forked over the ground to dry itself from the wetting it had had. Hay
everywhere, but no living thing to be seen. Could it be that Elizabeth had
been carried completely away by the storm, or was she buried in the hay
somewhere?

Unresponsive as all nature to human emotions, the tumbled grass lay about
him, a picture of confusion and ruin. The futility of human effort was
borne in upon him as he scanned the waste. A pile larger than the
surrounding piles separated itself from the scattered heaps at last. He
regarded it eagerly. Yes! there was a flutter of wet calico.

Half rejoicing, half terrified at the prospect of what he might find,
Luther Hansen ran and flung himself down on his knees beside it, dragging
at the half-buried form of the girl in frantic haste. She was doubled
together and mixed with the hay as if, after being picked up with it, she
had been whirled with it many times and then contemptuously flung aside.

Drawing her out, Luther gathered her into his arms and listened to her
heart beat to make certain that she still lived.

Though limp and unconscious, Elizabeth Farnshaw was alive, and Luther drew
her up and leaned her loosely rolling head on his shoulder while he
considered what to do.

A sharp, peppering fall of hail struck them. Luther looked about quickly
for shelter. The Kansas prairie stretched level and bare before him. Not
even a bush presented itself. The size of the hailstones increased.

Elizabeth began to show signs of returning consciousness and to move
feebly.

The hailstones came down like a very avalanche of ice. It became necessary
to interpose his body between her and the storm. He thought of the coat
they had come to obtain, but that had probably gone with the hat and the
hay and all other things in the route of the hurricane. He stooped close
over her quivering form and let the frozen pellets fall on his unprotected
head. The deluge was mercifully short, but at the end Luther Hansen was
almost beaten into insensibility.

When the hailstorm was over the rain burst upon them with renewed fury,
and the wind blew as cold as a winter's gale. The chill stung them into
activity. Luther got slowly, to his feet, bracing himself against the
blast as he did so, and also pulled up the now conscious girl. Elizabeth's
strength had not returned and she fell back, dragging him to his knees at
her side. The rain ran off her hair and clothes in streams, and against
the storm her thin cotton