is man was deserted, left here to die,
you did what you could to save him. For this, Brisko, old boy, you
shall have a home with me, or, I should say, an abiding place, for I
hardly know the meaning of the word home."

Before leaving the cabin, Keith had searched long and carefully for
some clue as to the dead man's identity. There was only the little
locket, which he felt might some day help to explain the matter.
Reluctantly he had unclosed the cold, stiff fingers from the slender
string, and fastened the trinket around his own neck as the best place
where it could be safely guarded.

When the body was well covered he sought for some way to mark the spot.
A stick would stand but a short time; something else must serve.
Presently an idea occurred to him. Near the grave a huge rock lifted
itself several feet into the air, with a side so smooth and
perpendicular that no snow could rest upon its surface. Going at once
to the cabin, he brought forth the dead man's camping axe, and with the
dull blade began to cut into the solid rock.

"Yes," he muttered to himself, "you shall have as solid and grand a
monument as the world can afford. The grave is not pretty, I admit,
and no hand will lay flowers over you. But this stone will not tumble
down till the finger of God touches it, and, I think," he added after a
pause, "with this mark upon it He'll let it stand till the Judgment
Day."

The mark was a large cross, not artistically done, but cut deep into
the hard surface to withstand the wear of years. Beneath this he
simply placed the two letters "K. R."

"Not too bad," he remarked, as he stepped back to view his handiwork.
"It's the best I can do with such a rough tool, and I think _she_ would
be pleased to know that something marks the spot where he is lying."

Then, a strong dual feeling came over him. He longed to track the dead
man's rascally partner, find him, and have the just punishment meted
out upon his head. Next, to meet the original of the picture, restore
the locket, and to tell the story of the death in the wilderness.

"What an appearance I would make," he mused, glancing at his rough
buck-skin clothes, coarse leggings, and moccasined feet, while his
right hand swept across his unkempt beard and long hair. "If she could
see me now she would think I had murdered her brother instead of
fighting hard to save his life."

Leaving the grave he returned to the cabin. Here he strapped his
slender ou