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about the Canadian Northwest with a pack on his shoulders.


In September he was back in New York, a little thinner, a little more tanned, a little more resigned. He didn't run out to Maple Green, however; the scar was not yet healed enough for that. But Hunter came to town for a day and a night, and the old studio on Eighth Street showed lights in its windows until long after midnight. There was much to talk of. Miles had seen some things worth the telling, and Hunter had the quiet happenings of Maple Green to relate.

"What are you going to do now?" asked the artist, when the talk lagged.

"I'm off to Colorado in a day or two," was the answer. "I'm going to stop with a chap in Denver for a week or two. Then it's Peterson's Ranch and hard work for awhile. The pub-

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