A man, a maid, a lost mine--and a jug. Around these Mr. Hendryx has written a fascinating romance of the West. A tale wherein the course of true love does not begin to run smooth until the very last chapter.
hain't Watts's, an' Horatius Ezek'l, he favors me, but fer's the rest of 'em goes, they mightn't b'long to neither one of us." Microby Dandeline placed the food upon the table and sank, quiet as a mouse into a chair beneath the glass bracket-lamp with her large dark eyes fixed upon Patty, who devoured the unappetizing food with an enthusiasm born of real hunger, while the older woman analyzed volubly the characteristics, facial and temperamental, of each and several of the numerous Watts progeny.
Having exhausted the subject of offspring, Ma Watts flashed a direct question. "How's yer pa, an' where's he at?"
"My father died last month," answered the girl without raising her eyes from her plate.
"Fer the land sakes, child! I want to know!"
"Watts! Watts!" The lank form appeared in the doorway. "This here's Mr. Sinclair's darter, an' he's up an' died."
The man's fingers fumbled uncertainly at his beard, as his wife paused for the intelligence to strike home. "Folks does," he
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