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"Those Hammersmiths," went on Octavia, in her

sweetest society prattle, after subduing an intense desire
to yank a handful of sunburnt, sandy hair from the head

lying back contentedly against the canvas of the steamer
chair, "had too much money. Mines, wasn't it? It was

something that paid something to the ton. You couldn't
get a glass of plain water in their house. Everything at

that ball was dreadfully overdone."
"It was," said Teddy.

"Such a crowd there was!" Octavia continued, con-
scious that she was talking the rapid drivel of a school-

girl describing her first dance. "The balconies were as
warm as the rooms. I -- lost -- something at that ball."

The last sentence was uttered in a tone calculated to
remove the barbs from miles of wire.

"So did I," confessed Teddy, in a lower voice.
"A glove," said Octavia, falling back as the enemy

approached her ditches.
"Caste," said Teddy, halting his firing line without

loss. "I hobnobbed, half the evening with one of
Hammersmith's miners, a fellow who kept his hands in

his pockets, and talked like an archangel about reduction
plants and drifts and levels and sluice-boxes."

"A pearl-gray glove, nearly new," sighed Octavia,
mournfully.

"A bang-up chap, that McArdle," maintained Teddy
approvingly. " A man who hated olives and elevators;

a man who handled mountains as croquettes, and built
tunnels in the air; a man who never uttered a word

of silly nonsense in his life. Did you sign those lease-
renewal applications yet, madama? They've got to be

on file in the land office by the thirty-first."
Teddy turned his head lazily. Octavia's chair was

vacant.
A certain centipede, crawling along the lines marked

out by fate, expounded the situation. It was early one
morning while Octavia and Mrs. Maclntyre were trim-

ming the honeysuckle on the west gallery. Teddy had
risen and departedhastily before daylight in response

to word that a flock of ewes had been scattered from their
bedding ground during the night by a thunder-storm.

The centipede, driven by destiny, showed himself on
the floor of the gallery, and then, the screeches of the two

women giving him his cue, he scuttled with all his yellow
legs through the open door into the furthermost west

room, which was Teddy's. Arming themselves with
domestic utensils selected with regard to their length,

Octavia and Mrs. Maclntyre, with much clutching of
skirts and skirmishing for the position of rear guard in

the attacking force, followed.
Once outside, the centipede seemed to have disappeared,

and his prospective murderers began a thorough but
cautious search for their victim.

Even in the midst of such a dangerous and absorbing
adventure Octavia was conscious of an awed curiosity

on finding herself in Teddy's sanctum. In that room
he sat alone, silently communing with those secret thoughts

that he now shared with no one, dreamed there whatever
dreams he now called on no one to interpret.

It was the room of a Spartan or a soldier. In one
corner stood a wide, canvas-covered cot; in another, a

small bookcase; in another, a grim stand of Winchesters
and shotguns. An immense table, strewn with letters,

papers and documents and surmounted by a set of pigeon-
holes, occupied one side.

The centipede showed genius in concealing himself
in such bare quarters. Mrs. Maclntyre was poking a

broom-handle behind the bookcase. Octavia approached
Teddy's cot. The room was just as the manager had left

it in his hurry. The Mexican maid had not yet given it
her attention. There was his big pillow with the imprint

of his head still in the centre. She thought the horrid
beast might have climbed the cot and hidden itself to bite

Teddy. Centipedes were thus cruel and vindictive
toward managers.

She cautiously overturned the pillow, and then parted
her lips to give the signal for reinforcements at sight of a

long, slender, dark object lying there. But, repressing
it in time, she caught up a glove, a pearl-gray glove,

flattened -- it might be conceived -- by many, many
months of nightlypressure beneath the pillow of the man

who had forgotten the Hammersmiths' ball. Teddy
must have left so hurriedly that morning that he had, for

once, forgotten to transfer it to its resting-place by day.
Even managers, who are notoriously wily and cunning,

are sometimes caught up with.
Octavia slid the gray glove into the bosom of her sum-

mery morning gown. It was hers. Men who put them-
selves within a strong barbed-wire fence, and remember

Hammersmith balls only by the talk of miners about sluice-
boxes, should not be allowed to possess such articles.

