There was a sudden great murmur of sounds outside, the door flew open, and an excited crowd burst in, with the camp's one white woman in the lead and crying, “My child! my child! she's lost and gone! For the love of God help me to find Archy Stillman; we've hunted everywhere!” Said the barkeeper: “Sit down, sit down, Mrs. Hogan, and don't worry. He asked for a bed three hours ago, tuckered out tramping the trails the way he's always doing, and went upstairs. Ham Sandwich, run up and roust him out; he's in No. 14.” The youth was soon downstairs and ready. He asked Mrs. Hogan for particulars. “Bless you, dear, there ain't any; I wish there was. I put her to sleep at seven in the evening, and when I went in there an hour ago to go to bed myself, she was gone. I rushed for your cabin, dear, and you wasn't there, and I've hunted for you ever since, at every cabin down the gulch, and now I've come up again, and I'm that distracted and scared and heart-broke; but, thanks to God, I've found you at last, dear heart, and you'll find my child. Come on! come quick!” “Move right along; I'm with you, madam. Go to your cabin first.” The whole company streamed out to join the hunt. All the southern half of the village was up, a hundred men strong, and waiting outside, a vague dark mass sprinkled with twinkling lanterns. The mass fell into columns by threes and fours to accommodate itself to the narrow road, and strode briskly along southward in the wake of the leaders. In a few minutes the Hogan cabin was reached. “There's the bunk,” said Mrs. Hogan; “there's where she was; it's where I laid her at seven o'clock; but where she is now, God only knows.” “Hand me a lantern,” said Archy. He set it on the hard earth floor and knelt by it, pretending to examine the ground closely. “Here's her track,” he said, touching the ground here and there and yonder with his finger. “Do you see?” Several of the company dropped upon their knees and did their best to see. One or two thought they discerned something like a track; the others shook their heads and confessed that the smooth hard surface had no marks upon it which their eyes were sharp enough to discover. One said, “Maybe a child's foot could make a mark on it, but I don't see how.” Young Stillman stepped outside, held the light to the ground, turned leftward, and moved three steps, closely examining; then said, “I've got the direction--come along; take the lantern, somebody.” He strode off swiftly southward, the files following, swaying and bending in and out with the deep curves of the gorge. Thus a mile, and the mouth of the gorge was reached; before them stretched the sagebrush plain, dim, vast, and vague. Stillman called a halt, saying, “We mustn't start wrong, now; we must take the direction again.”