"No-oo, I don't think so. But she does get mad about him sometimes--not at Bob, though. Anything that lazy scamp does is all right. No, sir; at me. She got mad because I said I wouldn't let him have that money. I can't spare it, Dan. Honest, I can't. And she says I leave her alone too much." "She'll soon get over that." "Sometimes she's worse'n others. Yeow, how she gives it to me some days." We reached town in good time and put up at the Fashion, where were three of the Anvil boys. Johnson hailed their presence with proper ceremonies, and then drew me to one side. "Say," said he, "I've got to see the new sheriff for a minute. I'll pull out right after dinner. What're you going to do? Stick around?" "Oh, I suppose so. Nothing else to do." "Well, if you should happen for to play pitch," he advised, "don't bid more'n your hand's worth. Remember your weakness. Adios." Two months later we two again rode together up Hope Canon. Bob Ferrier was behind us and was soberly elated, for that afternoon Johnson had loaned him three hundred dollars and I had gone security. He would wed Mary Lou on the morrow. The sun was setting behind The Hatter as we neared the house. It was a blissful twilight, and Lafe sang in gladness of heart. But he chanced one day to run agin A bullet made o' lead, Which was harder than he bargained for, And now poor Bill is dead; And when they brung his body home A barrel of tears was shed. He ended with a halloo as we topped the last rise. There was no response or sign from the house. A puzzled look came over his face and he was down before his horse came to a stop. He sprang through the door. "Hetty!" he shouted. "Hetty!" Then in a voice hoarse from fear: "She ain't here. She ain't here. Hetty, where are you?" He was rushing frantically from one room to another. Ferrier was more methodical. He found a piece of paper under a cup on the kitchen table, which he read and handed to his brother-in-law. I can't stand it any longer. I am going away. You'll soon get over it. Be sure to feed the dog. Good-by. Johnson held the penciled lines at arm's length, while I waited for him to say something. It is my belief that he did not distinguish the words after the first perusal. Then he began to laugh. "Why, it can't be--Hetty, she wouldn't--say, it must be a joke--what does it mean?" Bob lifted his shoulders in a shrug he had picked up from the Mexicans. It stung Lafe. "Where has she gone? Do you know anything about this?" "Not me. She's been mighty queer lately, Lafe. Where could she go?" We could only look at one another while we mentally debated possibilities. Hetty had no kith or kin in this region, and the nearest point was Badger. She could not have gone there, else we should have passed her on the road. "Mary Lou's!" Bob exclaimed. "I'll swear that's where she's hit for."