down upon the forest slope, thence to the grassy and aspened uplands.  One aspen grove, where he had rested before, faced the west, and, for reasons hard to guess, had suffered little from frost.  All the leaves were intact, some still green, but most of them a glorious gold against the blue.  It was a large grove, sloping gently, carpeted with yellow grass and such a profusion of purple asters as Wade had never seen in his flower-loving life.  Here he dismounted and sat against an aspen-tree.  His horses ruthlessly cropped the purple blossoms.

Nature in her strong prodigality had outdone herself here.  Pale white the aspen-trees shone, and above was the fluttering, quivering canopy of gold tinged with green, and below clustered the asters, thick as stars in the sky, waving, nodding, swaying gracefully to each little autumn breeze, lilac-hued and lavender and pale violet, and all the shades of exquisite purple.

Wade lingered, his senses predominating.  This was one of those moments that colored his lonely wanderings.  Only to see was enough.  He would have shut out the encroaching thoughts of self, of others, of life, had that been wholly possible.  But here, after the first few moments of exquisite riot of his senses, where fragrance of grass and blossom filled the air, and blaze of gold canopied the purple, he began to think how beautiful the earth was, how Nature hid her rarest gifts for those who loved her most, how good it was to live, if only for these blessings.  And sadness crept into his meditations because all this beauty was ephemeral, all the gold would soon be gone, and the asters, so pale and pure and purple, would soon be like the glory of a dream that had passed.

Yet still followed the saving thought that frost and winter must again yield to sun, and spring, summer, autumn would return with the flowers of their season, in that perennial birth so gracious and promising.  The aspen leaves would quiver and slowly gild, the grass would wave in the wind, the asters would bloom, lifting star-pale faces to the sky.  Next autumn, and every year, and forever, as long as the sun warmed the earth!

It was only man who would not always return to the haunts he loved.

CHAPTER XI

When Bent Wade desired opportunities they seemed to gravitate to him.

Upon riding into the yard of White Slides Ranch he espied Jack Belllounds sitting in idle, moping posture on the porch.  Something in his dejected appearance roused Wade’s pity.  No one else was in sight, so the hunter took advantage of the moment.

“Hey, Belllounds, will you give me a lift with this meat?” called Wade.

“Sure,” replied Jack, readily enough, and he got up.  Wade led the pack-horse to the door of the store-cabin, which stood back of the kitchen and was joined to it by a roof.  There, with Jack’s assistance, he unloaded the meat and hung it up on pegs.  This done, Wade set to work with knife in hand.