ut, as if she had not heard
one word he said. Yet she had heard every word, and heeded, too, for her
eyes sparkled, and she danced even lighter than before; for her heart
was light, and the wretched little outcast was--for a rare thing in her
miserable life--very, very happy.

"I ain't stiff in the jints, am I, Johnny?" and she tapped her ankles.

"Carrie, sing me that other song of yours, and that will make my heart
lighter," said Johnny.

"Why, Johnny, we haven't even got the clouds to overshadow us here;
we're above the clouds, and everything else. But I'll sing for you if I
can only make you glad as you was before they got after us." And
throwing back her hair and twisting herself about, looking back over her
shoulder and laughing, looking down at her ragged feet, and making
faces, she began.

Like the song of a bird, her voice rang out on the coming night; for it
was now full twilight, and the leaves quivered overhead; and far up and
down the mountains the melody floated in a strange, sweet strain, and
with a touch of tenderness that moved her companions to tears. Logan
stood aside, looking down for Forty-nine a moment, then went to bring
wood for the fire.

As her song ended, Carrie turned to the boy; but in doing so her eyes
rested on the empty bottle left by the side of a stone spread with a
tiger skin, by the two men. The boy had his head down, as if still
listening, and did not observe her. She stopped suddenly, started back,
looked to see if observed by her brother, and seeing that he was still
absorbed she advanced, took up the bottle and held it up, glancing back
and up the tree.

"Somebody's been here! Somebody's been here, and it's been white men;
the bottle's empty."

She hastily hid the bottle, and stepping back and looking up where her
little store had been hidden, she only put her finger to her lip, shook
her head on seeing what had happened, and then went and stood by her
little brother. Very thoughtful and full of care was she now. All her
merriment had gone. She stood there as one suddenly grown old.

"Oh, thank you, Carrie. It's a pretty song. But what can keep
Forty-nine so long?"

The boy rose as he said this, and turning aside looked down the mountain
into the gathering darkness. The girl stood close beside him, as if
afraid.

"He is coming. Far down, I hear Forty-nine's boots on the bowlders."

"Oh, I'm so glad! And I'm so glad he's got pistols!" said the girl,
eagerly. The two