Suddenly a groan, but a few feet from us, caused us to halt, and hastily look around.  But a short distance from us were the indistinct outlines of a cart, and near the vehicle was the hound, busily occupied in lapping something that was lying upon the ground.

Another groan, and we moved towards the individual that seemed in such deep distress.  By the bright starlight, but which hardly penetrated the gulch, we saw the form of a woman extended upon the rough rocks, while near her lay the body of a man motionless.

“Here is work for us,” cried Smith, all his genuine feeling returning; and he threw his heavy axe aside, and in a twinkling had the woman’s head upon his knee, and was pouring down her throat a potion from a black bottle which he carried in his pocket.

“Look to the man,” he cried, assuming the leadership at once; and in obedience to orders I knelt beside him, and placed my hand upon his heart.  He was cold, and his heart was motionless.  As I withdrew my hand, I felt that my fingers were moist and sticky.  I tried to discover what adhered to them, but the darkness was too great.

“Give me the matches, Smith,” I said, quickly.  “We will strike a light, and investigate this affair.”

A large quantity of drift wood was lying on the bed of the gulch, and well dried by the hot summer’s sun.  I cut a few shavings, and a bright fire was soon under headway, and cast its ruddy glare upon the group collected around the cart, which was broken in half a dozen different places, and had, apparently, been thrown from the banks above.

As soon as sufficient fuel was added, we turned our attention to the woman whose head Smith was holding.  Her eyes were closed, and her teeth clinched like those of a person in a fit.  There was not a vestige of any color in her face, while her garments appeared as though they had experienced rough usage, and were torn in a dozen different places.  In spite of the strong decoction which Smith had poured down her throat, she did not revive, or appear to comprehend what was said to her; and after rubbing her hands for a while, and finding that it did no good, I devoted a few moments to an examination of the body of the man.

I now comprehended the meaning of the sticky substance which adhered to my hand, for upon his breast were two large, ragged wounds, either of which was sufficient to let out the life of a man, and from each had oozed his blood until it had congealed in large lumps, and was held, bag-like, by his thick flannel shirt.

“There has been murder committed here,” I cried, holding up my hands, stained with the vital fluid of the dead man.

“There has been more than murder,” replied Fred, in a low tone.  “There has been violence offered to a woman.”

“Impossible,” I cried, with a shudder at the thought.

“Look and convince yourself, then,” Fred said, seizing a burning brand and holding it so that the light was thrown upon the face and body of the insensible woman.