idn't he?" Plume was studying the sergeant's pencil sketches, by the
light of the trader's lantern, as he spoke, a curious, puzzled look on
his soldierly face.

"Saw where the box had lain in the sand, sir, but no trace of the
net," and Sergeant Shannon was thinking less of these matters than of
his sketches. There was something he thought the major ought to see,
and presently he saw.

"Why, sergeant, these may be Tonto moccasin tracks, but not grown
men's. They are mere boys, aren't they?"

"Mere girls, sir."

There was a sound of rustling skirts upon the bare piazza. Plume
glanced impatiently over his shoulder. Mrs. Plume had vanished into
the unlighted hallway.

"That would account for their taking the net," said he thoughtfully,
"but what on earth would the guileless Tonto maiden do with a watch or
with greenbacks? They wouldn't dare show with them at the agency! How
far did you follow the tracks?"

"Only a rod or two. Once in the willows they can't well quit them till
they reach the shallows above the pool, sir. We can guard there
to-night and begin trailing at dawn."

"So be it then!" and presently the conference closed.

Seated on the adjoining gallery, alone and in darkness, stricken and
sorrowing, a woman had been silently observant of the meeting, and
had heard occasional snatches of the talk. Presently she rose; softly
entered the house and listened at a closed door on the northward
side--Captain Wren's own room. An hour previous, tortured between his
own thoughts and her well-meant, but unwelcome efforts to cheer him,
he had begged to be left alone, and had closed his door against all
comers.

Now, she as softly ascended the narrow stairway and paused for a
moment at another door, also closed. Listening a while, she knocked,
timidly, hesitatingly, but no answer came. After a while, noiselessly,
she turned the knob and entered.

A dim light was burning on a little table by the white bedside. A
long, slim figure, white-robed and in all the abandon of girlish
grief, was lying, face downward, on the bed. Tangled masses of hair
concealed much of the neck and shoulders, but, bending over, Miss Wren
could partially see the flushed and tear-wet cheek pillowed on one
slender white arm. Exhausted by long weeping, Angela at last had
dropped to sleep, but the little hand that peeped from under the
thick, tumbling tresses still clung to an odd and unfamiliar
object--something the older woman had seen only a