Kenset had come to Lost Valley. They shot through them, up along
the sharply lifting skirts of the hills, in between the guarding pines
that formed the gateway to the little glade where the singing stream
went down and the cabin stood at the head. Tharon's throat was tight,
as if a hand pressed hard upon it. The high tops of the pines seemed
to cut the sky grotesquely. There was no light at the dim log house,
no sound in the silent glade. Off to the right they heard the low of
the little red cow which served the forest man with milk.

They pounded to a sliding stop in the cabin's yard and Conford called
sharply into the silent darkness.

"Kenset! Hello--Kenset!"

Tharon held her breath and listened. There was no sound except a night
bird calling from the highest pine-tip.

Carefully the men dismounted.

"You stay up, Tharon, dear," the foreman said quietly, "until we look
around."

But to save her life the girl could not. What was this trembling that
seized her limbs? Why did the stars, come out on the purple sky, shift
so strangely to her eyes? She slipped off El Rey and stood by his
shoulder waiting. Conford struck a flare and lit a candle, holding it
carefully before him, shielding it with his palm behind it to throw
the gleam away from his face, into the cabin. The pale light illumined
the whole interior, and it was empty. The keen eyes of the riders went
over every inch of space before they entered--along the walls, in the
bed, under the tables. Then they filed in and Tharon followed, gazing
around with eyes that ached behind their lids. There on the northern
wall between the windows, was the great spread of the beautiful
picture she had helped the forest man to hang. There were his books on
the table's edge. She looked twice--the last one on the pile at a
certain corner was just as she had placed it there, a trifle crooked
with the edge, but neatly in line with those beneath it. There was the
big chair in which she had waited while he made the little meal--there
was his desk in the ingle nook, his maps upon it. It was all so
familiar, so filled with his personality, that Tharon felt the very
power of his dark eyes, smiling, grave----

"Hello!" said Jack Masters suddenly. "Burt, what's this?"

Conford stepped quickly around the table and held his candle down.

Tharon pushed forward and looked over the leaning shoulders.

There on the brown and green grass rug a rich dark stain was
drying--blood, some t