ht the mischief? Had
the hut itself supplied the trouble? None of these questions offered
real enlightenment through the answers he could supply. No. He saw
the superheated furnace of the woods blazing, and he saw men struggling
with all their might to save themselves, and some of their more
precious belongings. The reckless daring of those two, perhaps at the
last moment, returning to their shelter on one final journey to save
some detail of their home. Then the awful penalty for their temerity.
Perhaps overwhelmed by smoke. Death--hideous, appalling death. Death,
a thousand times worse than that which, in the routine of their lives,
it was their work to mete out to the valuable fur bearers which yielded
them a means of existence.

A sudden question, not unaccompanied by fear, swept through his brain.
It was a question inspired by the belief that these men were fur
hunters. Who--who were they? He drew close up to each body in turn,
seeking identity where none was discoverable. A sweat broke upon his
temples. There was no sign in them. There was no human semblance
except for outline.

"God! If it should be----"

His sentence remained incompleted. A dreadful fear had broken it off.
He was gazing down upon the second body, in earnest, horrified
contemplation. Then to his amazement he was answered by Bud's familiar
voice.

"It ain't the boy we're chasin' up, Jeff," he said, with a deep
assurance.

"How d'you know that?"

The demand was incisive, almost rough.

"These folks weren't pelt hunters. Not by a sight. I bin around."

Jeff had turned to the speaker, and a great relief shone in his eyes.

"What--who were they--then?" he asked sharply.

"Maybe it was a ranch--of sorts."

"Of sorts? You mean----?"

"Rustlers. Come right on out of here, an' I'll show you."

With gentle insistence he drew his friend away from the painfully
fascinating spectacle which held so difficult a riddle. And presently
they were again with their horses, which were grazing unconcernedly
upon the sweet blue grass which the valley yielded so generously.

"Well?" There was almost impatience in Jeff's monosyllable.

For answer Bud pointed at a number of rough fences, uneven, crude,
makeshift, some distance away.

"See them? Oh, yes, I guess they're corrals sure. But it don't take a
feller who's lived all his life among cattle more'n five seconds to
locate their meanin'. They're corrals set up in an a'mighty