He saw virtually nothing of Brodie.  Now and then smoke from a camp-fire; once or twice the charred coals where Brodie’s men had been before him.  Upon these camp sites he looked contemptuously; carelessness and wastefulness were two things he hated in a woodsman, and always he found them in Brodie’s wake.  Also he found bottles.  Further, he was of the opinion that he could go in the dark to the particular canon in which the illicit still made its output of bad moonshine whiskey.  But, though that canon lay in the heart of the country he was combing over, it was one which he had explored from top to bottom two years ago, and now was content to leave aside.

One day he came upon signs of a killing made the day before; by one of Brodie’s outfit, he assumed.  Some one had baited for a bear and had killed.  The mother bear, he discovered the following morning.  For he came upon a little brown cub whimpering dismally.  King made the rebellious little fellow an unwilling captive—­and smiled as he thought of Gloria.  Gloria had talked of bear cubs.  If she but had one for a pet!  Well, here was Gloria’s pet.  King that day turned toward the log house.  And thus he received at last Gloria’s note at Jim Spalding’s hands: 

    “DEAR MARK,

“Mamma and I have to go back to town to-morrow.  I am so sorry that I can’t stay up here always and always.  Do you realize that I have never seen you in the city?  It’s lots of fun, too, in its own way, don’t you think?  Another kind of a wilderness.  I wonder if you would come down—­if I asked you to?  I’ll say it very nicely and properly, like this:  ’Miss Gloria Gaynor requests the pleasure of Mr. Mark King’s presence at her little birthday-party, on the evening of August twelfth, at eight o’clock.’  Just the four of us, Mark; mamma and papa, you and

    “GLORIA.”

“August twelfth,” said King.  “I’ll go.”

He didn’t write, as the necessity of an answer did not suggest itself to him.  He took it for granted that she would know that he would come.  He chuckled as he thought of the birthday gift he would bring her.  There was still a week; he remained with Spalding at the Gaynor mountain home and devoted hour after hour to taming the cub.  On the eleventh he was in San Francisco.  Before he had taken a taxi at the Ferry Building it had dawned on him that his best suit of clothes was somewhat outworn.  It would never do to go to the Gaynors’ in that.  Nor was there time for a tailor.  Therefore he went direct to a clothing-store in Market Street and in something less than half an hour had bought suit, hat, shoes, socks, shirt, collar, and tie.

“I can have the alterations made by to-morrow afternoon,” said the salesman.

“What alterations?” demanded King, turning before the long glass and staring at his new finery.

“The coat is a trifle tight just here—­the trousers——­”

King laughed.