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"Melancholy so blooming thick that you could almost sup its sorrow with a spoon, eh?" "It's a regular cave of despair." The lonely trill of the feathered hermit was in Jessie's answering note. "That sad voice of water, a cascade a stream far in, which nobody ever saw!" "I'd give worlds to see it!" said Pemrose. "So would I!" Stud's voice was pitched high.

And at one place there was a mud fight in progress laughing, staggering men plastering the stuff over the new clothes they had looted. Drew rode around such a party, the stud's prancing and snorting getting him wide room, to tie up at the hitching rail before the largest store. A man in his shirt sleeves stood a little to one side watching the excitement in the street.

Well! to recall Stud's figure of speech, nobody was "whistling jigs" to his milestone heart now or trying to. The fire was the fiddler; and wax was not softer or more responsive than the pliant breasts on which its music fell. "I watched a log in the fireplace burning."

The song, his own, the original march-song of his troop, sang itself through Stud's brain, seethed in the low whistle upon his lips, as, guided by his ruby breast-eye, he slid down into that strange and secret dungeon in which the black passage ended and, thrusting his sturdy shoulders under the pendent body of the victim whose convulsed hands clutched vainly at the bare slab, raised it so that the choking boy could breathe freely again and in due time shake off the dizziness of his awful plight, hung up by the heels by the rock itself.

"You needn't say another word, mar," said Miss Tipping, warningly. "I'm sure," said the elder lady, bridling. "Perhaps your uncle would like to try and reason with you." Mr. Porson smiled in a sickly fashion, and cleared his throat. "You see, my dear " he began. "Your tie's all shifted to one side," said his niece, sternly, "and the stud's out of your buttonhole.

"Makes like a horny one on the prod," commented the Texan. "That's stud's a lotta hoss to handle, amigo." "Too much," the captain echoed Drew's earlier misgivings. "Keep him away from the rest until you're sure he won't start anything!" But that order fitted in with Drew's usual scouting duties.

The denial rang in Stud's ears as he thrust his head into the black opening, entering, amidships, as the former muddle-headed explorer had done. "That girl's a trump the girl with eyes the color of the little 'heal-all', that blue flower we pick up here in May! A trump! But so's little Jess, too!"

"Stud's no grumpy riddle if he is a Stoutheart, like the other!" Running water! Invisible running water! The voice behind the scenes prompting the play, the grim play of bat and rat and reptile in old Tory Cave, where the rocks wept, the little strolling sunbeams clapped their hands, and the great fungi, primrose-skirted, drooped over a drama never finished!

He was hanging between hawk and buzzard if ever a fellow was," happened to be Stud's moved comment as, clinging to that lowered rope, he was hoisted, too, through that covert opening, the loyal little lamp upon his breast paling now into a penny candle held towards the sun. But the rescuer's halo did not pale.

Pem flashed the question upon the older of her two boy-knights. "Well-ll! I guess so." Stud's joy in the recognition floundered a little. "He he's the fellow one of the fellows who boomed the aëroplane, the other day, to get you girls quietly out of the cave, when there was a 'rattler " "As if we'd have made a fuss, anyhow!"