about the Canadian Northwest with a pack on his shoulders.
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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-
