Not old, not bent, not gnarled by the rack of blind-groping, undirected toil, for such of the chosen out of nature's nobility are never old. Hair once dark as woodland shadows was shot with the sunlight of many years; hair once bright as the mica tossed by joyous waves upon a sunny beach was whitened now by the unmelting snows of winters numbered swiftly in the brief calendar of man. But shoulders were unbent by the burdens which they had borne joyously, and their feet went quickly as lovers' to a tryst. This little sod house stood with all its old-time furnishings, like a shrine, and on this day, which seemed to be an anniversary, it had been brightened with vases of flowers. This man and this woman, not old, indeed, entered and stood within its door, where the light was dimming through the little window high in the thick wall. The man crossed the room, and stood where a belt with holsters hung upon the wall. She drew near him, and lifted his great hand, and nestled it against her cheek. "Old Seth Craddock's guns," he said, musing as on a recurring memory. "His guns!" she murmured, drawing closer into the shadow of his strength. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Transcriber's Notes: 1. The author's consistent use of a lower-case letter following an exclamation point or a question mark inside quoted dialect has been retained. 2. Punctuation has been changed to contemporary standards. 3. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.