e there came tears
which welled copiously and without a sob, as one weeps for things which
have not been and cannot be; as one weeps for hopelessness. And the
whisperings of memory stirred in her heart, and the soft light of
recollection kindled like a flame. Out of the past there rose a
face--and flash!

A plan!

There was something to be done now; there was hot blood in the heart
again. In one moment the way had straightened before her, and resolution
had taken firm captaincy. With a pang of hunger she remembered that for
a day she had subsisted principally on coffee.

After a hasty supper, sleep was necessary, and rest. The horse had
finished its oats, and was now watching her sudden activity with
forward-thrown ears, its bright eyes catching the lantern-gleam as it
turned its head. Satisfied, apparently, that the bustle included no
immediate plans for itself, the animal lounged easily on three legs and
went to sleep.

Agnes stopped to give it a caressing pat as she went in. Sleep was the
important thing now, for her plan called for endurance and toil. But
there was one little thing to be done tonight for which the early light
of morning, in which she must be stirring, might not suffice--just a
little writing. It was quickly done, her suitcase held across her knees
serving for a desk.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE STRANGE TENT

"Do nothing until I return," ran her letter, which Dr. Slavens read by
the last muddy light of day. "I will hold you to a strict account of
your promise to me that you would not act in this matter without first
returning here."

There was no word of where she had gone, no time fixed for her to
return. He had found the envelope pinned to the tent-cloth when he rode
up, weary and grim, from his journey to Meander.

Inside the tent all was in order. There stood her boxes of canned goods
and groceries against the wall. There was her cot, its blanket folded
over the pillow and tucked in neatly to keep out the dust. She had not
left hastily, it appeared, although the nervous brevity of her note
seemed to indicate the contrary. She had contrived herself a broom of
greasewood branches, with which she swept the space between stove and
tent, keeping it clean down to hard earth. It stood there as she had
left it, handle down, as carefully placed as if it were a most expensive
and important utensil.

Slavens smiled as he lifted it. Even in the wilderness a true woman
could not live without he