With his mirror, the man on Granite Peak answered and the girl, watching and understanding that he was communicating with some one, saw his face grow dark with anger.  She did not speak.

They had traveled a half mile, perhaps, from the peak, when the man again stopped, saying, “You must dismount here, please.”

Removing the things from the saddle, he led the horse a little way down the Galena Valley side of the ridge, and tied the reins to a tree.  Then, slapping the animal about the head with his open hand, he forced the horse to break the reins, and started him off toward the distant valley.  Again, the girl understood and made no comment.

Lifting the pack to his own strong shoulders, her companion—­his eyes avoiding hers in shame—­said gruffly, “Come.”

Their way, now, led down from the higher levels of peak and ridge, into the canyons and gorges of the Cold Water country.  There was no trail, but the man went forward as one entirely at home.  At the head of a deep gorge, where their way seemed barred by the face of an impossible cliff that towered above their heads a thousand feet and dropped, another thousand, sheer to the tops of the pines below, he halted and faced the girl, enquiringly.  “You have a good head, Miss Andres?”

Sibyl smiled.  “I was born in the mountains, Mr. Marston,” she answered.  “You need not fear for me.”

Drawing near to the very brink of the precipice, he led her, by a narrow ledge, across the face of the cliff; and then, by an easier path, down the opposite wall of the gorge.

It was late in the afternoon when they arrived at a little log cabin that was so hidden in the wild tangle of mountain growth at the bottom of the narrow canyon as to be invisible from a distance of a hundred yards.

The girl knew that they had reached the end of their journey.  Nearly exhausted by the hours of physical exertion, and worn with the mental and nervous strain, she sank down upon the blankets that her companion spread for her upon the ground.

“As soon as it is dark, I will cook a hot supper for you,” he said, regarding her kindly.  “Poor child, this has been a hard, hard, day for you.  For me—­”

Fighting to keep back the tears, she tried to thank him.  For a moment he stood looking down at her.  Then she saw his face grow black with rage, and, clenching his great fists, he turned away.

While waiting for the darkness that would hide the smoke of the fire, the man gathered cedar boughs from trees near-by, and made a comfortable bed in the cabin, for the girl.  As soon as it was dark, he built a fire in the rude fire-place, and, in a few minutes, announced supper.  The meal was really excellent; and Sibyl, in spite of her situation, ate heartily; which won an admiring comment from her captor.

The meal finished, he said awkwardly, “I want to thank you, Miss Andres, for making this day as easy for me as you have.  We will be alone here, until Friday, at least; perhaps longer.  There is a bar to the cabin door.  You may rest here as safely as though you were in your own room.  Good night.”