trees, and that now the red stain upon his ragged trousers was slowly
spreading. He knew only that he was sleepy; so he yawned, then slept.

As an ox which snags his hock upon a point of flint and placidly grazes
while he bleeds to death, so might Tusk have slept into eternity, were
it not for that mysterious spark of something which the most crass of
men possess to mark them human. Thus it was that later in the night he
awoke with a feeling of terrible fear, of the presence of some awful
catastrophe; and sat up, looking about him through the dark, shivering.
He did not comprehend that an alert subconscious mind might be giving
the alarm, touching him upon the shoulder and guiding his hand to the
bleeding wound; but, once he knew there was a bleeding wound, he acted
with promptness and a fair degree of skill.

When the sky was growing light four weary men and a dejected dog passed
down the bank of the disappearing stream, three hundred feet below this
spur, trudging homeward. But Tusk, though weakened and breathing
rapidly, was again asleep.

CHAPTER XXXIV

A GIRL'S NOBILITY

At half past eight o'clock in the morning Aunt Timmie was tidying up the
room, Doctor Stone was removing his white jacket, and, on an adjoining
cot to Mesmie, Nancy lay dozing from the effect of an anaesthetic. Her
face held a frown, as though even in slumber the memory of the ordeal
was following her.

"I'll go now," he whispered, "and be back at twelve. You know what to
do."

The old woman nodded, but did not stop the palm-leaf fan being
impartially waved over her charges. She sat like a brooding hen with two
chicks; very alert, keeping an eye on each.

It was about this time that the hunting party reached the stables at
Arden and grimly separated--the sheriff being driven to his waiting
buggy by one of the Colonel's men, who would bring home the tethered
horses.

Dale looked at the sun, now high above the mountains, and, without a
word, left for the library. His all night tramp seemed to have brought
no fatigue; but the old gentleman and Brent, turning toward Bradford's
cottage, moved slowly.

Timmie saw them coming up the path and, glancing once more at her
charges, went to the door. She did not at once notice that their
trousers were frayed and muddy, and their faces scratched. News of
Jane's adventure had not reached her. But her countenance was severe.
During the night she had done a deal of thinking and her indictment