ing the weapon on the floor, he stole out of the cabin,
avoiding the silent obstruction in the doorway. Outside he stood for
a moment undecided. The circle of light from his lantern might beacon
Allan back to the shanty, but it would also prove a signal to the
robbers, if they were still in the vicinity. The night was now very
dark, clouds having obscured the stars, and an occasional big drop of
rain spat about him. The roar of water came up from the valleys, but
above or through that roar suddenly he fancied he heard a sound from
the bushes near at hand. He held his breath and listened intently. He
half wished he had brought the revolver with him. Yes, there it was
again--a human sound, beyond question, half groan, half gurgle. He
turned in the direction from which it came and stole quietly forward.
Half-a-dozen yards from the building the light revealed, first a
shadow, and then a figure lying on the ground. With some trepidation
Harris approached. The man's arms had been extended when he fell, and
his coat was thrown over his head. Harris stooped and drew it down
over the shoulders exposing the face.

It was Allan.

The first shock of the revelation almost stopped the heart of the old
farmer, and he sat back as one dazed, unable to accept the testimony
of his own eyes. Then came a panic of uncertainty, and he fell upon
the boy, groping wildly for his heart, and at last pressing upon it
in an agony of fear...Yes, the beat was there, faint and uneven, but
unmistakable. With a sudden surge of returning hope he brought his
ear down to the open mouth, fringed with light red foam, and could
hear the air labouring in the ravaged lungs. Then came that human
sound, half gurgle, half groan; but to Harris, in the reaction from
his first paralyzing fear, it was as very music from heaven. His boy
still lived, and still should live.

Tenderly he turned the body to a more comfortable position, laying
his folded coat beneath the head for a pillow. He loosened the shirt
about the neck, and far down the heaving chest saw the sodden red
that marked his wound. Rain fell in scattered drops, and he brought
another blanket from the cabin, caring little now for the silent form
in the doorway in the sudden shadow of his greater tragedy. He spread
the blanket over the wounded boy, and sat down by his side, caressing
his temples with his big fingers, and wondering what to do next.

As he sat the helplessness of his position grew upon him.