One afternoon she had camp all to herself. Bo was riding. Dale had climbed the mountain to see if he could find any trace of tracks or see any smoke from camp-fire. Bud was nowhere to be seen, nor any of the other pets. Tom had gone off to some sunny ledge where he could bask in the sun, after the habit of the wilder brothers of his species. Pedro had not been seen for a night and a day, a fact that Helen had noted with concern. However, she had forgotten him, and therefore was the more surprised to see him coming limping into camp on three legs. “Why, Pedro! You have been fighting. Come here,” she called. The hound did not look guilty. He limped to her and held up his right fore paw. The action was unmistakable. Helen examined the injured member and presently found a piece of what looked like mussel-shell embedded deeply between the toes. The wound was swollen, bloody, and evidently very painful. Pedro whined. Helen had to exert all the strength of her fingers to pull it out. Then Pedro howled. But immediately he showed his gratitude by licking her hand. Helen bathed his paw and bound it up. When Dale returned she related the incident and, showing the piece of shell, she asked: “Where did that come from? Are there shells in the mountains?” “Once this country was under the sea,” replied Dale. “I've found things that 'd make you wonder.” “Under the sea!” ejaculated Helen. It was one thing to have read of such a strange fact, but a vastly different one to realize it here among these lofty peaks. Dale was always showing her something or telling her something that astounded her. “Look here,” he said one day. “What do you make of that little bunch of aspens?” They were on the farther side of the park and were resting under a pine-tree. The forest here encroached upon the park with its straggling lines of spruce and groves of aspen. The little clump of aspens did not differ from hundreds Helen had seen. “I don't make anything particularly of it,” replied Helen, dubiously. “Just a tiny grove of aspens--some very small, some larger, but none very big. But it's pretty with its green and yellow leaves fluttering and quivering.” “It doesn't make you think of a fight?” “Fight? No, it certainly does not,” replied Helen. “Well, it's as good an example of fight, of strife, of selfishness, as you will find in the forest,” he said. “Now come over, you an' Bo, an' let me show you what I mean.” “Come on, Nell,” cried Bo, with enthusiasm. “He'll open our eyes some more.” Nothing loath, Helen went with them to the little clump of aspens.