pile o' gold
nuggets this minute; but we'll never see 'em; mark my words, boy, we'll
never see 'em. God Almighty's a savin' 'em fer somethin', if there is
any, an' if we ain't to have 'em, we'll never git 'em, that's sure."
After a few vigorous puffs, Dad lapsed into a long silence, and soon Tad
arose to go.

"Good-night, Dad, good-night," he said in an absent-minded way, as he
started through the old door and up the trail.

Some time in the night the clouds broke and the stars came out clear and
shining. A warm current of air came gently up from the valley, softly
shaking the ever-responsive leaves of the stately aspens. The night was
absolutely still, and the fire had burned down till all that remained of
it was a rounded heap of brightly-glowing embers. Far, far away a turtle
dove was calling--calling so softly that it almost seemed to be
imagination. Now and then a katydid would lift its tiny voice for a few
seconds.

Willis rose cautiously on one shoulder, and looked about him. He placed
his hand to his ear and gazed intently out into the darkness. What was
that? He shut his eyes that he might hear the better. He could not be
mistaken, he had heard a dry twig snap--one, two, three little dry,
rasping sounds. Perhaps it was just a rabbit or a squirrel. Again he
raised himself cautiously on his shoulder and peered out into the
shadows. There! another snap, this time nearer and more distinct. The
night breeze gently fanned the dying embers. Suddenly there was a series
of gentle little patters on the dead leaves just outside the circle of
light. Would he awaken Mr. Allen, or would he watch by himself. Hardly
had the thought entered his head when, without a sound, and without being
conscious that another was watching, Mr. Allen slowly arose to a sitting
posture and stared out into the forest in the same direction.

"What is it, Mr. Allen?" softly whispered Willis. Mr. Allen jumped a
trifle. "O, I don't know; I heard it a couple of hours ago. I'd like to
see a wild animal, wouldn't you? I think it must be the fire that
attracts it. I'd like to light my dark lantern, but I hate to strike a
match." He leaned over to the fire, picked up a dry pine needle, and
lighted it in the fire, applying the tiny flame to his opened lantern.
Quietly Mr. Allen opened the shield, and a long, bright gleam swept
noiselessly out into the darkness, revealing with almost painful
distinctness the outlines of every stem of grass and flower.