lore of the trail. By certain little things
that he saw or did not see he came to this conclusion.

Just as he was turning to go back to his cabin he came to a halt again
with an exclamation of wonder, for there close at his feet, half hidden
under a bit of sage, lay a small shell comb. He stooped and picked it up
in triumph.

"I declare, I have quite a collection," he said aloud. "Are there any
more? By these tokens I may be able to find her after all." And he
started with a definite purpose and searched the ground for several rods
ahead, then going back and taking a slightly different direction, he
searched again and yet again, looking back each time to get his bearings
from the direction where he had found the whip, arguing that the horse
must likely have taken a pretty straight line and gone at a rapid pace.

He was rewarded at last by finding two shell hairpins, and near them a
single hoof print, that, sheltered by a heavy growth of sage, had
escaped the obliteration of the wind. This he knelt and studied
carefully, taking in all the details of size and shape and direction;
then, finding no more hairpins or combs, he carefully put his booty into
his pocket and hurried back to the cabin, his brow knit in deep
thought.

"Father, is this Thy leading?" He paused at the door and looked up. He
opened the door and stepped within. The restfulness of the place called
to him to stay.

There was the wide fireplace with a fire laid all ready for the touch of
a match that would bring the pleasant blaze to dispel the loneliness of
the place. There was the easy chair, his one luxury, with its leather
cushions and reclining back; his slippers on the floor close by; the
little table with its well-trimmed student lamp, his college paper and
the one magazine that kept him in touch with the world freshly arrived
before he left for his recent trip, and still unopened. How they called
to him! Yet when he laid the whip upon the magazine the slanting ray of
sun that entered by the door caught the glory of the topaz and sent it
scintillating, and somehow the magazine lost its power to hold him.

One by one he laid his trophies down beside the whip; the velvet cap,
the hairpins and the little comb, and then stood back startled with the
wonder of it and looked about his bachelor quarters.

It was a pleasant spot, far lovelier than its weather-stained exterior
would lead one to suppose. A Navajo blanket hung upon one wall above
the be