dipped and rose again,
the two borders of the hidden valley seeming to meet in one unbroken
plain. It was in this little depression that the wigwams were pitched,
and among them the Sun Maid was already moving and pleading with her
friends for patience and peace.

Meanwhile, Gaspar continued on his chosen route, at a direct right
angle from that he should have followed, till the twilight came down
and the whole landscape was swathed in mist. For there had been heavy
rains of late, and the vapor rose from the soaked and sun-warmed earth
like a great white pall, filling the hunter's nostrils and blinding
his sight.

"Well, this is hopeless. I might ride over her and not find her in
this fog. But I can't stay here. It's choking. Heaven grant my Kitty's
safe under shelter somewhere. My own safety is to keep moving. Good
boy, Tempest! Take it easy, but don't stop."

After that, there was nothing to do but trust the horse's instinct to
find a path through the mist and to be grateful that the ground was so
level.

"It's a long lane that has no turning. It must be that we'll strike
something different after a while; if not a settler's house, at least
a clump of trees. Any shelter would be better than none, in this
creeping moisture. It would be easy to get lost; and what a situation!
Oh! if I knew that she was out of it. A messenger to the Indians, eh?
My little Kit, my dainty foster-sister!"

The gelding's nose was to the ground and, as a dog would have done, he
picked his way, cautiously, yet surely, straight north where lay,
though Gaspar did not know it, a settler's clearing and comfortable
cabin. The rider's thoughts passed from his present surroundings back
to the past and forward to the future; and when there sounded, almost
at his feet, a cry of distress he did not hear it in his absorption.

But Tempest did. At the second wail he stopped short, and it was this
that roused Gaspar from his reverie.

"Tired, old Tempest, boy? It won't do to rest here. Take a breath, if
you like, and get on again. Keeping at it is salvation."

"Mamma! I want--my--mamma!"

"Whew! What's that? Hello!"

The sound was not repeated, and yet Tempest would not advance.

"Hello!" shouted Gaspar; and after a moment of strained listening,
again he caught the echo of a child's sob.

"My God! A baby--here! Lost in this fog!"

He was off his horse and down upon his knees, reaching, feeling,
creeping--calling gently, and finally touchin