the trail.
That's the reason the boy's eatin' supper with his father and mother in
there instead of bein' out in the woods with them brutes."

He puffed at his cigar.

"Some men fishing in the mountains passed him. He tried to flag 'em.
Yes, sir--that's what he tried to do. But they didn't catch on. Might
have, but didn't. Next day they read in the papers about a boy and Irish
setter being lost. Then they caught on and telephoned Mr. Earle."

"The woman that came in with the mother and went upstairs with her,"
asked a man, "who's she?"

The big sheriff took the cigar out of his mouth and looked at the
questioner with narrow, disapproving eyes.

"She didn't have a thing to do with it, sir!" he declared.

From the dining room came the sound of chairs pushed back, and Frank
rose to his feet. He met them at the door, he stood beside the boy while
the people gathered around, he went upstairs with them, the boy holding
tight to his heavy red mane.

"That old Joe!" Tommy was saying breathlessly, as they went down the
carpeted hall. "He can't get us any more. The sheriff he locked him up
in a jail. He can't get Nita, either. Mama's goin' to take care of her.
Mama says so!"

He was still talking, his eyes big, when they went into a brightly
lighted room where a little bed set beside a big one. He was still
talking while his mother undressed him. Then before he got into bed a
spasm of virtuous reaction seized him. He and F'ank were never going to
leave the yard any more, he declared. They never were going to get in
any more automobiles with people!

"No," smiled Earle from his great height down at the little figure in
borrowed pyjamas, "I guess you're cured, old man!"

The rug beside Tommy's bed was very soft, and Frank was very tired. But
sometime in the silent darkness of that night he barked hoarsely in the
agony of a dream. For they were on top of a mountain, and a weird moon
had risen, and a woman had screamed.

V

AN ACT OF GOD

There must have been something prophetic in Mac's fear of thunder when
he was a puppy. For, though all puppies are afraid of it, and most grown
dogs for that matter, still, Mac's fear, according to Tom Jennings, his
master, was more than that of the ordinary dog. That is, until the blow
came. After that it was different with Mac.

Maybe he thought, having smitten him once, that lightning would smite
him no more. Maybe some change had taken place in his nature which we
huma