ss was a spirit that would not
flinch at anything. Still he did not feel satisfied with the idea of
leaving her alone, and it was with a wrench that he did it now.

Moreover, he was longer at the journey than he had anticipated. The
moment he turned his face homeward, a desire to hurry, an anxiety,
a dread fastened upon him. A presentiment of evil gathered. But,
encumbered as he was with heavy traps, he could not travel swiftly. It
was late afternoon when he topped the last ridge between him and home.

What Slingerland saw caused him to drop his traps and gaze aghast. A
heavy column of smoke rose above the valley. His first thought was of
Sioux. But he doubted if the Indians would betray his friendship.
The cabin had caught on fire by accident or else a band of wandering
desperadoes had happened along to ruin him. He ran down the slope,
stole down round to the group of pines, and under cover, cautiously,
approached the spot where his cabin had stood.

It was a heap of smoking logs and probably had burned for hours. There
was no sign of Allie or of any one. Then he ran into the glade. Almost
at once he saw boot-tracks and hoof-tracks, while pelts and hides and
furs lay scattered around, as if they had been discarded for choicer
ones.

"Robbers!" muttered Slingerland. "An' they've got the lass!"

He shook under the roughest blow he had ever been dealt; his conscience
flayed him; his distress over Allie's fate was so keen and unfamiliar
that, used as he was to prompt decision and action, he remained
stock-still, staring at the ruins of his home.

Presently he roused himself. He had no hopes. He knew the nature of men
who had done this deed. But it was possible that he might overtake them.
In the dust he found four sizes of boot-tracks and he took the trail
down the valley.

Then he became aware that a storm was imminent and that the air had
become cold and raw. Rain began to fall, and darkness came quickly.
Slingerland sought the shelter of a near-by ledge, and there, hungry,
cold, wet, and unhappy, he waited for sleep that would not come.

It rained hard all night and by morning the brook had become a yellow
flood and the trail was under water. Toward noon the rain turned to a
drizzly snow, and finally ceased. Slingerland passed on down the valley,
searching for tracks. The ground everywhere had been washed clean and
smooth. When he reached the old St. Vrain and Laramie Trail it looked as
though a horse had not p