"We didn't expect to," Meg replied. "Gerald, you come with me and we will bring in pine branches or kinnikinick, if we can find any, for our beds." From her knapsack Meg took a folding knife as she talked. "Kinnikinick?" the boy gayly repeated. Everything that had happened now appeared to him in the light of a jolly adventure except, of course, Julie's ankle, and she no longer seemed to be in pain. "What sort of a thing is that?" Meg had led the way out of the cabin. "Here's some!" she shouted, and the boy raced over to find the girl whom he so admired bending over a dense evergreen vine. "It's prettier in winter," she told him, "for then it has red berries among the bright green leaves. It makes a wonderful bed. It is so soft and springy." After half an hour of effort branches of pine and some of the kinnikinick were laid on the floor, Julie was made comfortable, but Jane would not lie down. She sat with her back against the wall holding the small girl's head on her lap. Dan had been right. One could carve oneself after a model. Never, never again would she lose sight, she assured herself, of her chosen goal, which was to do in all things as her dear mother would have done. As soon as the sun sank it began to grow dark. Meg had at once barred the door, and also she had examined the floor and walls to be sure that there was no yawning knothole large enough to admit a snake. The children slept from sheer exhaustion, but Jane and Meg stayed awake through the seemingly endless hours, while night prowlers howled many times close to their cabin. At the first gray streak of dawn, Julie stirred uneasily and began to cry softly. Meg begged Jane to change positions with her, and, completely worn out, Jane did lie down on the pine boughs which had been so placed that they were springy and comfortable. Almost at once she fell asleep. Meg removed the bandages that were hot from the little girl's hurt ankle and again applied the cooling liniment. Other fresh strips of cloth were used and then, with the small head pillowed on Meg's lap, Julie again fell asleep. Gerald had not wakened through the night, not even when a curious wolf had sniffed at their doorsill and had then lifted his head to wail out his displeasure. The sun was high above the peak when Jane leaped up, startled, from her restless slumber. "What was that? I thought I heard a gun shot." "You did." Nothing seemed to stir Meg from her undisturbed calm. "Someone is coming. Julie, will you sit up against the wall, dear, and I will open the door." Gerald, half awake, but sensing some excitement, leaped out of the cabin, his small gun held in readiness. "Do you 'spect it's the Utes?" he asked, almost hoping that the answer would be in the affirmative. But Meg laughed. "No," she said. "It is probably someone searching for you." Then she fired in answer. From not far above them came two gun shots in rapid succession.