hairy men of long ago,
felt the same way when the cold drove them to their caves for the first
time. A great comfort in the protecting walls and the fire."

"It's an interesting thought--that perhaps the love of home sprang from
that hour."

"Quite possibly. Perhaps it came only when they had to fight for their
homes--against beasts, and such other hairy men as tried to take their
homes away from them. Perhaps, after all, that's one of the great
differences between men and beasts. Men have a place to live in and a
place to fight for--and the fire is the symbol of it all. And the beasts
run in the forest and make a new lair every day."

Thoughts of the stone age were wholly fitting in this stone-age forest,
and Ben's fancy caught on fire quickly. "And perhaps, when the hairy men
came to the caves to live, they forgot their wild passions they knew on
the open trails--their blood-lust and their wars among themselves--and
began to be men instead of beasts." Ben's voice had dropped to an even,
low murmur. "Perhaps they got gentle, and the Brute died in their
bodies."

"Yes. Perhaps then they began to be tamed."

The silence dropped about them, settling slowly; and all except the
largest heap of red coals burned down to gray ashes. The darkness
pressed ever nearer. The girl stretched her slender, brown arms.

"I'm sleepy," she said. "I'm going in."

He got up, with good manners; and he smiled, quietly and gently, into
her sober, wistful face. "Sleep good," he prayed. "You've got solid
walls around you to-night--and some one on guard, too. Good night."

A like good wish was on her lips, but she pressed it back. She had
almost forgotten, for the moment, that this man was her abductor and her
father's enemy. She ventured into the darkness of the cave.

Scratching a match Ben followed her, so that she could see her way. For
the instant the fireside was deserted. And then both of them grew
breathless and alert as the brush cracked and rustled just beyond the
glowing coals.

Some huge wilderness creature was venturing toward them, at the edge of
the little glade.

XXVII

The match flared out in Ben's fingers, and the only light that was left
was the pale moonlight, like a cobweb on the floor of the glade, and the
faint glow from the dying fire. About the glade ranged the tall spruce,
Watching breathlessly; and for a termless second or two a profound and
portentous silence descended on the camp. No leaf rustled,