Jack Wade could hear the clattering noise of the horses as they rushed over the rocky way. Fainter and fainter the noise grew until he could hear it no more. Undismayed, however, he trudged on, in the hope of soon finding some trace of those he pursued. The heavy raindrops pelted down upon him, soaking his clothes until their weight became a burden to his tired and weary limbs. On he went, regardless of distance, picking his way by the light of an occasional flash of lightning, which made it more necessary to grope his way when the lightning failed to give the needed light, until when the gray streaks of early dawn appeared in the eastern horizon he found himself many miles away from his burned cabin. Yet he had discovered no trace of the perpetrators of the foul deed, whom he had followed for almost half of the night. Water soaked, tired and worn in body and mind, he remembered that he had not slept for twenty-four hours, nor had he eaten anything, save a lunch, for nearly as long. Weak and sore of foot, he sat down on a little hillock and leaned his head back against a boulder to get a little much needed rest before attempting to start on his return journey homeward. As he sat thus the dawn grew brighter, the streaks of light in the eastern sky painting a few clouds a beautiful red. The mountain scenery was still wrapped in silent mystery. Soon birds began their chirping songs from their abode in the thickets, and all wild life was beginning to stir. Dew-dipped grasses began to raise their heads to the breaking light in obedience to the will of day, while the great heavy overhanging clouds were fast dispersing, giving way to the power of the coming dawn. The strenuousness of the day and night before had weakened Wade's system until, when he closed his eyes against the growing beauty about him, he fell fast asleep; but his weary, laden brain kept moving on. Before him, in vision, the mighty lightning flashed, the great torrents of rain fell and engulfed him. Suddenly there burst before his darkened vision a licking flame of fire, from out of the midst of which came one bearing a long-bladed knife in either hand. He was snarling like a wolf and dancing jubilantly over his intended victim. The vision grew until the knives were being brandished over his head, and he knew that it would be only a moment until they should descend and his own heart would be cut in twain. He seemed powerless to prevent. The sight was so fearful that he became sick at heart and fainted away. His head bumped against a boulder, and he awoke with a start. When he opened his eyes he saw standing over him in reality Al Thompson, with hand poised high in the air, ready to descend. In that hand was a long-bladed knife, sickening to behold.