The One-Way Trail: A story of the cattle country. Cullum Ridgwell

the result of a dose administered to him by Doc Crombie who had been urgently summoned immediately after winning his race with Nature in another part of the village. Elia had been prostrated with a nervous attack which ended in a terrible fit, and Eve, all unaware of what had gone before between her brother and Will, had been hard put to it, in her grief and anxiety.

      When the boy first showed signs of illness she sent for Mrs. Gay to find the doctor, and the bright, busy little woman was still with her. Annie Gay was quite the antithesis of her husband. She was practical, energetic and, above all things, bright. She was quite young and pretty, and Eve and she were considerable friends. She answered the girl’s summons without a moment’s delay, and, to her utmost distress, when she arrived, she found Elia in a fierce paroxysm of convulsions.

      “You think so, Annie?” Eve’s eyes lifted hungrily to her friend’s face. They were full of almost painful yearning. This boy’s welfare meant more to her than any one knew.

      Annie took her arm, and gently drew her from the bedside, nodding her pretty head sagely.

      “Sure.” Then she added with a great assumption of knowledge, “You see those weakly creatures like poor Elia have got a lot o’ life in them. You can’t kill ’em. Angel allus says that, an’ he’s sure to know. Elia’s body ain’t worth two cents as you might say, but he’s got–what’s the word–vi–vi–”

      “Vitality,” suggested Eve.

      “Yes, sure. That’s it. Now he’ll just sleep and sleep. And then he’ll be bully when he wakes. So come you and sit down while I make you a drop of hot coffee. Pore girl, you’re wore out. There’s no end to the troubles o’ this world for sure,” she added cheerfully, as she hustled off to the kitchen to get the promised coffee.

      Eve sat down in her workroom. She was comforted in spite of herself. Annie Gay’s manner was of an order that few could resist; it was illogical, and, perhaps, foolishly optimistic, yet it had that blessed quality of carrying conviction to all who were fortunate enough to lean on her warm, strong heart. And on Eve she practiced her best efforts.

      But Eve’s anxiety only lay dormant for the time. It was still there gnawing at her heart. She knew the danger of the fits Elia was subject to and a brooding thought clung to her that one day one of these would prove fatal. The least emotion, the least temper, fear, excitement, brought them on. This one–it was the worst she had known. Supposing he had died–she shuddered. Like a saving angel Annie reëntered with the coffee in time to interrupt her thoughts.

      “Now, dear, you drink this at once,” she said. Then she went on, in response to a mute inquiry, “Oh, yes, there’s plenty here for me. And when I come back I’m going to make some more, and cook a nice light supper, while you watch the boy, and we can sit here together with his door open until morning.”

      “But you’re not going to stop, Annie,” Eve protested. “I can’t have that. You must get your sleep. It’s very kind of you–”

      “Now look right here, Eve,” the busy woman said decidedly, “you’ve got nothing to say about it, please. Do you think I could sleep in my bed with you fretting and worrying your poor, simple heart out? What if he woke up in the night an’–an’ had another? Who’s to go and fetch Doc? Now wot I says is duty’s duty, and Angel Gay can just snore his head off by himself for once, and I’m not sure but what I shall be glad to be shut of the noise.”

      The genuine sympathy and kindliness were quite touching, and Eve responded to it as only a woman can.

      “Annie,” she said, with a wistful smile, “you are the kindest, dearest thing–”

      “Now don’t you call me a ‘thing,’ Eve Marsham,” the other broke in with a laugh, “or we’ll quarrel. I’m just a plain woman with sense enough to say nothing when Gay gets home with more whiskey aboard than is good for his vitals. And don’t you think I’m not putting a good value on myself when I say that. Not that Gay’s given to sousing a heap. No, he’s a good feller, sure, an’ wouldn’t swap him for–for your Will–on’y when he snores. So you see it’s a kindness to me letting me stop to-night.”

      “You’re a dear,” Eve cried warmly,–“and I won’t say ‘thing.’ Where are you going now?”

      “Why, I’m going to set Angel’s cheese an’ pickles, and put his coffee on the stove. If he’s to home when I get around, maybe I’ll sit with him ten minutes or so, an’ then I’ll come right along back.”

      She had reached the door, which stood open, and now she paused, looking back.

      “When are you gettin’ married, Eve?” she demanded abruptly.

      “Two months to-day,” the other replied. She was surprised out of herself, and for a moment a warm glow swept over her as she realized that there was something still in the world which made for other than unhappiness.

      “Two months,” said Annie, thoughtfully. “Two months, eh?” Then she suddenly became mysterious and smiled into the other’s face. “That’ll be nice time for Gay to think about something that ain’t–a coffin.”

      She hurried out on her mission of duty and affection. Gay was her all, but she had room in her heart for a good deal more than the worthy butcher-undertaker’s great, fat image. She had no children of her own yet, but, as she often said, in her cheery, optimistic way, “time enough.”

      It was her attitude toward all things, and it carried her through life a heaven-sent blessing to all those who could number her amongst their friends. To Eve she had certainly been all this and more, for when a woman, alone in the world, is set the appalling task of facing the struggle for existence which is called Life, without the necessary moral and physical equipment for such a battle, the support of a strong heart generously given surely becomes the very acme of all charity.