jured; he also had once saved Johnson's own child Mary from the
scoundrel's grasp.

Weir might ask anything of him, even to the laying down of his life in
his defense.

CHAPTER XIX

A QUEER PAPER

When Mary Johnson next opened her eyes it was at a little shake by her
father. She had slept heavily despite the jolting of the wagon; and
now looked about drowsy-eyed and at a loss to know where she was. Her
clothes and face were damp, her hands cold. She wasn't sure yet but
this was still a dream--the team and wagon, the cabin before which
they stood, the trees and rocks scattered about the grassy park-like
basin, and the soaring mountain peaks on every hand that were just
touched by the first early sun-rays.

The rain and mists were gone, leaving the dawn clear, gray, sharp,
scented with the pungent odor of balsam and pine. From a distance came
the subdued murmur of Terry Creek, which here high in the mountain
range had its source in springs and brooks flowing from pools. All was
peaceful.

Mary's look came to rest on the cabin. Over it reared the great pines
that grew in a clump behind. Its door was ajar, but the log house for
any sign of occupancy might have been untenanted. Immediately the girl
glanced back along the road they had come and beheld there in the dim
shadow at the foot of the lofty granite ledge a shapeless black lump.
She shivered.

"You awake?" her father asked.

"Yes." And she began to climb down over the wagon wheel.

"Wait here. I'll go in first. He might be----" But though the rancher
did not complete his sentence the words spoken carried their own grave
implication.

He came out again presently. Mary gazed at his face to read from it
the news it might carry, and it was with a breath of relief she
perceived that the injured man was still alive, for her father himself
appeared easier of mind. Neither would by choice have a dead man for a
passenger on the ride home, even Ed Sorenson.

"He's breathing, but is still unconscious," Johnson declared. "Must
have got a crack in the head along with the rest. Face is covered with
dried blood. From the stuff inside the house he must have been fixing
for quite a stay--blankets, grub, whiskey, candles, and so on. We'll
eat a bite ourselves before starting back; get the pail out of the
wagon and bring some water and I'll make a pot of coffee. There's a
fireplace and wood inside."

"I'll get the water, but I'll stay out while you're boiling it