how the mother-sympathy in their hearts had
already opened the flood-gates of feeling. None of them thought it
possible that the child could be found alive, though they talked
encouragingly with Marguerite. But among themselves they said, "Poor
girl! It will kill her!"

Marguerite wished to join the searchers on the mesa, but the women
would not let her go. She had not slept during the night, and her
usually blooming face was pale and drawn and her eyes were wide and
brilliant. When her father came she appealed to him.

"No, my dear, you can do no good out there. Stay here and be ready to
take care of him when we bring him home. We shall find him, my dear,
we shall find him. Keep up your courage and save all your strength for
the time when it will be needed."

So Marguerite stood on her veranda and watched the people stringing
out to the hills, men and boys and even a few women, on foot, on
horseback, in carts and carriages and wagons. She could not shut from
her eyes the vision of her little Bye-Bye alone, far out on the hills
in the darkness and cold--the little baby Bye-Bye, who, if he wakened
in the night, had always to be taken into her own bed and cuddled in
her arms before he could sleep again.

Judge Truman, of the district court, reached Las Plumas on Sunday and
prepared to open the court and call the case of Emerson Mead on Monday
morning. The sheriff and his deputy brought Mead out of the jail and
started to conduct him to the court-house. Suddenly the bell of the
Methodist church began to ring violently; a moment later that of the
Catholic convent added its sharp tones, and the fire bell, over by the
plaza, joined their clamor.

"What are those bells ringing for, John," said Mead to Daniels.

"Haven't you heard about Frenchy Delarue's kid? He was lost on the
mesa last night and the whole town is turning out to hunt him. They
are ringing the bells to call out everybody that hasn't gone already."

Mead stopped short at the words "Frenchy Delarue's kid."

"Little Paul Delarue?" he asked in quick, sharp tones.

"Yes, the little fellow with the yellow curls."

Without a word Mead turned sharply on his heel and ran with long
strides down Main street toward Delarue's house. The hands of the two
men went instinctively to their revolvers, then their eyes met, and
Daniels said:

"I guess we'd better not touch him, Jim."

At that moment Judge Truman turned the corner, just from the
court-house, and saw