de in the plan. At length some distance
down the canyon and on the other side Sergeant Crisp was seen working
his way with painful care step by step toward the rock of rendezvous.
There was no sign of her brother or Dr. Martin. It was for them she
watched with an intensity of anxiety which she could not explain to
herself. At length Sergeant Crisp reached the crag against whose base
the penthouse leaned in which the sleeping Indian lay. Immediately she
saw her brother, quickly followed by Dr. Martin, leap the little stream,
run lightly up the sloping rock and join Crisp at the crag. Still there
was no sign from the Indian. She saw her brother motion the Sergeant
round to the farther corner of the penthouse where it ran into the
spruce tree, while he himself, with a revolver in each hand, dropped on
one knee and peered under the leaning poles. With a loud exclamation he
sprang to his feet.

"He's gone!" he shouted. "Stand where you are!" Like a hound on a scent
he ran to the back of the spruce tree and on his knees examined the
earth there. In a few moments his search was rewarded. He struck the
trail and followed it round the rock and through the woods till he
came to the hard beaten track. Then he came back, pale with rage and
disappointment. "He's gone!" he said.

"I swear he never came out of that hole!" said Dr. Martin. "I kept my
eye on it every minute of the last three hours."

"There's another hole," said Crisp, "under the tree here."

Cameron said not a word. His disappointment was too keen. Together they
retraced their steps across the little stream. On the farther bank they
found Moira, who had raced down to meet them.

"He's gone?" she cried.

"Gone!" echoed her brother. "Gone for this time--but--some day--some
day," he added below his breath.

But many things were to happen before that day came.

CHAPTER X

RAVEN TO THE RESCUE

Overhead the stars were still twinkling far in the western sky.
The crescent moon still shone serene, marshaling her attendant
constellations. Eastward the prairie still lay in deep shadow, its long
rolls outlined by the deeper shadows lying in the hollows between. Over
the Bow and the Elbow mists hung like white veils swathing the faces
of the rampart hills north and south. In the little town a stillness
reigned as of death, for at length Calgary was asleep, and sound asleep
would remain for hours to come.

Not so the world about. Through the dead stillness of the