d the
doors hanging on leather hinges. I remember one building that had been a
saloon. The great mirrors back of the bar had never been removed, and the
rains of many seasons had peeled the mercury from the plate glass and the
gilt frames were faded. We entered the old hotel, and were surprised to
find some of the fittings still there. In the attic we found an old chest
of letters--and, speaking of strange coincidences, a large number of
those letters were written and signed by Daddy Wright. Away up in the
back corner of the attic sat an old owl. He looked down on us from his
perch in a reproving manner, to think we would disturb the haunts of the
past in that crude way. He was a weird looking old fellow as he sat
there, blinking his big yellow eyes, and I couldn't help thinking that
the owl of wisdom perhaps a good many times might be found perched in the
dark attics of the past, instead of spending his time in the sunlight of
the great and active present."

The afternoon passed, and soon the sun began to settle behind the western
peaks. It was just six o'clock when the party came to the Little Fountain
and chose their camping spot on a little green knoll of high ground,
right by the water's edge. Some one suggested a dip, and so, in the quiet
coolness of a perfect summer twilight, with a cheerful fire burning on
the bank, clothes were stripped and a bath taken. Then came the evening
meal, the usual round of stories, the message from the letter of the
Great Spirit, then to sleep.

As Willis and Mr. Allen lay watching the firelight and listening to the
thousand sounds of the night, the night breeze began to rise and to sing
to them through the balsam boughs overhead.

"Do you know what I think of when I lie out in the woods on such a night
and listen to the gentle sighing of the night wind?" asked Mr. Allen.

"No," replied Willis. "What do you think of?"

"It is kind of fanciful, I suppose, but I like to believe that it is God
blowing His breath down on us just to let us know that He is very near
and cares for us." Willis did not answer; he was thinking.

CHAPTER IX

The Third Day Out

The first gray streaks of dawn were just creeping over the ridge of old
Cheyenne as Mr. Allen awoke. Up through the green leaves the bluest of
blue skies showed in tiny spots. It was an autumn morning, for a light
frost had settled during the night, and here and there lay the ghost of
an aspen leaf that had flitted down.