sense of riding up into a new, untroubled life that could hold no shred of that from which he had fled.  His mother, stately in her silks and a serenely unapproachable manner, which seemed always to say to her son that she was preoccupied with her own affairs, and that her affairs were vastly more important than his youthful interests and problems, swam vaguely before his consciousness, veiled by the swift passing of events and the abrupt change from city to unspoiled wilderness.

When his companion stopped to let the horses “get their wind,” Jack would turn in the saddle and look back over the network of gulches and deep canyons to where the valley peeped up at him shyly through the trees, and would think that every step made him that much safer.  He did not face calmly the terror from which he had fled.  Still mentally breathless from the very unexpectedness of the catastrophe, he shrank from the thought of it as if thinking would betray him.  He had not so far concerned himself with his future, except as it held the possibility of discovery.  So he quizzed his companion and got him talking about the mountains over which he was to play guardian angel.

He heard a good deal about hunting and fishing; and when they climbed a little higher, Hank Brown pointed out to him where a bear and two half grown cubs had been killed the fall before.  He ought to have a rifle, said Hank.  There was always the chance that he might get a shot at a bear; and as for deer, the woods were full of them.  Then he told more stories and pointed out the very localities where the incidents had occurred.

“See that rocky peak over there?  That’s where the bears hole up in the winter.  Network of caves, up there.  King Solomon’s the name the people that live here call it—­but it’s down on the map as Grizzly Peak.  Ain’t any grizzlies, though—­black bear mostly.  They’re smaller and they ain’t so fighty.”

It was on the tip of Jack’s tongue to observe that a man might hide out here for months and months and never be seen, much less caught; but he checked himself, and remarked only that he would certainly have to get a gun.  He would like, he declared, to take home some good heads, and maybe a bear skin or two.  He forced himself to speak of home in the careless tone of one who has nothing to hide, but the words left an ache in his throat and a dull heaviness in his chest.

Hank Brown went on talking and saw nothing wrong with his mood.  Indeed, he never saw anything wrong with a man who would listen to Hank’s hunting and fishing stories and not bore him with stories of his own prowess.  Wherefore, Jack was left alone in peace to fight the sudden, nauseating wave of homesickness, and in a little while found himself listening to the steady monotone of Hank Brown’s voice.

So, they came to a tiny, sunken meadow, one side of which was fenced with poles, rimmed round with hills set thick with heavy timber.  On the farther side of the meadow, almost hidden from sight, was a square log cabin, solid, gloomily shaded and staring empty-eyed at a tiny, clear stream where the horses scared an eight-inch trout out of a pool when they lowered eager noses to drink thirstily.