Helen, mounted on the best horse at the ranch, rode along the muddy street. She wore expensive furs, Bob’s recent gift, and two big bushmen rode behind her like grooms, but her face was pinched and she looked drearily about.
The street was torn by wheels and in places a rude plank sidewalk went along the front of the small frame houses. The houses were not beautiful and, although new, wore the stamp of poverty. None was painted and the unseasoned boards were cracked. One or two, more ambitious than the others, were not finished, and it looked as if the tall skeleton frames stood for vanished hopes. Helen thought it was so; the rash experiment had broken the builders.
Between the blocks were vacant lots. Some were covered by giant logs. The branches were gone and the trunks were black, as
