with surveyors to draw the line again.” After a pause, “That seems right,” said the Elder; “thar' ain't nothin' agen that.” “But you've ploughed and raised crops on the Indian land across the crik,” objected Morris; “we all hev. Air we to give it up?” There was no answer. “Anyway,” Morris continued, “Custer's at Wichita now. He'll be here in a day or two, an' we've called a meetin' in the school-house for this evenin' an' we hope you'll be on hand. 'Tain't likely we're goin' to stand by an' see our crops destroyed. We must hold together, and all'll come right.” “That's true,” said the Elder, thinking aloud, “and good. Ef we all held together there'd not be much wrong done.” “Then I kin tell the boys,” resumed Morris, rising, “that you'll be with us, Elder. All us young uns hold by you, an' what you say, we'll do, every time.”