.

A Lock Of Golden Hair.
As the sun was rising in a burning August glare over the edge of the parched prairie, Philip saw ahead of him the unpainted board shanty that was called Bleak House Station, and a few moments later he saw a man run out into the middle of the track and stare down at him from under the shade of his hands.

It was Billinger, his English-red face as white as he had left Gunn's, his shirt in rags, arms bare, and his tremendous blond mustaches crisped and seared by fire.

Close to the station, fastened to posts, were two saddlehorses.

A mile beyond these things a thin film of smoke clouded the sky.