And then, still shivering and trembling with fear and cold and exhaustion, Mary Warren once more lost all sense of things, and dropped limp. The little dog stood licking at her hands and face. Here was work for Doctor Barnes after all. He took charge. The four of them carried the woman up the hill to the car. He had restoratives which served in good stead now. "Poor thing!" said he. "Out all night! It's just a God's mercy she didn't freeze to death, that's all." He himself was wondering at the extraordinary beauty of this woman. Who was she--what was there in this talk that two ranchmen had made, down there at the dam? Why, this was no ordinary ranchwoman at all, but a woman of distinction, one to attract notice anywhere. Mary Warren at last began to talk,--before the smoke cloud drove them down the trail. "I heard a shot," said she, turning a face toward them. "Who was it? I didn't signal then, for I didn't know. I waited. Then the dog came." No one answered her. "That must have been what brought me to. It sounded up the hill. Where--where is he?" They did not answer even yet, and she went on. "Who are you all?" she demanded. "I don't see you, of course." She was looking into the face of Doctor Barnes who bent above her, his hand on her pulse. "I'm Doctor Barnes," said he. "I work down at the Company's plant at the big dam. You are Miss Mary Warren, are you not?" She nodded. "Yes." "I won't introduce these others, but they're all friends--we all are." She was recognizing the voice, the diction of a gentleman. The thought gave her comfort. "What's that smoke?" she said suddenly, herself catching the scent pervading the air. "The whole mountain's afire," said Sim Gage. "We got to hurry if we get out of here." "I know--it was those people!--Where is that man? You found him?" The voice of Doctor Barnes broke in quickly. "He'd been hurt by a tree--we had to leave him because he was too far gone, Miss Warren," said he. "We couldn't save him. He couldn't answer any questions--not even a hypothetical question--when we tried him. But now, don't try to talk. He's got what he had coming, and he'll never trouble you again." "Whose little dog is this?" she asked suddenly, reaching out a hand which the young Airedale kissed fervently. "If it hadn't been for that little dog, you'd never have found me, would you? You couldn't have heard me call. I would not have dared to shoot. Whose little dog?" "It's yours, ma'am," said Sim Gage. "And I got four hens." CHAPTER XVII SAGEBRUSHERS Nels Jensen reached his home late in the afternoon, his face grave and his tongue more than usually tight. His wife, Karen, looked at him for some time before she spoke. "Find anything, up in?" He nodded quietly. "Doctor get to that sick man?" "He wasn't sick," rejoined Nels. "Tree fell on him." "What you do with him?" "Died before we come out. Whole woods was afire up in there."