As they jogged steadily along over the blue-green carpet, and the
kaleidoscopic coloring of the distant slopes fell away behind them, his
whole mental vision became occupied by the sweet picture of a
brown-eyed, brown-haired girl. But he was regarding it without any
lover's emotions. Rather was he regarding it as one who calmly
appraises a beautiful jewel he does not covet. He was thinking of Nan
as he had known her for some five years. From the days of her
schoolgirlhood he had watched her develop into a grown woman full of
all that was wholesome and winsome. She was her father over again,
trustful, simple, fearless, and she was possessed of a whimsical
philosophy quite beyond her years. Her beauty was undeniable, her
gentle kindliness was no less. But the memory of these things made no
stirring within him. Nan was just a loyal little friend whom he loved
and was ready to serve as he might love and help a sister, but regard
of her broke off at that. So, as he rode, the pictures of her failed
to hold him, and, finally, his roving gaze became caught and held by a
sudden and striking anachronism in the scene about him.

He claimed Bud's attention with a gesture which roused him from his
engrossing thought.

"Fire," he observed.

Bud's gaze became rivetted on the spot.

"Yes, it's fire--sure," he admitted.

It was a long way ahead. Only the trained eyes of prairiemen could
have read the sign aright at such a distance. It was a break in the
wonderful sea of varying shades of restful green. It was, to them, an
ominous dead black patch which broke the sky-line with unmistakable
skeleton arms.

It was the only remark upon the subject which passed between them, but
as they rode on it occupied something more than a passing attention.

With Jeff his interest was mere curiosity. With Bud it was deeper and
more significant. Had the younger man observed him he might have
discovered a curious expression almost amounting to pain in the deep
eyes which contemplated the blackened limbs where the fire had wrought
its havoc.

As they drew nearer it became apparent that the havoc was even greater
than they had first supposed. A wide patch of woodland, hundreds of
acres in extent, whose upper limits were confined only by the summit of
the valley's slope, where it cut the sky-line, had been completely
burnt out. Nor was it possible to tell if even that limit was the
extent of the disaster.

Bud suddenly reined in