LITMIR.BIZ

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will go in there and see how badly the Hermit is injured, and will see if both cannot be placed beyond the reach of bullets."

      "Thet's easy. Ther cave is a big one, but this hyar is ther only entrance ter it."

      Frank crept back into the cave, softly calling to the Hermit. The man was groaning, and, as Frank crept near, a pair of soft arms suddenly closed about the boy's neck, while a sweet voice sounded in his ear:

      "I knows you w'en I hears you speak. You singed me to sleep. I tolt you I'd be your Fairy."

      "So you did, dear," said the boy, giving her a tender embrace; "and I have done my best in the work of saving you from the Indians."

      "Bad Injuns!" exclaimed Fay. "Dey tarry me off fwom my mamma. You tate me to my mamma?"

      "We will, dear."

      Frank's hands found the wounded man, and he asked:

      "Where did the bullet strike you, Hermit?"

      "Here in the side," was the faint answer. "I think I am done for! I have found death at last!"

      The boy shivered, for the words were uttered exultantly, as if the man actually rejoiced.

      "Are you able to creep back farther into the cave?" Frank asked.

      "I don't know. Why should I do so? It is too much exertion."

      "If not for your own sake, you should do so for the child. Another bullet may reach her."

      The man stirred and sat up.

      "That is true," he panted. "She must be returned uninjured, and Foster Fairfax must know that I did my best to save her."

      "Foster Fairfax! He is the man you saw this morning?"

      "Yes."

      "What is he to this child?"

      "He is her father."

      "And you—what are you to her?"

      "Nothing."

      Frank was somewhat dazed, for he had felt sure that the Hermit was Fay's father.

      "We were friends," explained the wounded man. "I can't tell all the story. We both loved Marian Dale. Our rivalry was fair and square, and we swore that the one who won her should still retain the friendship of the other. At last, she promised to be mine at the end of six months. Business took me into the Southwest, and there I met Fairfax, who had rushed away as soon as he learned of my success. He was somewhat bitter toward me, and accused me of using unfair means to win Marian. We parted, and the very next day I was in a railroad collision, being injured about the head, so I did not know my own name. I recovered, but I was still unable to tell my name or remember anything of my past. In this condition, I wandered over the country four years. I was able to make a living, and seemed all right, with the exception that I could not remember anything back of the accident. One night in Omaha I was in a hotel fire, and I jumped from the window to escape. They took me up in an unconscious condition, and carried me to a hospital. I recovered, and my memory came back to me. Then I hurried East to Marian, and I found her married to Foster Fairfax, who had told her that I was dead, and that he had seen my dead body. This little girl is their child."

      "While you are talking, you are losing blood," said Frank. "Move back, and let me see if I cannot stop the flow."

      He induced the Hermit to move back into the cave, where he was able to light some matches and examine the wound. Not being a physician, Frank could not tell how severe it was; but, with considerable difficulty, he finally succeeded in stanching the flow of blood to a certain extent.

      "It is useless," declared the Hermit. "I am booked, and I am glad of that. I have nothing to live for."

      "Yes, you has!" cried little Fay, creeping close to him. "I dess you is pretty dood man. One time I had a birdie that die, and it was all tovered up in the dround. You don't want to be all tovered up like dat. I don't want you to be."

      "God bless you!" murmured the Hermit, thickly. "You are a dear, sweet child, and I shall not live to make more trouble for your father and mother."

      All was quiet at the mouth of the cave. Frank was longing to hear more of the Hermit's story, and so he questioned the man.

      "How does it happen that Foster Fairfax and his wife are not living together?"

      "I separated them."

      "How?"

      "I appeared like one risen from the dead, and Marian was prostrated by the sight of me. I denounced Foster, called him a false friend and a dastardly traitor. I was insane at the moment, and it is remarkable that I did not kill him. However, I swore to have his life if we ever met again. Then I left them."

      "And you did not see Fairfax again till you met him here in the park?"

      "No."

      "How did it happen he left his wife?"

      "When I met him I did not know they were not living together. He forced me to listen, and he told me how he had taken a mangled corpse from the wreck and buried it as me—how he had firmly believed me dead. Then he bore the news to Marian, and she was prostrated.

      "He loved her, but it was long before she consented to marry him. At last, she did so, and they married, both believing me in my grave."

      Frank was fascinated by the story.

      "Go on," he urged.

      "When I appeared both were horrified. When I left them, Marian accused Foster of treachery. She was unreasonable and would listen to nothing he could say. She bade him leave her and never return. He departed, and they have not seen each other since. He does not know she is somewhere in the park, as she must be, else the child would not be here. I did not tell him of the peril of his child, but I resolved to save her and restore her to his arms. I have saved her, but I shall be unable to take her to him. I shall not live to see the light of another day."

      "Oh, you may not be so badly injured as all that."

      "I am. I am sure of it. I will leave the child in your care. Take her to him, and tell him that I forgive everything. Never again will I rise like one from the dead to come between Foster and Marian."

      Frank remained with the man a while longer, and then, telling Fay to stay there that she might keep beyond the reach of bullets, he returned to the mouth of the cave.

      "I'm glad ye've come, boy," said Old Rocks. "Ef them pesky varmints ain't gone away entirely, they're up ter mischief, an' I needs yer hyar."

      They crouched behind the bowlders and waited, while the minutes slipped away, and the same silence reigned.

      At least an hour passed, and then came a sudden sound that filled both with surprise and alarm.

      Behind them there was a faint dropping in the cave, a movement, a rush, and a roar. Then a cloud of dust swirled out and nearly smothered them.

      "What is the meaning of that?" said Frank, bewildered.

      "A cave-in!" shouted Old Rocks, making a hasty examination. "By ther livin' gods! ther hull derned cave is blocked, an' ther Hermit an' ther leetle gal is both buried beneath ur beyond thet fall!"

      Frank was horrified beyond measure.

      "It is terrible!" he gasped. "Poor little Fay!"

      "What you want?" asked the familiar voice of the child, near at hand. "It was lonetome in dere. The mans goed to sleep, an' I tomed out to see you."

      "Thank God!" came fervently from Frank's lips, as he caught her up in his arms and covered her face with kisses.

      "Wa-al, thet's whut I call luck!" gurgled the guide.

      "Luck!" cried Frank, rebukingly. "It was the hand of Providence! Can you doubt the wisdom and goodness of an Overruling Power after this?"

      "Dunno ez I kin," admitted the old man. "It duz look like something a' ther kind took her out o' thar jest at ther right time."

      A

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