evant to the matter. The young
woman knew that the battle was being fought among the canons leading
to the plains. This trail must be a short cut to one of them. She gave up
trying to get information from her guide. He was either stupid or sulky;
perhaps a little of each.

The hill trail went up and down. It dipped into valleys and meandered
round hills. It climbed a mountain spur, slipped through a notch, and
plumped sharply into a small mountain park. At the notch the Mexican
drew up and pointed a finger. In the dim pre-dawn grayness Joyce could
see nothing but a gulf of mist.

"Over there, Senorita, he waits."

"Where?"

"In the arroyo. Come."

They descended, letting the horses pick their way down cautiously through
the loose rubble of the steep pitch. The heart of the girl beat fast with
anxiety about her father, with the probability that David Sanders would
soon come to meet her out of the silence, with some vague prescience of
unknown evil clutching at her bosom. There had been growing in Joyce a
feeling that something was wrong, something sinister was at work which
she did not understand.

A mountain corral took form in the gloom. The Mexican slipped the bars of
the gate to let the horses in.

"Is he here?" asked Joyce breathlessly.

The man pointed to a one-room shack huddled on the hillside.

Keith had fallen sound asleep, his head against the girl's back. "Don't
wake him when you lift him down," she told the man. "I'll just let him
sleep if he will."

The Mexican carried Keith to a pile of sheepskins under a shed and
lowered him to them gently. The boy stirred, turned over, but did not
awaken.

Joyce ran toward the shack. There was no light in it, no sign of life
about the place. She could not understand this. Surely someone must be
looking after her father. Whoever this was must have heard her coming.
Why had he not appeared at the door? Dave, of course, might be away
fighting fire, but someone....

Her heart lost a beat. The shadow of some horrible thing was creeping
over her life. Was her father dead? What shock was awaiting her in the
cabin?

At the door she raised her voice in a faint, ineffective call. Her knees
gave way. She felt her body shaking as with an ague. But she clenched her
teeth on the weakness and moved into the room.

It was dark--darker than outdoors. But as her eyes grew accustomed to the
absence of light she made out a table, a chair, a stove. From the far
side of th