The Forbidden Trail

The sun was not an hour high when the two started on the home trail. Peter scorned the lead rope now but led the way nimbly, finding a far easier trail than Roger had dragged him over the day before. Roger was tired and stiff. He was dirty and unshaven. But he was happy; happy as he had never dreamed of being; too happy, too utterly brain weary to think. He only knew that he was going home to Charley.

They reached the mesa that evening, at sundown. With all the desire in the world, Roger could not go on. So he made camp in a little draw and lay down to sleep. He did not waken until morning.

It was well toward supper time when Roger reached the ranch. There was no one to be seen. Roger turned Peter into the corral and fed him, then went into the living tent, shaved and changed his clothing. Charley, Elsa and Dick were at supper when Roger entered and with a quick sense of remorse he saw that each face turned toward him wore a look of startled anxiety. He paused in the doorway, the lamp glow disclosing the lines of exhaustion around his mouth.

"Hello," he said, huskily, "I've come back to you people, if you'll have me!"

Elsa was the first to rush to him. "Oh, Roger, did you really want to come back?" she cried.

Roger stooped and kissed her cheek. "Want to come back? Why, I've almost died of impatience getting back."

Dick shoved Elsa gently aside. "I'm sure things can be fixed up, Roger," he said. "Ernest isn't--"

Roger interrupted by placing both hands on Dick's shoulders. "Old man," he said. "The important thing to me now is for you to understand how I feel about you, how I understand what you've been through and how I need your help, just because of what you've been through."

There was a sudden silence. Charley, her great eyes on Roger's face, did not move. Dick cleared his throat.

"Why--why--Roger!--My God--do you mean it? That you don't hate me any more? Don't bluff me, Roger! I've been in too lonely a hell. What's happened to you, Rog?"

"I've come to," replied Roger, dropping his hands from Dick's shoulders and crossing the room to stand before Charley.

She had risen and was standing quietly behind her chair. Roger, with his eyes on hers, lifted both her hands against his breast.

"Charley!" he said, huskily, "Oh, Charley! Charley!" and then, his voice and his will failed him and he bowed his head on her shoulder.

Charley freed one hand and laid it on his head. "Poor child!" she murmured. "Poor old Roger!"