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 ful to the buffeted soul and weary body, like the "shadow of a rock in a desert land."

His feet felt planted in that town; it was indeed as if he had been there many years, and had become a figure in the place. He could not go; he could not turn away, at least not so far that he could not ride back in a day or two, like the cowboys from the range around. He felt that he had been directed to Cottonwood, and into the adventures of this day, to become the instrument of a good and noble purpose.

That girl's father had carried this weapon that pressed against his thigh in the assurance of defense, like the hand of a trusted friend in the dark. Surely it was not merely the chance of a day that had put the weapon in his keeping; surely the words which he had spoken when the old man gave him the title of ownership to it had not sprung out of an empty heart or boastful mind. Time had shaped him to a purpose in that land; circumstances had placed in his hand the key to unlock mysteries, the power to adjust wrongs. The events of that day had been written into his life's program a long time in advance.

Texas appeared at the Woodbine Hotel a little while after the soft summer darkness had engulfed Cottonwood, its crudities and its sins, wearing a black coat which gave him a very professional ap-