She thought that he had finished.  But presently, in the same strangely quiet voice, he continued:  “I may even be gone all night.  If I am it will be because I am playing the last card....  You have said that you would rather be dead than go with me.  I believe you meant that.”  Again he paused.  Gloria did not again lift her eyes from the fire; did not speak.  King sighed and did not know that he had done so.  “If I don’t get back to-morrow night it will be because I am trying to break through to civilization.  I’ll outfit a party and send them in for you.  I’ll get through some way in two days; I’ll get help back to you in another two or three at latest.  You have food here to keep you alive a week, if you spin it out.”

Long before he had gotten to the end of his slow speech her heart was beating wildly.  The old fears surged back on her, crushing her.  To be left here alone four or five days—­and nights!  It was unendurable!  She would be dead.

“You have your choice,” he went on, his voice grown still more gentle.  “If you will let me help you—­”

But, even while in the silence that followed she heard the rapid beating of her own heart, something stronger, more stubborn, than the Gloria of another day kept her silent.

And still he had not finished.

“Before I go I am going to do all that I can to wall up the mouth of the cave.  It will make it warmer in here and—­and there will be less danger of any one finding the place.  You threatened once to go to those other men; no matter what happens, you must not do that.  You don’t quite understand what some men are.  These happen to be the worst of a bad crowd that ever got into these mountains.  They respect neither God nor man—­nor woman.  They are in an ugly mood; they probably have more bootleg whiskey with them than food; I did not tell you, but I looked in on their camp and saw one of them, a dope fiend named Benny Rudge, shoot one of his own friends dead, suspecting him of having stolen a side of bacon.  You would be better dead, too, than in their hands.  Never forget that.  They don’t know if they’ll ever get out of this alive; they are desperate devils.

“But with the cave walled up, they won’t find you.  If the worst should happen and they came here, still you could hide.  I’ll show you the place, far back in the cave.  You could run there with your blankets and food; you could stay there, never moving.  No man could find you there.  They would see where we had been here, but they would have to decide in the end that we had gone, both of us.

“I’ll bring you plenty of wood; I am going to make a pair of snow-shoes of a sort for me; I’ll make a pair for you.  I hope you won’t need them.”  He ran his hand across his brow but continued in a moment, his voice unchanged:  “I’ll go out before daylight in the morning; it will take me all that is left of to-day to do what must be done first.”

He turned then and went about his work.  She went back to the place by the fire, terribly moved, agitated to the depths of her soul, torn this way and that.  But one steady fire burned in her bosom—­the newly kindled white flame of her resentment.  Just yonder, where he had hurled it, a grim reminder, lay the rope.