tly
suggested.

"But I heard the report of a rifle," Glen declared. "It came from up
there," and she motioned to the right.

"Perhaps someone is hunting, and a stray bullet may have come this way."

"It may be so, but let us go home." Glen's face was pale, and her eyes
bore an anxious expression.

Reynolds at once swung the canoe around, and paddled with long steady
strokes toward the village. He knew that Glen was somewhat unnerved,
and he upbraided himself for telling her about his dream. Why are some
people so foolish as to believe in such things? he asked himself.

"Suppose we go over to Sconda's," Glen suggested. "I want to see
Klota. She is doing some work for me."

"I understand," Reynolds replied. "You wish to find out how that
bearskin is getting along."

Glen glanced quickly at him, smiled, and slightly blushed.

"You saw it, then? You recognized it?"

"Sconda showed it to me. It is a beauty."

"Do you want it?"

"Oh, no. I have no place to keep such a thing. It pleases me to know
that you are anxious to have it as a----"

"As a souvenir of my deliverance," the girl assisted, as Reynolds
hesitated.

"And of our first meeting," he added.

Glen did not reply, but looked thoughtfully out over the water toward
the shore. She was glad that Reynolds believed she wished to go to
Sconda's merely to see about the skin. But in truth, there was
something far more important, and it was this which now disturbed her
mind. She did not wish to exhibit her anxiety, so the idea of viewing
the bearskin was as good a pretext as any other.

They found Klota at the back of the house busily engaged upon the skin,
which was stretched over a log. She paused in her work and smiled as
the two approached. Glen spoke to her in Indian, and asked her how she
was getting along. Seeing Sconda across the street talking with an
Indian, Reynolds went at once to him to discuss the proposed trip into
the hills. This suited Glen, as she wanted to be alone for a time with
Klota.

"Is Sconda going with us on our trip?" she asked.

"Ah, ah. Sconda is going," was the reply. Then an anxious expression
appeared in the old woman's eyes as she turned them upon her fair
visitor. "Don't you go," she warned. "Stay home."

"Why, Klota?" Glen asked as calmly as possible, although her
fast-beating heart told of her agitation.

"Something might happen out there," and the Indian woman motioned to
her left.

"What