"You call East home!" replied Mrs. Durade, bitterly.

"For land's sake! Yes, I do," exclaimed the other. "If there was a
home in that California, I never saw it. Tents and log cabins and
mud-holes! Such places for a woman to live. Oh, I hated that
California! A lot of wild men, all crazy for gold. Gold that only a
few could find and none could keep! ... I pray every night to live to
get back home."

Mrs. Durade had no reply; she gazed away over the ridges toward the
east with a haunting shadow in her eyes.

Just then a rifle-shot sounded from up in the ravine. The men paused
in their tasks and looked at one another. Then reassured by this
exchange of glances, they fell to work again. But the women cast
apprehensive eyes around. There was no life in sight except the
grazing oxen. Presently Horn appeared carrying a deer slung over his
shoulders.

Allie ran to meet him. She and Horn were great friends. To her alone
was he gentle and kind. She saw him pause at the brook, then drop
the deer carcass and bend over the ground, as if to search for
something. When Allie reached his side he was on his knees examining
a moccasin print in the sand.

"An Indian track!" exclaimed Allie.

"Allie, it sure ain't anythin' else," he replied. "Thet is what I've
been lookin' fer.... A day old--mebbe more."