We call It clairvoyance; and we call It intuition; and we call It instinct; and we might as well call it x, y, z for all these terms mean.  We do not know what they mean.  Neither do we know what It is.  We hear It and obey It; and It brings blessedness.  In the din of life’s insistent noise, we sometimes do not hear It.  That is, we do not hear It until afterwards when the curse has come.  Then, we remember that we did hear It, though we did not heed it.

It was so with Eleanor after her father passed from the Ranch House that night.  Afterwards, she knew that she had noticed the wistful look on his face; but the memory of it did not come to the surface of thought till she heard the click of Calamity’s door in the basement and recollected his words; “Keep Calamity by you.”  Also, at that very moment, a great gray racing motor car swerved out across the white bridge from the Senator’s ranch buildings and went spinning down the Valley road, the twin lanterns before and behind cutting the dark in the double sword of a great search light that etched the sheathed pine needles and twinkling cottonwoods in black against a background of gold.  Eleanor was perfectly certain she saw the same two hats in the back seat that had met Wayland at the Cabin that afternoon.

“Calamity,” she called down over the piazza railing.

The native woman came up the piazza stairs on a pattering run.

“Why has everybody gone down to Smelter City to-night?  Is anything wrong?”

The Cree woman’s shawl had fallen back from her head.  She stood kneading her fingers in and out of her palms.  There was a strange wild look in the dark eyes and her breathing labored.  “It ees Moyese,” said Calamity slowly.  “He ‘xamin d’ mine t’-morrow.”

“Why, Calamity, that is perfect nonsense!  Moyese won’t examine the mine, at all!  This young fellow from Washington is the one to examine the mine?”

Calamity continued to knit her fingers in and out.  “All ’same,” she said, “Messieu Waylan’, he telephone Messieu MacDonal’ come ’mine help him t’-morrow!”

“Telephone my father?  Why, how could he?  I have been right here, Calamity?”

“You go see Missy Villam, leetle gurl,” explained Calamity.  “Messieu Waylan’ he ride down hog back trail woods all night, ’lone!  He ring ting—­ling—­says he go ’samin mine.”

Then, the child’s babble, the looks of the two at the Cabin, her father’s wistful face, the quick departure of Matthews and himself, followed almost immediately by Moyese’s motor, confirmed Calamity’s incoherent account.  Eleanor ran out to the telephone in the living room, and rang for the Ranger’s Cabin.  There was no answer on the local circuit, and Central at Smelter City could only say “They don’t answer!  Try local!”

Yet why should she feel such alarm?  Had he not gone down to the Desert, and come back, and she had not known fear?  Was the fear for her father?  Was it her father’s wistful look?  What could she do?  Would he wish her to do anything?  This, too, was on the Firing Line, but reason how she would, she could not subdue her fears, nor keep the tremor from her hands as she ran back to the bed room dimly lighted by the candle above the desk at the head of the bed.