was
Harley, who felt no touch of sleepiness. He looked at the quiet town,
then up at the ridges and peaks, crested with snow and silhouetted
against the moonlit sky, and thought again of that little girl, alone
with her dead and in the night among the vast mountains.

The next moment he believed that it was a telepathic feeling, because at
his elbow was Sylvia Morgan herself, a red-striped shawl over her head
to protect her from the cold, and "King" Plummer, who had evidently
brought her from the hotel, not far away.

"Are they all gone?" she asked.

"No," replied Harley; "the Indians and a few more are left."

Harley, in the moonlight, clearly saw her shiver.

"I was restless, and I could not sleep," she said. "I came out for the
sake of the air. But I'll go back."

"No," said Harley, "don't go. Stay with us, please. Now what can that
mean?"

A wild, barbaric chant arose near the bonfire behind them.

"Come!" exclaimed Harley, keen to see and hear. "I think it's old Flying
Cloud, and he's ready to turn himself loose. We can't miss this!"

Sylvia was about to turn away, but as "King" Plummer came up on the
other side of her, and seemed to have a curiosity like Harley's, she
yielded at last, though with reluctance, and the three walked towards
the fire.

Harley's surmise was correct, as old Flying Cloud, jumping back and
forth, was singing some kind of war-song. There was a group about him,
and in it was Hobart, who Harley guessed had been a moving spirit in
this scene. Jimmy Grayson's fire and eloquence had done the rest.

The flames burned down a little, but they cast a weird light on the old
chief's face, bringing out like brown carving the high cheek-bones, the
great, hooked nose, and the seamed cheeks. The thin lips fell away from
long, yellow teeth, and heightened the effect of cruelty which his whole
expression gave.

Hobart came over to them, and said: "See how the old fellow is changing!
We've got him to sing one of his ancient war-songs, and I guess he
thinks he's beating Jimmy Grayson now!"

Sylvia Morgan shuddered, but she said nothing. She seemed to be held by
the fascination of the serpent.

The chief continued to make his queer little jumps back and forth, and
went on with his chant. As he had begun in English for his auditors, so
he continued, although he was now oblivious of their presence. Harley,
watching him, knew it, and he knew, too, that the chief's mind was far
back in the past.