ft me,--left me to
die--and took my gold."

The man's rage was terrible. His sunken eyes shot fire. His emaciated
frame quivered with the intensity of his emotion. He staggered to his
feet. "I will find him!" he cried. "Let me go to him!" He tried to
walk to the door, but in vain. With a cry he fell upon the hard floor,
groped for an instant like a blind man, and then lay perfectly still.

The days that followed the man's collapse were fearful ones. Keith
would not leave him in such a condition, and he fought a hard battle to
save his life. With the aid of rabbits, a few ptarmigan, grouse, and
the little food he had brought with him, he managed to exist. Twice he
left the cabin and scoured the forest for moose or deer, but the
animals had deserted the locality. The wolves surrounded the shack at
night, uttering their dreary cries, but kept warily out of gun-shot.

At times the sick man moaned and raved pitifully. As Keith sat hour
after hour by his side he tried to piece together something of his past
life from the broken words which fell from his lips. Often it was of
the trail, the gold, and Bill. But again he wandered to other scenes
in which "Connie," "the violin," and various pieces of music played
important parts.

"Connie. Connie," he would say, over and over again. "Where is my
violin? Bring it to me."

At such moments his poor, gaunt fingers would search eagerly over the
blanket to reach the imaginary instrument. So often did he mention
"Connie," that Keith felt quite sure she must be his sister, and in his
mind he pictured a sweet-faced maiden, far away in some comfortable
home, wondering, perhaps, when her brother would return.

One night, as he sat wearily at his post, something attracted his
attention. It was a string fastened around the man's neck. Hoping to
obtain some clue to his identity, he examined it closely, and found it
held a small locket, hidden beneath the rough shirt. Opening the
trinket, the beautiful face of a young woman was exposed to view. Long
and earnestly he studied it, and, notwithstanding the wasted condition
of the man lying before him, he could easily trace a marked resemblance
between the two faces. Two letters, "K. R.," were neatly engraven upon
the gold cover, but nothing else could he find which would reveal the
man's name.

Carefully, almost reverently, he closed the locket, and restored it to
its former position. But the sweet eyes which had loo