"I can take care of myself," she said. "I'm not afraid." Slingerland
scarcely doubted her. She had nerve, courage; she knew how to use a
gun; and underneath her softness and tenderness was a spirit that
would not flinch at anything. Still he did not feel satisfied with
the idea of leaving her alone, and it was with a wrench that he did
it now.
Moreover, he was longer at the journey than he had anticipated. The
moment he turned his face homeward, a desire to hurry, an anxiety, a
dread fastened upon him. A presentiment of evil gathered. But,
encumbered as he was with heavy traps, he could not travel swiftly.
It was late afternoon when he topped the last ridge between him and
home.
What Slingerland saw caused him to drop his traps and gaze aghast. A
heavy column of smoke rose above the valley. His first thought was
of Sioux. But he doubted if the Indians would betray his friendship.
The cabin had caught on fire by accident or else a band of wandering
desperadoes had happened along to ruin him. He ran down the slope,
stole down round to the group of pines, and under cover, cautiously,
approached the spot where his cabin had stood.
It was a heap of smoking logs and probably had burned for hours.
There was no sign of Allie or of any one. Then he ran into the
glade.
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