nse put that aside, for I was sure I had seen
father's horse's hoofprints, and certainly they would lead to him. But
suppose he had been captured by Indians, and this fire we were coming
to should lead to horrible disclosures. All this went through my mind,
but I said nothing of it to Milton. I just went walking steadily on.
Oh, how far away the light was! Would we never reach it? It seemed as
if the more we walked the farther from it we were. But no, it was
he--it was--it was! With a glad cry of, 'Oh, father! father!' I
rushed forward and flung myself in his arms.

"'My child, my Virginia!' he exclaimed, when surprise had let him find
his voice. 'You should not have come here!'

"'But I _am_ here,' I cried, 'and I've brought you some food and your
gun, and a blanket, and a little coffee, and some crackers! And here's
a tin cup, too, and your pistols, and some powder and caps. Oh, and
here are some matches, too!' I exclaimed, holding out one after
another of the precious articles to his astonished gaze, and laughing
and crying as I talked.

"It was almost pitiful to see father's astonishment at the thought
that some one had come to help him in his terrible plight, and as he
took the things I had brought he kissed and fondled me like a little
child, and said that, God helping him, he would hurry on to California
and secure a home for his beloved family--and it seems conceited to
mention it, but he called me his 'brave daughter' over and over again,
until I was glad of the darkness to hide my burning cheeks. Then in
the protecting darkness, with Milton to stand guard, we sat together
and talked of mother and Patty and the boys, and of what we should do
while we were parted from him. Father was the first to remember that
dawn would soon flush the east, and rising, he kissed me again and
tried to say farewell.

"'But I'm not going back!' I cried. 'I'm going with you. Milt will go
back, but I am going on with you.' Seeing his stern, set face, I
pleaded, piteously: 'Oh, don't send me back--I can never bear to see
those cruel men again. Let me go with you?' He turned a white, drawn
face to mine.

"'For mother's sake, dear,' he said, 'go back and take care of her.
God will care for me.' Before I could cry out or make a move to go
with him, he had gathered up the articles I had brought him, jumped
on his horse, and ridden away into the solitude of the Western desert.
Milton and I were left alone to find our way back to the