"That rather sounds as though the story is true, doesn't it?"

"Not necessarily. It's my idea she got from hoping to moping, so to

speak. She went in to town regular for letters for ten years, and the

postmaster says she never got any. She was hurt in front of the post

office. The talk around here is that she's been off her head for the

last year or two."

"But they found the cabin."

"Sure they did," said the conductor equably. "The cabin was no secret.

It was an old fire station before they put the new one on Goat Mountain.

I spent a month in it myself, once, with a dude who wanted to take

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pictures of bear. We found a bear, but it charged the camera and I'd be

running yet if I hadn't come to civilization."

When he had gone Bassett fell into deep thought. So Maggie Donaldson

had gone to the post office for ten years. He tried to visualize those

faithful, wearisome journeys, through spring mud and winter snow, always

futile and always hopeful. He did not for a moment believe that she had

"gone off her head." She had been faithful to the end, as some women

were, and in the end, too, as had happened before, her faith had killed

her.

And again he wondered at the curious ability of some men to secure

loyalty. They might go through life, tearing down ideals and destroying

illusions to the last, but always there was some faithful hand to

rebuild, some faithful soul to worship.

He was somewhat daunted at the size and bustling activity of Norada.

Its streets were paved and well-lighted, there were a park and a public

library, and the clerk at the Commercial Hotel asked him if he wished

a private bath! But the development was helpful in one way. In the

old Norada a newcomer might have been subjected to a friendly but

inquisitive interest. In this grown-up and self-centered community a man

might come and go unnoticed.

And he had other advantages. The pack, as he cynically thought of them,

would have started at the Clark ranch and the cabin. He would get to

them, of course, but he meant to start on the outside of the circle and

work in.

"Been here long?" he asked the clerk at the desk, after a leisurely

meal.

The clerk grinned.

"I came here two years ago. I never saw Jud Clark. To get to the Clark

place take the road north out of the town and keep straight about eight

miles. The road's good now. You fellows have worn it smooth."




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