After confiding his immediate future to the subjugated Martin—­having forced him to cover at the point of a pistol—­Burke, with his big, wholesome laugh, crawled again out of the cave.  Then, raising himself to his full height, he strode over the sodden trail toward White’s cabin with the lightest, purest heart he had carried for many a day.  But Fate had an ugly trick in store for him.  He was half way to White’s when he heard steps.  Habit was strong.  He promptly climbed a tree.  The moon came out just then and disclosed the follower.  “Blake’s dawg,” muttered Lawson and, as the big hound took his stand under the tree, he understood matters.  Blake was his worst enemy; he had a score to settle about the revenue men and a term in jail for which Lawson was responsible.  While the general hunt was on, Blake had entered in, thinking to square things, while not bringing himself into too much prominence.

“Yo’ infernal critter!” murmured Lawson, “in another minute you’ll howl, yo’ po’ brute.  I hate ter shoot yo’—­yo’ being what yo’ are—­but here goes.”

After that White’s was impossible for a time and Nella-Rose must wait.  In a day or so, probably—­so Burke quickly considered—­he could make a dash back, get White to help him, and bear off his prize, but for the moment the sooner he reached safety beyond the ridge, the better.  Shooting a dog was no light matter.

Lawson reached safety but with a broken leg; for, going down-stream, he had met with misfortune and, during that long, hard winter, unable to fend for himself, he was safely hidden by a timely friend and served by a doctor who was smuggled to the scene and well paid for his help and silence.

And in Lois Ann’s cabin Nella-Rose waited, at first with serene hope, and then, with pitiful longing.  She and the old woman never referred to the conversation of the first night but the girl was sure she was being watched and shielded and she felt the doubt and scorn in the attitude of Lois Ann.

“I’ll—­I’ll send for my man,” at last she desperately decided at the end of the second week.  But she dared not risk a journey to the far station in order to send a telegram.  So she watched for a chance to send a letter that she had carefully and painfully written.

     “I’m to Miss Lois Ann’s in Devil-may-come Hollow.  I’m trusting and
     loving you, but Miss Lois Ann—­don’t believe!  So please, Mister Man
     come and tell her and then go back and I will wait—­most truly

     Your Nella-Rose.”

then she crossed the name out and scribbled “Your doney-gal.”

It was early in the third week that Bill Trim came whistling down the trail, on a cold, bitterly cold, November morning.  He bore a load of “grateful gifts” to Lois Ann from men and women whom she had succoured in times of need and who always remembered her, practically, when winter “set.”