MRS.

DAVIDSON'S CONSCIENCE It was fall, and the flame of the frost had fallen on the aspen and the cottonwoods, and shorn the willows of most of their leaves.

A hundred thousand wild fowl honked their way across the meadows toward the black flats where once had been a lake, and where now was immeasurable food for them.

Up in the mountains the elk were braying.

The voice of the coyotes at the pink of dawn seemed shriller now, as speaking of the coming days of want.