d
to react. Then there ensued a curious state in which his physical
functions seemed to cease,--his heart motionless in his breast, his body
tensely rigid, his breath held. There was an infinite straining and
travail in his mind.

The truth was that the sound acted much as a powerful stimulant to his
retarded nervous forces. It was the one thing his resting nerve-system
needed; it was as if chemicals were in suspension in a crucible, and at
a slight jar of the glass they made mysterious union and expelled a
precipitation. Almost instantly he recognized the sound that had reached
him, with a clear and unmistakable recognition such as he had not
experienced since the night of the accident, as the report of a rifle.
His mind gave a great leap and remembered its familiar world.

A rifle--probably discharged by Beatrice in a hunt after big game. It
was true that their meat supply was low; he remembered now. Yet it was
curious that she should be hunting after dark. The gloom was deep at
the cavern mouth. Besides, he had always kept his rifle from her,
fearing that she might turn it against him. He looked about him, trying
to locate the source of the flood of light on the cavern floor. It was
the moon, and it showed that the girl was gone. He started to sit up.

But his left arm did not react just properly to the command of his
brain. It impeded him, and its old strength was impaired. For a moment
more he lay quiet, deep in thought. Of course--he had been injured by
the falling tree. He remembered clearly, now. And the rifle had been
broken.

The only possible explanation for the shot was that a rifle had been
fired by some invader in their valley--in all probability Neilson or one
of his men. Beatrice's absence would also indicate this fact: perhaps
she had already joined her father and was on her way back to Snowy Gulch
with him. In that case, why had he himself been spared?

He looked out of the door of the cavern, trying to get some idea of the
lateness of the hour. The very quality of the darkness indicated that
the night was far advanced. Neilson would not be hunting game at this
hour. Was his own war--planned long ago--even now being waged in ways
beyond his ken?

His old concern for Beatrice swept through him. With considerable
difficulty he got to his feet, then holding on to the wail, guided
himself to the shelf where they ordinarily kept their little store of
matches. He scratched one of them against the wall