timate purpose, the effort now
being made was to provide a light, a flame sufficient to reveal the
horror of the place--to facilitate his ghastly work. I would wait
then; lie there as one dead until the coming of light helped me to
solve the mystery. Some life must still have lingered amid those
ashes, for suddenly I caught, reflected on the log wall, the tiniest
spurt of flame. It grew so slowly, fed by a hand I could not see; then
on that same wall there appeared the dark shadow of an arm, and the
bent, distorted image of a head. I pressed my one free hand beneath my
neck, and thus, by an effort, lifted myself so as to see more clearly
beyond the shoulder of the dead Indian. The first tiny, flickering
spark of fire had caught the dry wood, and was swiftly bursting into
flame. In another moment this had illumined that stooping figure, and
rested in a blaze of light upon the lowered face, bringing out the
features as though they were framed against the black wall beyond--a
woman's face, the face of Eloise!

I gave vent to one startled, inarticulate cry, and she sprang to her
feet, the mantling flames girdling her as though she were a statue.
They lit up the white-washed wall, splashed with blood, and gave a
glimpse of the wrecked timbers dangling from above. In that first
frightened glance she failed to see me; her whole posture told of fear,
of indecision.

"Who was it spoke? Who called? Is someone alive here?"

The trembling words sounded strange, unnatural, I could barely whisper,
yet I did my best.

"It is Steven, Eloise--come to me."

"Steven! Steven Knox--alive! Oh, my God; you have answered my prayer!"

She found me, heedless of all the horror in between, as though guided
by some instinct, and dropped on her knees beside me. I felt a tear
fall on my cheek, and then the warm, eager pressure of her lips to
mine, I could not speak; I could only hold her close with my one hand.
The flames beyond leaped up, widening their gleam of light, revealing
more clearly the dear face and the joy with which she gazed down upon
me.

"You are suffering," she cried. "What can I do? Is it this Indian's
body?"

"Yes," I breathed, the effort of speaking an agony. "He lies directly
across my chest, a dead weight."

It taxed her strength to the utmost, but, oh, the immediate relief!
With the drawing of a full breath I felt a return of manhood, a revival
of life. Another body pinned my limbs to the floor, but