“Let’s take a chance, Andy,” said the doctor. “If a pack of hounds leaps out at us, we can retreat as gracefully as possible. We’ve got to get closer to make ourselves heard.” They crawled between the bars and struck out along a beaten path. Still no outraged canine came catapulting toward them. Still the house remained invisible. Only the smeared lights stared at them through the fog. Dr. Shonto came to a halt, and Andy stopped beside him. “In the cabin there!” called Shonto. “Cabin ahoy!” Several silent moments followed, and then, between the window lights that had lured them there, a new streak of muddy brilliancy grew to a rectangle, and a woman’s figure stood framed by a door. “Hello!” shouted the doctor. “We’re lost in the woods and hunting shelter for the night. Our camp is far from here, and we can’t find it. Can you help us out? There are two of us--two men! We’ll gladly pay you for your inconvenience.” They saw the figure of the woman turn. She was speaking with somebody within the cabin, and her profile was toward them. It vanished as she once more turned her face their way. “Come on in!” came her invitation. “She says she’ll do the best she can for you.” “She,” muttered the doctor. “I once knew a man that never called his wife anything but ‘she.’ Come on--I smell baking-powder biscuits, or my name’s not Shonto. Here’s the backwoods for you.” And then, as if to give the lie to his words, he stepped upon a broad stone doorstep and was faced by a radiant girl in a sky-blue evening gown, with precious stones in her dark hair, and gilded, high-heeled slippers on her feet. “Good evening,” she greeted them easily. “Welcome to El Trono de Tolerancia. There are baking powder biscuits, venison, and chocolate for supper, and we’ve an extra bed.” CHAPTER II EL TRONO DE TOLERANCIA DR. INMAN SHONTO was not easily moved to a display of surprise, but for at least once in his life he found himself unequal to the occasion. The girl in the doorway was galvanically pretty. Her features were of that striking, contrasty quality that is the result of an artistic makeup--but she was not made up. She was dark, red-lipped, large-eyed, and her figure brought a quick flush of masculine appreciation in the doctor’s face. Physically, it seemed to him, he had never before seen so gloriously all-right a girl. But the desirable physical characteristics which she displayed were not what had caused the cat to get the physician’s tongue. It was the low-neck, sleeveless gown, the sparkling hair ornaments, the gilded slippers and the creaseless silk stockings--all of which had for their background the coal-oil-lighted interior of a log cabin lost in the wilderness--that had wrecked his customary poise. Her ringing laugh served in a measure to readjust his scattered wits. She had interpreted the meaning of his surprise.