Bob Hampton of Placer

Hampton sat up, spurred into instant admiration by such independence of

spirit. "You grow rather good-looking, Kid, when you get hot, but you

go at things half-cocked, and you 've got to get over it. That's the

whole trouble--you 've never been trained, and I would n't make much of

a trainer for a high-strung filly like you. Ever remember your mother?"

"Mighty little; reckon she must have died when I was about five years

old. That's her picture."

Hampton took in his hand the old-fashioned locket she held out toward

him, the long chain still clasped about her throat, and pried open the

stiff catch with his knife blade. She bent down to fasten her loosened

shoe, and when her eyes were uplifted again his gaze was riveted upon

the face in the picture.

"Mighty pretty, wasn't she?" she asked with a sudden girlish interest,

bending forward to look, regardless of his strained attitude. "And she

was prettier than that even, the way I remember her best, with her hair

all hanging down, coming to tuck me into bed at night. Someway that's

how I always seem to see her."

The man drew a deep breath, and snapped shut the locket, yet still

retained it in his hand. "Is--is she dead?" he questioned, and his

voice trembled in spite of steel nerves.

"Yes, in St. Louis; dad took me there with him two years ago, and I saw

her grave."

"Dad? Do you mean old Gillis?"

She nodded, beginning dimly to wonder why he should speak so fiercely

and stare at her in that odd way. He seemed to choke twice before he

could ask the next question.

"Did he--old Gillis, I mean--claim to be your father, or her husband?"

"No, I don't reckon he ever did, but he gave me that picture, and told

me she was my mother. I always lived with him, and called him dad. I

reckon he liked it, and he was mighty good to me. We were at Randolph

a long time, and since then he's been post-trader at Bethune. That's

all I know about it, for dad never talked very much, and he used to get

mad when I asked him questions."

Hampton dropped the locket from his grasp, and arose to his feet. For

several minutes he stood with his back turned toward her, apparently

gazing down the valley, his jaw set, his dimmed eyes seeing nothing.

Slowly the color came creeping back into his face, and his hands

unclinched. Then he wheeled about, and looked down upon her,

completely restored to his old nature.