home. In her heart was a prayer of thanks-
giving. Mary Deems lay sleeping back in
her comfortless shack, with her little son by
her side.

"The wonder of God is in it," said Cath-
erine to herself as she walked home. "All
the ministers of all the world could not have
preached me such a sermon as I've had
to-night."

So dim had been the light and so per-
turbed her mind that she had not noticed
how torn and trampled was the road. But
suddenly a bulk in her pathway startled her.
It was the dead and mangled body of a steer.
She stooped over it to read the brand on its
flank. "It's one of the three Johns'," she
cried out, looking anxiously about her.
"How could that have happened?"

The direction which the cattle had taken
was toward her house, and she hastened
homeward. And not a quarter of a mile
from her door she found the body of Waite
beside that of his pony, crushed out of its
familiar form into something unspeakably
shapeless. In her excitement she half
dragged, half carried that mutilated body
home, and then ran up her signal of alarm