has Klota seen? Has she heard anything?"

"Klota has seen and heard. Don't go."

"What have you seen and heard?" Glen urged.

"Bad, ugh! Bad dream. Bad white man."

"Curly?" Glen's face was very white.

"Ah, ah, Curly. Bad, all same black bear. Don't go."

Klota resumed her work upon the skin, and although Glen questioned her
further, she only shook her head, and refused to talk. What had this
woman heard? Glen asked herself, or was it only a dream? She knew how
much stress the Indians laid upon dreams, and how she herself had been
so strongly influenced since childhood by weird stories she had heard
from the natives.

She was unusually silent and thoughtful as she and Reynolds walked
slowly up the street toward the big house. She longed to tell her
companion what Klota had said, but she hesitated about doing so. Would
he not consider her weak and foolish? She knew that her father would
only laugh at her if she told him. She did not wish to make herself
ridiculous in their eyes, and yet she could not get her lover's dream
nor Klota's warning out of her mind. She thought of them that
afternoon as she made preparations for the journey. Her father had
told her that they were to start early the next morning, and if she
wished to go she must be ready. She did want to go, for she enjoyed
the life in the hills. Nevertheless, she often found herself standing
at the window looking out over the lake. Why should she go if there
was any risk? she asked herself. She knew that Curly was capable of
almost any degree of villainy, but was he not far away at Big Draw? It
was hardly likely that he would again venture near the Golden Crest.
But if he did, would she not have her father and Reynolds to protect
her?

Hitherto she had only thought of harm to herself. But there suddenly
came into her mind the fear that something might happen to another, and
she flushed as she thought who that other would be. Had she not seen
Curly's face, and heard some of his terrible words the day of his
arrest as he was being taken up the street? It would, therefore, be
upon Reynolds that he would endeavor to give vent to his rage. Just
how he would do this, she could not tell, but it would be necessary for
her to be ever on guard.

A feeling of responsibility now took possession of her such as she had
never known before. She felt that the life of her lover was in her
keeping, and perhaps her father's as well. She knew th