indecision communicated itself to his horse, who halted. Recalled
to himself, he looked down mechanically, when his attention was
attracted by an unfamiliar object lying in the dust of the trail.
It was a small slipper--so small that at first he thought it must
have belonged to some child. He dismounted and picked it up. It
was worn and shaped to the foot. It could not have lain there
long, for it was not filled nor discolored by the wind-blown dust
of the trail, as all other adjacent objects were. If it had been
dropped by a passing traveler, that traveler must have passed
Collinson's, going or coming, within the last twelve hours. It was
scarcely possible that the shoe could have dropped from the foot
without the wearer's knowing it, and it must have been dropped in
an urgent flight, or it would have been recovered. Thus
practically Key treated his romance. And having done so, he
instantly wheeled his horse and plunged into the road in the
direction of the fire.

But he was surprised after twenty minutes' riding to find that the
course of the fire had evidently changed. It was growing clearer
before him; the dry heat seemed to come more from the right, in the
direction of the detour he should have taken to Skinner's. This
seemed almost providential, and in keeping with his practical
treatment of his romance, as was also the fact that in all
probability the fire had not yet visited the little hollow which he
intended to explore. He knew he was nearing it now; the locality
had been strongly impressed upon him even in the darkness of the
previous evening. He had passed the rocky ledge; his horse's hoofs
no longer rang out clearly; slowly and perceptibly they grew
deadened in the springy mosses, and were finally lost in the netted
grasses and tangled vines that indicated the vicinity of the