Thinking that this was due to her lack of sleep, he did not give it any
attention, but telling her to take a nap through the day, he picked up
his rifle and strode off into the forest.

Reynolds was more deeply concerned about Glen's wearied look than her
father, and after they had gone a short distance he spoke of it.

"She is tired, that's all," was the reply. "A good sleep will make her
all right again."

"Perhaps she is worried about what Sconda said."

"She may be, but she will soon get over that. It is a great mistake to
humor people in such nonsense. I have often talked to Glen, but I
cannot help feeling that the native beliefs have made a considerable
impression upon her mind. She has been with them so much that I
suppose it is only natural."

Reynolds said no more, but all through the day Glen's tired face and
anxious eyes were ever before him. How he longed to go back and stay
with her. The lure of gold had now lost its fascination for him, and
he could only think of the girl in the little cabin by the mirroring
lake.

Glen stood at the window and watched the men as they swung on their
way, until the forest hid them from view. She could see them for some
distance while they followed the shore before striking across a wild
meadow at the upper end of the lake. She remained there for several
minutes after they had disappeared. She felt very tired, lonely and
unhappy. She thought of her father's words, and they hurt her. She
knew that he loved her, but for all that she was fully convinced that
he did not understand her. She longed then, as she had often longed in
the past, for her mother, in whom she could confide the deep, sacred
emotions of her heart. Her eyes became misty, and tears stole slowly
down her cheeks.

A step in the room startled her, and looking somewhat guiltily around,
she saw Sconda advancing toward her. The Indian was excited more than
usual, at which Glen wondered, for she had never seen him so agitated
before.

"See, see!" and he pointed out of the window up toward the wild meadow.

"What is it?" Glen asked, brushing away her tears in an effort to see
more clearly.

"White man! Running, all same wolf. Ugh!"

Glen looked, and saw a man speeding across the meadow right on the
trail of her father and Reynolds. Instantly she grasped its meaning,
and with a cry of fear she turned to the Indian.

"Is it Curly?" she gasped. "Do you think he means any harm?"

"Curly