come this way, up the gorge, it will be hard for them to see it from below....  Even if they should find it, I can show her where to hide.  Way in the back.  There’s a place there....  I can get out in two days; back in two days.  Somehow.  Allow five days to cover accidents.  Five days; she can stick it out five days.  If I don’t take a scrap of her food away from her....  Oh, I can make it; it is up to me to make it.  I’ll get a fish sooner or later—­or a rabbit....  A man can eat his boots.”

* * * * *

After a long time he went back to the cave.  He knew now just what he would do, since it had become clear to him that there was but one thing to be done.  Gloria faced him as he came in; she marked how he walked, like a very tired man.  Her head was up, there were spots of colour in her cheeks; in her eyes was a new look.  She had found herself.  Or she was finding herself?  Her spirit had risen undaunted in a crisis; in a clash of wills hers had not gone down before his.  Rather it had been hers that had triumphed.  She might know fear again, but the time was past and dead when she would bow meekly before a man’s bidding.  So she told herself, while with head erect she awaited his speech.

He began, saying very simply what he had decided must be said.  He did not swerve for the useless words “I am sorry.”  He knew that she did not expect them, would not answer them.  What he had done was monstrous and unpardonable; hence a man would not ask pardon.  By his own act they were set as far apart as two beings inhabiting two widely separate worlds.  It remained for him merely to instruct her concerning what she must do; then to find the way to bring her back safely to her father.  Thereafter?  There the haze crept in again; he would go away, far from the Sierra, far from California, to some corner of the world where no man who had ever known Mark King would see him again.  At that moment he could have died very gladly, just to know that she was once more among her own people, and that so far as he was concerned life was a game played out and ended.

Now that he spoke again, his voice was no longer harsh and stern, but gentle rather.  Gentle after a steady and matter-of-fact fashion that was infinitely aloof.  He could not know how impersonal his utterance sounded in her ears, since he did not fully realize how at the moment he held himself less an individual addressing another than as the mouthpiece of fate.

“The first thing in the morning,” he told her, “I am going over the ridge and to the headwaters of the other fork.  I have been thinking of that country a good deal; it’s a little far and hard going and I’ll burn up a lot of fuel making the trip, but I’ve got a hunch a bear’s in there.  The one that stampeded Buck may have circled around that way.  And I’m going to play every hunch I get, good and strong.  It will probably be dark before I get back.”