of autumn mingled with the predominating green of
Slingerland's valley. In one place beaver had damned the stream, forming
a small lake, and here cranes and other aquatic birds had congregated.
Neale saw beaver at work, and deer on the hillside.

"It's been three months," he soliloquized, as he paused at the ford
which Allie had so bravely and weakly tried to cross at his bidding.
"Three months! So much can have happened. But Slingerland is safe from
Indians. I hope--I believe I'll find her well."

He was a prey to dread and yet he did not hurry. Larry, driving the
pack-train, drew on ahead and passed out of sight in a green bend of the
brook. At length Neale saw a column of blue smoke curling up above the
trees, and that sight relieved him. If the trapper was there, the girl
would be with him.

At this moment his horse shot up his long ears and snorted.

A gray form glided out of the green and began to run down the trail
toward him--a lithe, swift girl in buckskin.

"An Indian girl!" ejaculated Neale.

But her face was white, her hair tawny and flying in the wind. Could
that be Allie? It must be she. It was.

"Lord! I'm in for it!" muttered Neale, dismounting, and he gazed with
eager eyes. She was approaching quickly.

"Neale! You've come!" she cried, and ran straight upon him.

He hardly recognized her face or her voice, but what she said proclaimed
her to be Allie. She enveloped him. Her arms, strong, convulsive,
clasped him. Up came her face, white, gleaming, joyous, strange to
Neale, but he knew somehow that it was held up to be kissed. Dazedly he
kissed her--felt cool sweet lips touch his lips again and then again.

"Allie!... I--I hardly knew you!" was his greeting. Now he was holding
her, and he felt her press her head closely to his breast, felt the
intensity of what must have been her need of physical contact to make
sure he was here in the flesh. And as he held her, looking down upon
her, he recognized the little head and the dull gold and ripple of
chestnut hair. Yes--it was Allie. But this new Allie was taller--up to
his shoulder--and lithe and full-bosomed and strong. This was not the
frail girl he had left.

"I thought--you'd--never, never come," she murmured, clinging to him.

"It was--pretty long," he replied, unsteadily. "But I've come.... And
I'm very glad to see you."

"You didn't know me," she said, shyly. "You looked--it."

"Well, no wonder. I left a thin, pale little girl, all eyes