Black Jack by Max Brand — Read

When she first glimpsed Bear Valley from the summits of the Blue Mountains, it seemed to her a small paradise. And as she rode lower and lower among the hills, the impression gathered strength. So she came out onto the road and trotted her cow-pony slowly under the beautiful branches of the silver spruce, and saw the bright tree shadows reflected in Bear Creek. Surely here was a place of infinite quiet, made for happiness. A peculiar ache and sense of emptiness entered her heart, and the ghost of Terry Hollis galloped soundlessly beside her on flaming El Sangre through the shadow. It seemed to her that she could understand him more easily. His had been a sheltered and pleasant life here, half dreamy; and when he wakened into a world of stern reality and stern men, he was still playing at a game like a boy -- as Denver Pete had said.

She came out into view of the house. And again she paused. It was like a palace to Kate, that great white facade and the Doric columns of the veranda. She had always thought that the house of her father was a big and stable house; compared with this, it was a shack, a lean-to, a veritable hovel. And the confidence which had been hers during the hard ride of two days across the mountains grew weaker. How could she talk to the woman who owned such an establishment as this? How could she even gain access to her?