THE general shock of horror caused by the San Francisco disaster was intensified at Encampment when the news ran round that three local people had been in the stricken city at the moment of the earthquake shock which had laid the business centre in ruins and prepared the way for the subsequent far-sweeping conflagration. No telegram came from either the Holdens or Roderick Warfield, and their silence, their failure to relieve the anxiety of the friends they must have known were deeply concerned about their safety, could only cause ominous conjectures as to their fate. There was no possibility of reaching them by wire, for the Palace Hotel, the only known address, had been one of the first buildings destroyed.

But Buell Hampton did not wait for telegrams to reach him. He had no sooner been apprised of the catastrophe than he was on his way to Rawlins, hiring a special conveyance on the mere off-chance that railway schedules would have been disarranged and a train might be caught at any moment. In this he showed his usual good judgment for within an hour of reaching the station he was on board a belated limited, in which he had the further good fortune to find one solitary sleeping berth unoccupied. The train was loaded with returning San Francisco people who had been absent when their homes had been swept away, anxious friends of sufferers, doctors, nurses, relief workers of every kind, newspaper men, all hurrying to the scene of sorrow and suffering.

It was on the morning of the fifth day after the earthquake that Buell Hampton, provided with a special permit, at last found himself amid the ruins of San Francisco. Many buildings were still burning or smoldering, but the area of destruction was now defined and the spread of the flames checked. With saddened heart the Major picked his way along what once had been Market Street but was now a long mound of fallen stones, bricks, and mortar lined by the skeletons of lofty iron-framed buildings. Here the work of clearing away the debris in search of victims was in progress. But any inquiries of those actively engaged in these operations were useless. Buell Hampton passed on.

Suddenly he came upon the bread line, a wonderful sight—a long row of people of all sorts and conditions, the rich, the poor, the educated, the ignorant, the well dressed, the tattered, ranged in single file and marching slowly past the commissary to receive a supply of provisions for their own famishing selves or for their destitute families. Buell Hampton scanned each face; neither General Holden nor Roderick were in the line, nor was there any sign of Gail.

Then he began a systematic visitation of the refuge camps that had been formed around the bumed-out area. The remainder of that first day he spent in Golden Gate Park. It was not until the succeeding afternoon that he found himself in the crowded tent city out on the Presidio. Here at last his patient and persistent efforts were rewarded. He caught sight of Gail seated near the door of a tiny tent-house and strode eagerly forward to greet her. In his deep emotion he folded the young girl to his breast, and she in turn clung to him in her joy of meeting at last a dear friend from home.

“Where is your father?” was the Major’s first inquiry.

“He is safe. We have this little tent, and I am nursing him. His right arm was broken in the street accident, but immediately after the fire began all the hospital patients were removed to open places, and here I found him, thank God, the very first evening. You see, my uncle’s house was burned. He is quartered across the bay at Oakland.”

“Your head is bandaged, Gail. Were you badly hurt?”

“Oh, that was nothing,” she replied, pulling off the narrow band of linen that encircled her brow. “Just a little scalp wound when I fell, and it is quite healed now. But, oh, I remember so little about the terrible disaster—how I got out of the Palace Hotel at all.”

“And Roderick—where is Roderick?” asked Buell Hampton.

Gail’s eyes opened wide—with wonder, then with fear.

“Roderick, Roderick!” she exclaimed in a trembling voice. “Then it was not a dream?”

“What dream?”

“That it was he who carried me out of the hotel building and to the veranda of the house where he laid me on a cot and kind friends bathed my wound.”

“No dream, this. It was Roderick for certain. He followed you on the next train to San Francisco—intending to go straight to the Palace Hotel.”

“Followed me? Why did he follow me?”

“To render you help when your father was hurt—because he loves you—of course, you must have divined how deeply he loves you.”

The color rose slowly to Gail’s face. But there was fear still in her eyes. She pressed her clasped hands to her breast.

“Then where is he now?” she asked in a tense whisper.

“That is what I want to know—I have been seeking both you and him. When did you meet last?”

“Five days ago. After saving me he rushed straight away to seek for Papa. I came to believe that it was all a dream. For I have not seen him since. Oh, he must have been hurt—he may have been killed.” And burying her face in her hands she burst into tears.

Buell Hampton laid a kindly hand on her shoulder. “Come, my dear, we can do no good by giving way to weeping. I have been through many of the refuge camps, and I shall go right on searching now. You see there are thousands of people in these Presidio grounds. He may be within a stone’s throw of us here at this very moment.”

“Oh, let me help you.” With a hand she dashed away her tears, and stood before him now, calm and resolute. “I will come with you right now. I need no hat or anything.”

“But your father?”

“He is all right He is resting quite peacefully. Just spare one moment, please. Come in and shake hands. He will be so happy to see you.”

She led the way to the tent door and parted the awning. Buell Hampton entered and warmly greeted General Holden. But he told him he could not linger, for Roderick must be found.

