was horrible.  Bram’s laugh—­the girl’s dead white face, and her smile!  He no longer asked himself who she was, and why she was there.  He was overwhelmed by the one appalling fact that she was here, and that the stricken soul crying out to him from the depths of those eyes that were like wonderful blue amethysts told him that Bram had made her pay the price.  His muscles hardened as he looked at the huge form bending over the stove.  It was a splendid opportunity.  A single leap and he would be at the outlaw’s throat.  With that advantage, in open combat, the struggle would at least be equal.

The girl must have guessed what was in his mind, for suddenly her fingers were clutching at his arm and she was pulling him away from the wolf-man, speaking to him in the language which he could not understand.  And then Bram turned from the stove, picked up a pail, and without looking at them left the cabin.  They could hear his laugh as he joined the wolves.

Again Philip’s conclusions toppled down about him like a thing made of blocks.  During the next few moments he knew that the girl was telling him that Bram had not harmed her.  She seemed almost hysterically anxious to make him understand this, and at last, seizing him by the hand, she drew him into the room beyond the curtained door.  Her meaning was quite as plain as words.  She was showing him what Bram had done for her.  He had made her this separate room by running a partition across the cabin, and in addition to this he had built a small lean-to outside the main wall entered through a narrow door made of saplings that were still green.  He noticed that the partition was also made of fresh timber.  Except for the bunk built against the wall, a crude chair, a sapling table and half a dozen bear skins that carpeted the floor the room was empty.  A few garments hung on the wall—­a hood made of fur, a thick mackinaw coat belted at the waist with a red scarf, and something done up in a small bundle.

“I guess—­I begin to get your meaning,” he said, looking straight into her shining blue eyes.  “You want to impress on me that I’m not to wring Bram Johnson’s neck when his back is turned, or at any other time, and you want me to believe that he hasn’t done you any harm.  And yet you’re afraid to the bottom of your soul.  I know it.  A little while ago your face was as white as chalk, and now—­ now—­it’s the prettiest face I’ve ever seen.  Now, see here, little girl—­”

It gave him a pleasant thrill to see the glow in her eyes and the eager poise of her slim, beautiful body as she listened to him.