After all, what a paradise this prairie country was!
How it blossomed like the rose when you found things

that were thought to be lost! How delicious was that
morning breeze coming in the windows, fresh and sweet

with the breath of the yellow ratama blooms! Might one
not stand, for a minute, with shining, far-gazing eyes, and

dream that mistakes might be corrected?
Why was Mrs. Maclntyre poking about so absurdly

with a broom?
"I've found it," said Mrs. MacIntyre, banging the door.

"Here it is."
"Did you lose something? asked Octavia, with sweetly

polite non-interest.
"The little devil!" said Mrs. Maclntyre, driven to

violence. "Ye've no forgotten him alretty?"
Between them they slew the centipede. Thus was he

rewarded for his agency toward the recovery of things
lost at the Hammersmiths' ball.

It seems that Teddy, in due course, remembered the
glove, and when he returned to the house at sunset made

a secret but exhaustive search for it. Not until evening,
upon the moonlit eastern gallery, did he find it. It was

upon the hand that he had thought lost to him forever,
and so he was moved to repeat certain nonsense that he

had been commanded never, never to utter again. Teddy's
fences were down.

This time there was no ambition to stand in the way,
and the wooing was as natural and successful as should

be between ardentshepherd and gentle shepherdess.
The prairies changed to a garden. The Rancho de las

Sombras became the Ranch of Light.
A few days later Octavia received a letter from Mr.

Bannister, in reply to one she had written to him asking
some questions about her business. A portion of the

letter ran as follows:
"I am at a loss to account for your references to the

sheep ranch. Two months after your departure to take
up your residence upon it, it was discovered that Colonel

Beaupree's title was worthless. A deed came to light
showing that he disposed of the property before his death.

The matter was reported to your manager, Mr. Westlake,
who at once repurchad the property. It is entirely

beyond my powers of conjecture to imagine how you have
remained in ignorance of this fact. I beg you that will

at once confer with that gentleman, who will, at least,
corroborate my statement."

Octavia sought Teddy, with battle in her eye.
"What are you working on this ranch for?" she asked

once more.
"One hundred -- " he began to repeat, but saw in her

face that she knew. She held Mr. Bannister's letter in
her hand. He knew that the game was up.

"It's my ranch," said Teddy, like a schoolboy detected
in evil. "It's a mighty poor manager that isn't able to

absorb the boss's business if you give him time."
"Why were you working down here?" pursued Octavia

still struggling after the key to the riddle of Teddy.
"To tell the truth, 'Tave," said Teddy, with quiet

candour, "it wasn't for the salary. That about kept me
in cigars and sunburn lotions. I was sent south by my

doctor. 'Twas that right lung that was going to the bad
on account of over-exercise and strain at polo and gym-

nastics. I needed climate and ozone and rest and things
of that sort."

In an instant Octavia was close against the vicinity
of the affected organ. Mr. Bannister's letter fluttered

to the floor.
"It's -- it's well now, isn't it, Teddy?"

"Sound as a mesquite chunk. I deceived you in one
thing. I paid fifty thousand for your ranch as soon as

I found you had no title. I had just about that much
income accumulated at my banker's while I've been

herding sheep down here, so it was almost like picking the
thing up on a bargain-counter for a penny. There's

another little surplus of unearned increment piling up
there, 'Tave. I've been thinking of a wedding trip in a

yacht with white ribbons tied to the mast, through the
Mediterranean, and then up among the Hebrides and

down Norway to the Zuyder Zee."
"And I was thinking," said Octavia, softly, "of a

weddinggallop with my manager among the flocks of
sheep and back to a wedding breakfast with Mrs. Mae-

Intyre on the gallery, with, maybe, a sprig of orange
blossom fastened to the red jar above the table."

Teddy laughed, and began to chant:
"Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,

And doesn't know where to find 'em.
Let 'em alone, and they'll come home,

And -- "
Octavia drew his head down, and whispered in his ear,

But that is one of the tales they brought behind them.
End


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