During the remaining hours of daylight the Major and Gail searched along row after row of tents. But Roderick remained undiscovered—no one had ever heard his name or could remember having seen anyone answering to the description given. Reluctantly Buell Hampton quitted the quest and led Gail back to her own place of refuge.

“I am sleeping at Berkeley,” he explained. “It is best that we should both have our night’s rest. But I shall be back here for you soon after daybreak, and if you can engage someone to watch by your father we shall search together all day long. Will that suit, you, Gail?”

“Oh, you are so kind taking me,” she replied, resting her hands on his shoulders, tears of gratitude in the eyes that looked up into his. “It would break my heart not to be with you.”

“I would not rob you of love’s sweet duty,” he replied as he stooped and gently kissed her on the brow.

Another day went by, but still their efforts were unrewarded. On the following morning they started for the Seal House, to search the many improvised hospitals which they had learned were located there. The first place they entered was an immense tent with two or three hundred cots ranged in crowded rows.

As Buell Hampton and Gail walked down the long central aisle, each took one side to scan the physiognomies of the poor sufferers, some moaning in delirium, others with quiet pale faces that lighted up to return the smile of sympathy and encouragement Presently, the Major who was walking a few feet in advance heard an exclamation of joy, and turning quickly saw Gail Holden kneeling at the side of a cot There was a bewildered look on the face of the patient—a lean drawn face, pallid beneath the tan, the chin stubbled with a beard of a few days’ growth, the forehead swathed in bandages, one cheek scored with a healing scar. Gail had taken one of his hands in both her own. He looked from Gail to Major Hampton and then from the Major back to Gail.

“Is this a vision?” he asked feebly, as if doubting his senses.

“Roderick, my dear fellow, is it really you?” exclaimed the Major, as he bent down over him. “For days we have been hunting for you. And now we’ve found your hotel”—he glanced around with a little smile—“we don’t propose to lose sight of you again.”

Loosening his hand from Gail’s and taking both of hers in his own and smiling feebly, Roderick said: “Really, Gail, I hardly know yet whether you are actually here or I am dreaming. You looked pretty white that day I carried you from the hotel.”

“There is no dream about me, Roderick,” replied Gail brightly. “We are going to take care of you, Major Hampton and myself, just as you so kindly looked after poor little me.”

At this moment a nurse approached: “So your friends have found you, Mr. Warfield?” she said with a cheerful smile.

“Yes,” replied Roderick, “the very best friends I have in all the world.” As he spoke Gail felt the gentle pressure of his hand.

“Is this your ward?” inquired the Major of the nurse.

“Yes, I have had charge of it ever since this makeshift hospital was put up.”

“Well, how is the patient, our friend Mr. Warfield?”

“He had received a pretty ugly cut—a falling piece of wood or something of that sort—on the top and side of his head—a sort of glancing bruise. But he is getting on very well now. We have his fever under control. For a number of days he was very flighty and talked a great deal about Major Hampton.”

“I am honored,” said the Major, bowing.

“Oh, you are Major Hampton?”

“Yes,” said Gail, “Major Buell Hampton is Mr. Warfield’s best friend—that is, one of the best.” And she looked quickly at Roderick.

“How fortunate that you have come when he is convalescing. But tell me,” asked the nurse, “who is Gail? In his delirium he talked a great deal about her.”

Roderick’s face flushed, and Gail with rising color immediately changed the subject by asking: “How soon would it be safe to have the patient removed?”

“Oh, perhaps tomorrow or the next day. The doctor says he is now quite out of danger—the fever is practically gone.”

At Roderick’s request he was propped up on his little white iron hospital cot, chairs were brought, and until far on in the afternoon Gail and the Major sat on either side, conversing in quiet, subdued tones, relating incidents in the terrible disaster, planning for their early return to Wyoming just as soon as Gail’s father and Roderick himself could stand the journey.

A couple of days later Buell Hampton and Gail arrived at the hospital in an automobile, and carried Roderick away to a yacht anchored in the bay that had been placed at their disposal. Here Roderick found General Holden already installed in a comfortable deck chair, and he was introduced by Gail to her Uncle Edward, a hale old gentleman bearing a striking resemblance to his brother. The General looked fit even if he did carry his right arm in a sling, Roderick although weak from loss of blood was able to walk, and both could well congratulate each other on their providential escape.

“We are not going to talk about these awful times,” said the General as he gave Roderick his left hand and returned the cordial pressure. “But I have to thank you for saving our dear Gail. We all fully realize that without your brave and timely help we would not have her with us today.”

“Nonsense,” protested Roderick. “Somebody else would have done what I did. I was just happy and lucky in having the privilege.”

“God bless you!” murmured the father, again pressing the hand which he had not yet relinquished.

“And so say I,” exclaimed the uncle. “We could not do without our little Gail.” And he patted her cheek affectionately.

There followed a week of blissful rest and happy companionship, at the end of which it would have been a hollow mockery to pretend in the case of either invalid that any more nursing or lolling in long chairs was required. Railroad accommodations were secured for the morrow.