cascade through the trees to light the horrible thing of lead which had
menaced the life of his lady.

Well, one more pipe and he would go to bed. Johnny must be tired of
waiting. Philip slipped his hand into his pocket and whistled.

"So," said he softly, "the hieroglyphic cuff is gone! It's the first
I'd missed it."

"Like as not it dropped out of my pocket when I fell last night," he
reflected a little later. "I'd better go to bed. I'm beginning to
fuss."




CHAPTER XIII

A WOODLAND GUEST

There was gray beyond the flap of Philip's tent, a velvet stillness
rife with the melody of twittering birds. Already the camp fire was
crackling. Philip rose and dressed.

Beyond, through the ghostly trees where the river glimmered in the gray
dawn with a pearly iridescence, a girl was fishing. There were deeper
shadows in the hollows but the sky behind the wooded ridge to the east
was softly opaline. As the river grew pink, mists rose and curled
upward and presently the glaring searchlight of the sun streamed
brilliantly across the river and the forest, flinging a banner of