home-made table, every inch scrubbed. In the side room, which is the
bedroom, was a wide bunk made of pine plank that had also been
scrubbed, then filled with fresh, sweet pine boughs, and over them was
spread a piece of canvas that had once been a wagon sheet, but Gavotte
had washed it and boiled and pounded it until it was clean and sweet.
That served for a sheet.

Zebbie was beside himself with joy. The hounds sprang upon him and
expressed their joy unmistakably. He went at once to the corrals to see
the "critters," and every one of them was safely penned for the night.
"Old Sime," an old ram (goodness knows _how_ old!), promptly butted him
over, but he just beamed with pleasure. "Sime knows me, dinged if he
don't!" was his happy exclamation. We went into the cabin and left him
fondling the "critters."

Gavotte did himself proud getting supper. We had trout and the most
delicious biscuit. Each of us had a crisp, tender head of lettuce with
a spoonful of potato salad in the center. We had preserves made from
canned peaches, and the firmest yellow butter. Soon it was quite dark
and we had a tiny brass lamp which gave but a feeble light, but it was
quite cool so we had a blazing fire which made it light enough.

When supper was over, Zebbie called us out and asked us if we could
hear anything. We could hear the most peculiar, long-drawn, sighing
wail that steadily grew louder and nearer. I was really frightened, but
he said it was the forerunner of the windstorm that would soon strike
us. He said it was wind coming down Crag Cañon, and in just a few
minutes it struck us like a cold wave and rushed, sighing, on down the
cañon. We could hear it after it had passed us, and it was perfectly
still around the cabin. Soon we heard the deep roaring of the coming