As the sun settled low, one afternoon, and cast long, creeping shadows over the flowery land--shadows that lay upon and crept along the ground, as if they were weary of the day, and would like to lie there and sleep, and sleep, forever--the stealthy step of a man was heard approaching the old cabin. There was something of the tiger in the man's movements, and it was clear that his mission, whatever it was, was not a mission of peace.***** The man stands out in the clearing of the land before the cabin, and peers right and left up the trail and down the trail, and then leans and listens. Then he takes a glance back over his shoulder at his companion and follower, Gar Dosson, and being sure that he too is on the alert and close on his heels, he steps forward. Again the man leans and listens, but seeing no signs of life and hearing no sound, he straightens up, walks close to the cabin, and calls out: "Hello, the house!" at the same time he looks to the priming of his gun, and then fixes his eye on the door as it slowly opens. He drops the breech hastily to the ground as the face of Carrie peers forth. "Beg pardon, Carrie, my girl! Is it only you miss? Beg pardon--but we are lookin' for a gentleman--a young gentleman, John Logan." The man is terribly embarrassed as the girl looks him straight in the face, and his companion falls back into the woods until almost hidden from view. "Well, and why do you come here, skulking like Indians?" The man falls back; but recovering, he says, over his shoulder, as he turns to go: "Yes, skulking around your cabin, like that other Injun, John Logan!" The man jerks the coon-skin cap up on his left ear as he says this, and, tossing his head, steps back into the thick woods and is gone. Later in the evening, John Logan, gun in hand, passes slowly and dreamily down the trail, close to old Forty-nine's cabin. Stumps and Carrie are at play in the wood close at hand, and come forth at a bound. "Booh!" cries Carrie, darting around from behind a tree. "Booh! Mr. John Logan," continues the girl, and then with her two dimpled brown hands she throws back the glorious storm of black abundant hair, that all the time tumbles about her beautiful face. "Why, Carrie, is that you? and Stumps, too? I am glad to see you. I--I was feeling awful lonesome." "Been down to Squire Fields' again, haven't you?" The girl has reached one hand out against a tree, and half leaning on it swings her right foot to and fro. John Logan starts just a little, looks at her, sighs, sets the breech of his gun on the ground, and as his eyes turn to hers, she sees he is very sad. "Yes, Carrie, I--I am lonesome at my cabin since--since mother died. All the time, Carrie, I see her as I saw her that night, when I got home, sitting there on the porch, looking straight out at the gate, waiting for me, her hand on the dog's head, as if to hold him."