"While you was puttin' the finishin' touches on this yere camp, I come acrost a heap o' stuns, that somehow the wind had swept bare. There was a big drift in front of it w'ich kep' us from seein' it afore; it was built up in the open w'ere there want no trees, an' in our lumberin' operations we want lookin' that-a-way. I came acrost a bottle by chance an'—"
"Well, for God's sake, old man," cried Armstrong impatiently, "what did you find in it, anything?"
"This," answered Kirkby, carefully producing a folded scrap of paper from his leather vest.
Armstrong fell on it ravenously, and as Maitland bent over him they both read these words by the fire light.
"Miss Enid Maitland, whose foot is so badly crushed as to prevent her traveling, is safe in a cabin at the head of this canon. I put this notice here to reassure any who may be seeking her as to her welfare. Follow the stream up to its source."
Wm. Berkeley Newbold.
"Thank God!" exclaimed Robert Maitland.
"You called me a damn fool, Kirkby," said Armstrong, his eyes gleaming. "What do you think of it now?"
"It's the damn fool, I find," said Kirkby sapiently, "that gener'ly gits there. Providence seems to be a-watchin' over 'em."
"You said you chanced on this paper, Jack," continued Maitland, "it looks to me like the deliberate intention of Almighty God."
"I reckon so," answered the other simply. "You see He's got to look after all the damn fools on earth to keep 'em from doin' too much damage to theirselves an' to others in this yere crooked trail of a world."