Out of the open levels there swung up to meet them and to fade into the night, the standing willows by the Silver Hollow. The sloping stretches began to lift, dotted by the oaks and digger-pines for whose sake Kenset had come to Lost Valley. They shot through them, up along the sharply lifting skirts of the hills, in between the guarding pines that formed the gateway to the little glade where the singing stream went down and the cabin stood at the head. Tharon's throat was tight, as if a hand pressed hard upon it. The high tops of the pines seemed to cut the sky grotesquely. There was no light at the dim log house, no sound in the silent glade. Off to the right they heard the low of the little red cow which served the forest man with milk. They pounded to a sliding stop in the cabin's yard and Conford called sharply into the silent darkness. "Kenset! Hello--Kenset!" Tharon held her breath and listened. There was no sound except a night bird calling from the highest pine-tip. Carefully the men dismounted. "You stay up, Tharon, dear," the foreman said quietly, "until we look around." But to save her life the girl could not. What was this trembling that seized her limbs? Why did the stars, come out on the purple sky, shift so strangely to her eyes? She slipped off El Rey and stood by his shoulder waiting. Conford struck a flare and lit a candle, holding it carefully before him, shielding it with his palm behind it to throw the gleam away from his face, into the cabin. The pale light illumined the whole interior, and it was empty. The keen eyes of the riders went over every inch of space before they entered--along the walls, in the bed, under the tables. Then they filed in and Tharon followed, gazing around with eyes that ached behind their lids. There on the northern wall between the windows, was the great spread of the beautiful picture she had helped the forest man to hang. There were his books on the table's edge. She looked twice--the last one on the pile at a certain corner was just as she had placed it there, a trifle crooked with the edge, but neatly in line with those beneath it. There was the big chair in which she had waited while he made the little meal--there was his desk in the ingle nook, his maps upon it. It was all so familiar, so filled with his personality, that Tharon felt the very power of his dark eyes, smiling, grave---- "Hello!" said Jack Masters suddenly. "Burt, what's this?" Conford stepped quickly around the table and held his candle down. Tharon pushed forward and looked over the leaning shoulders. There on the brown and green grass rug a rich dark stain was drying--blood, some three days old. Then, indeed, did the universe sag and darken to the Mistress of Last's. She put out a hand to steady herself and found it grasped in the strong one of Billy, who stood at her shoulder like her shadow. "Steady!" he whispered. "Steady, Tharon."