'The fire makes it cosier,' Helen said, beginning to gather twigs.
Last night coyotes had howled fearsomely, and even dwellers of the
cities know that the surest safeguard against a ravening beast is a
camp-fire. For a little while the man strove with his tangled rope;
she was lost to him through the mesquite. Suddenly she came running
back.

'Papa,' she whispered excitedly. 'There's some one already here.'

She led him a few paces and pointed, making him stoop to see. Under
the tangle of a thin brush patch he made out what she had seen. But a
short distance from the spot they had elected for their camp site was a
tiny fire blazing merrily.

'Ahem,' said Helen's father, shifting nervously and looking at his
daughter as though for an explanation of this oddity. 'This is
peculiar. It has an air of--of----'

'Why, it is the most natural thing in the world,' she said swiftly.
'Where would you expect to find a camp-fire if not near a spring?'

'Yes, yes, that part of it is all right,' he admitted grudgingly. 'But
why does he hold back and thereby give one an impression of a desire on
his part for secrecy? Why does he not come forward and make himself
known? I do not mean to alarm you, my dear, but this is not the way an
honest fellow-wayfarer should behave. Wait here for me; I shall
investigate.' Intrepidly he walked toward the fire. Helen kept close
to his side.

'Hello!' he called, when they had taken a dozen steps. They paused and