there, so he knew that the stains near the fire were made by the blood of human beings. What had happened? he wondered. Had a tragedy been enacted there in the night? What had become of the campers?
For a while Hugo remained there, searching for some further clue. But nothing could he find to aid him in his search. Silence reigned around him. Far off the peaks of the great mountains were aglow with the morning sun. Above him the Golden Horn was agleam with surpassing glory. The entire landscape seemed fresh and joyous after its bath of night. But Hugo noticed none of these wonders. His thoughts dwelt upon more serious things. He was thinking deeply, and his brow knit with perplexity. There was a certain course he wished to pursue, yet he felt unable to carry it out. A restraining influence overshadowed him, pressing hard upon his very soul. It was no new battle he was fighting, as he had been contending fiercely for long years. It was a struggle between the brute nature within him, and the call to higher things. At times the former had seemed to sway his entire being, and on such occasions he had been a terror to man and beast. But alone in the silence of the great wilderness the nobleness within him had always risen to battle with the demon that would drag him down. And now another element in the person of his daughter had come to strengthen his manhood and his desire for a new mode of life. Would it not be better to leave the trails, he reasoned, face the world boldly, and if punishment according to the legal code were necessary, to bear it without a murmur?
As he thus stood there battling with these conflicting emotions, his keen ears caught a disturbing sound up the trail. He listened intently, his entire body now
