saints, and her prayers, fell strangely upon his
unaccustomed ears. He was reserved religiously, and seemed to think
any mention of such topics should be made with bated breath, and the
utmost solemnity. Often it had been in his mind to ask her concerning
her beliefs, but his shyness on such themes had prevented.

Now that he had asked her he still wondered. He was used to feel that
no one could be really devout, and yet speak so freely. Why--he could
not have told. But now he began to understand, yet it was but a
beginning. Could it be that she belonged to no church? Was it some
sect of which he had never heard to which they belonged? If so, it
must be a true faith, or it never could have upheld them through all
their wanderings and afflictions, and, as he pondered, he found
himself filled with a measure of the same trustful peace. During
their flight across the plains together he had come to rest in them,
and when his heart was too heavy to dare address the Deity in his own
words, it was balm to his hurt spirit to hear them at their devotions
as if thus God were drawn nearer him.

This time, whether he might lay it to their prayers or no, his hopes
were fulfilled. The evening brought a clear sunset, and during the
next day the snow melted and soon was gone, and a breeze sprang up and
the clouds drifted away, and for several days thereafter the weather
continued clear and dry.

Now often he brought his horse to the door, and lifted Amalia to the
saddle and walked at her side, fearing she might rest her foot too
firmly in the stirrup and so lose control of the horse in her pain.
Always their way took them to the falls. And always he listened while
Amalia talked. He allowed himself only the most meager liberty of
expression. Distant and cold his manner often seemed to her, but
intuitively she respected his moods, if moods they might be called:
she suspected not.

CHAPTER XXII

THE BEAST ON THE TRAIL

A week after the first snowfall Larry Kildene returned. He had
lingered long after he should have taken the trail and had gone
farther than he had dreamed of going when he parted from his three
companions on the mountain top. All day long the snow had been
falling, and for the last few miles he had found it almost impossible
to crawl upward. Fortunately there had been no wind, and the snow lay
as it had fallen, covering the trail so completely that only Larry
Kildene himself could have kept it--he and his ho