into his own ambushes. And was it for the Wolf to care
what guiltless creatures fell before his fangs in the gaining of his
dreadful ends? Was the gratification of his hate to be turned aside
through pity for an innocent girl? Mercy and remorse were two things
that he had put from him. It was the way of the Wolf to pay no attention
to methods, only to achieve his own fierce desires. He stood lost in
dark and savage reverie.

"Good-by," the girl was saying. "I'll see you soon--"

He turned toward her, a smile at his lips. His voice held steady when he
spoke.

"It'll have to be soon, if at all," he replied. "I've got to really get
to work in a few days. How about a little picnic to-morrow--a grouse
hunt, say--on the other side of the river? It's going to be a beautiful
day--"

The girl's eyes shone, and the color rose again in her tanned cheeks.
"I'd think that would be very nice," she told him.

"Then I'll meet you here--at eight."

XVIII

Alone by the fire Ben had opportunity to balance one thing with another
and think out the full consequences of his plan. As far as he could
discern, it stood every test. It meant not only direct and indirect
vengeance upon Neilson and his followers; but it would also, past all
doubt, deliver them into his hands. That much was sure. When finally
they came to grips--if indeed they did not go down to a terrible death
before ever that time came--he would be prepared for them, with every
advantage of ground and fortress, able to combat them one by one and
shatter them from ambush. Best of all, they would know at whose hands,
and for what crime, they received their retribution.

One by one he checked the chances against him. First of all, he had to
face the great chance of failure and the consequent loss of his own
life. But there was even recompense in this. He would not die unavenged.
The blow that he would thereby deal to his enemies would be terrible
beyond any reckoning, but he would have no regrets.

There were two outstanding points in his favor, one of them being that
the river was rapidly falling. By the time a canoe could be built the
river would be wholly unnavigable. There were no canoes procurable in
Snowy Gulch, if indeed a lightning trip could be made there and back to
secure one, before the river fell. The conversation with the
frontiersman at the river bank brought out this fact. Lastly, a raft
could not live a moment in the rapids.

Very methodically he beg