den pool. It shines again. Well, Tempest
sees it and believes in it."

The man lacked the animal's faith, and even when they had come to
within a short distance of the glow, the clouds of vapor swept
between it and them and Gaspar checked Tempest's advance. But at last
a slight wind rose, and the mist which rolled toward them was tinged
with the odor of smoke, so the rider knew that his first surmise had
been correct.

"It is a fire. A settler's cabin, probably once this lost child's
home. The red man's work!"

When he reached the very spot there were, indeed, the remnants of a
great burning, yet in the circle of the light Gaspar saw a house still
standing. He was at its threshold promptly, and entered through its
open door upon a scene of desolation. A woman crouched by the hearth
that was strewn with ashes, and her moans echoed through the gloom
with so much of agony in them that the stranger's worst fears were
confirmed. Then he caught her murmured words, and they were all of one
tenor:

"My baby! my baby! my baby! My one lost little child! The wolves--my
little one--my all!"

Gaspar strode into the room, lighted only by the fitful glare from the
ruins without, and gently spoke:

"Don't grieve like that! The child is safe. It is here in my arms."

"What? Safe! safe!"

The mother was up, and had caught the little one from him before the
words had left her lips, and the passion of her rejoicing brought the
tears to the man's eyes as her sorrow had not done.

After a moment, she was able to speak clearly and to demand his story.
Then she gave hers.

"I was here alone. My husband had gone hunting, and I went into the
barn to seek for eggs. The loft was dark----"

"Spare yourself. I can guess. The Indians."

"The Indians? No, indeed. Myself. My own carelessness. I carried a
candle, and dropped it. The hay caught. I barely escaped from having
my clothing burned on me; but I did. Then I forgot everything except
my terrible loss and my husband's anger when he returns. I began to
fight the fire. I remember my little one crying with fright, but I
paid no attention, and when at length I realized that it was too late
for me to save our stock I stopped to look for him. Fortunately, the
cabin was too far from the barn to catch easily, and there was a wind
blowing the other way. That's all that saved the home; yet, when I
missed my baby, I wished that it would burn, too, and me with it. Life
without him would be a