Brewster.
"I'd a heap rather wait here and help with Noddy, Paw!"
"Oh, Polly! Maw told me to say there was a letter for you. Jim Melvin
stopped off with our mail he got at Oak Creek to-day."
"A letter! Who can it be from?" asked Polly wonderingly.
"That's what you must find out. It looks like a girl's writing and it
is post-marked Denver. Who do you know there?" replied her father.
"Denver? Why, nobody! I'll run and see who it's from!" cried she
eagerly, and Mr. Brewster smiled at the success of the ruse to get his
daughter away for a time.
Polly was a genuine child of Nature. Her life of little more than
fourteen years had been spent in the mountains surrounding her ranch-
home, Pebbly Pit. The farm was oddly located in the crater of an
extinct volcano, known on the maps as "The Devil's Grave." Like many
other peaks scattered about in this region of Colorado, the volcanic
fires had been dead for centuries.
The outer rim of the crater formed a natural wall about the bowl, and
protected the rich and fertile soil of the farm from the desert winds
that covered other ranches with its fine alkali dust. The snows in
winter, lodging in the crevices of the cliffs, slowly melted during the
progress of summer, thus furnishing sufficient moisture for the
vegetation growing in the "bowl"; and this provided splendid pasturage
for the herds of cattle owned by the rancher.
When Sam Brewster staked his claim in this crater, his companions
jeered at the choice and called the place "Pebbly Pit.
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