ely, afraid
of it, turning pale at the remembrance of it. A dream of a night on
that winter when he had gone to bed hungry.

It was a strange dream and terrible.

He thought it was night, he was out on the prairie, and the wolves
were following him.

They had caught him.

Ravenously they were tearing the flesh from his body in shreds.

He waked in terror to hear the bark of a pack at his door, for in that
winter of bitter cold the wolves also suffered.

"Was that to be his fate?" he asked himself.

Was he to strive and strive, to spend his life in striving, and then
in the working out of destiny, in the survival of the fittest, of the
stronger over the weaker, of those who are able to devour over those
destined to be devoured, fall prey to the fangs of animals hungrier
than he and stronger?

There were times when he was very tired. When almost he was ready to
fold his arms, to give up the fight and say--

"So be it."

But what of the boy then?

Raising himself out of the slough of despond, he resolutely re-fed his
soul with hope.

Those Wise Men! If only they could come! If only they could be made to
see and understand that this was the place for their Magic City and
be persuaded to build it here!

Then all would be well. He would take the boy to Celia, show her how
beautiful he was beginning to be and win her back again.

Then they would all three come and live in a palace in the Magic City,
a beautiful house. Live happy ever after.

CHAPTER XV.

[Illustration]

The wind lulled the child to sleep, the wind wakened him, the wind
sang to him all day long, dashed playful raindrops in his upturned
face and whispered to him.

Perhaps it was the wind, then, that was his mother. This variable,
coquettish wind of tones so infinitely tender, of shrieks so
blusteringly loud.

He listened to it in the dawn. He listened to it in the sombre
darkness of the night. Early and late it seemed to call to him to come
out and away to his mother.

The restlessness that sometimes encompasses the soul of a boy took
possession of him. He was filled with the passion of wander-lust. The
darkened walls of the dugout restricted him, those grim, gray earth
walls that duskily, grave-like, enclosed the body of him.

He must be up and away.

He would go to the heart of the wind and find his mother.

Seth had gone to the town for feed for his cattle. Cyclona was at
home. He took advantage of their absence to sta