o noise to account for
their alarm. A little while, and the sound of Hertha Carlson's singing
rose from the hill behind him, her song the same, the doleful quality
of its air unmodified.

_Na-a-fer a-lo-o-one, na-a-fer a-lone,
He promise na-fer to leafe me,
Na-fer to leafe me a-lone!_

"Strange how she runs on that," Mackenzie muttered, listening for her
to repeat, as he had heard her the night her singing guided him to her
melancholy door. A little nearer now the song sounded, the notes
broken as if the singer walked, stumbling at times, so much sadness in
it, so much longing, such unutterable hopelessness as to wring the
listener's heart.

Swan was beating her again, neglecting her, subjecting her to the
cruelties of his savage mind; there was no need for the woman to come
nearer to tell him that. Only grief for which there was no comfort,
despair in which there was no hope, could tune a human note to that
eloquent expression of pain. Perhaps she was wandering in the night
now for the solace of weariness, pouring out the three lines of her
song in what seemed the bitterness of accusation for a promise
unfulfilled.

The dogs came back to Mackenzie's side, where they sat with ears
lifted, but with no expression of hostility or alarm in their bearing
now. They were only curious, as their master was curious, waiting to
see if the wandering singer would come on into camp.

There was no glow of lantern to guide her, and no moon, but she came
straight for where Mackenzie sat. A little way off she stopped.

"Hello!" she hailed, as if uncertain of her welcome.

Mackenzie requested her to come on, lighting the lantern which he had
ready to hand. Mrs. Carlson hesitated, drawing back a little when she
saw his face.

"I thought it was Earl," she said.

"Earl's not here tonight. Sit down and rest yourself, Mrs. Carlson.
You don't remember me?"

"I remember. You are the man who cut my chain."

"I thought you'd forgotten me."

"No, I do not forget so soon. A long time I wanted to kill you for the
blow you gave Swan that night."

"As long as Swan was good to you," said he, "of course you would. How
do you feel about it now?"

"I only cry now because he did not die. He was different a little
while after he got well, but again he forgets. He beats me; he leaves
me alone with the sheep."

"I knew he was beating you again," Mackenzie nodded, confirming his
speculation o