"Oh, Oliver! And--and when we're--married, you won't take me away from the Poison Oak Country, will you, dear! I'll go anywhere you say--but these hills, and the river, and Lime Rock, and Old Dad Sloan, and--my Hummingbird--and the perfume of the manzanita blossoms in spring--and--oh, I love my country next to you, dear heart! And in my dreams I loved you even before you came riding to me in the silver-mounted saddle of Bolivio, like a knight out of the past. This is my country--and if we must go, I'll pine for it--and maybe die like the Indian bride. I want to stay here, Oliver dear--with you--down on the dear Old Ivison Place!" Oliver tenderly kissed his Star of Destiny. "I have no other plans," he whispered into her ear. "My place is there.... I am the Watchman of the Dead!" THE END End of Project Gutenberg's The Heritage of the Hills, by Arthur P. Hankins