"Yes, I know that, Nannie. But daddy never goes outside, and he will
not allow white men to come here. You know as well as I do that he
turns the Indians upon every white stranger who comes across the Golden
Crest or by water. Daddy never mentioned it to me, but both Sconda and
Klota have told me how the miners fear this place, and think that daddy
is a terrible monster. When I asked them what became of the white men
who ventured here, they wouldn't tell me, but looked at each other in a
queer way. There is something mysterious about it all, and it has
puzzled me ever since I was able to understand anything."

"There, dearie, never mind worrying your brain about it now," her
companion soothed. "You are too young to have wrinkles in your smooth
skin. Play that nice piece you were singing before you left to-day. I
never heard it before, and it did me so much good. The piano has been
idle all winter, so it must make up for lost time now."

Glen told Nannie nothing about her experiences that afternoon. She was
afraid that this woman, gifted with more than ordinary insight, might
read her heart. It made her feel somewhat guilty, nevertheless, for
Nannie was the only mother she had ever known, and she lay awake a long
time that night thinking it all over, and wondering whether she should
tell her secret to the one woman in the world in whom she should
confide. She had studied herself more carefully than usual in her
large mirror before retiring, and what she beheld there was far from
displeasing. She knew that she was beautiful, and her heart told her
that her brave rescuer had looked upon her with admiration. Should she
ever see him again? she asked herself, or had he already forgotten her?

Glen awoke early the next morning, and after breakfast she went down to
the store. Here she learned that Sconda and a dozen men had gone to