uld be swift and
sure. When the morning broke he would come into his own again, with
never a chance for failure. One little glance along his rifle sights,
one quarter-ounce of pressure on the trigger,--and then he could
journey down to the Yuga and his squaw in happiness and safety. It
would be a hard march, but once there he could get supplies and return
to jump Bill's claim. Everything would turn out right for him after
all.

The fact that his confederates were slain mattered not one way or
another. Pete had gone out with a bullet through his lungs; Virginia
had dealt him that. Joe's neck had been broken when Bill had hurled him
against the cabin wall. But in a way, these things were an advantage.
There was sufficient food in the cabin for one meal for the three of
them, and that meant it was three meals for one. A day's rations,
carefully spent, would carry him the two day's march to the Yuga.
Besides, the breeds would not be present to claim their third of the
mine. He wondered why he hadn't handled the whole matter himself, in
the first place. He would have been fully capable, he thought. As to
Virginia,--he hadn't decided about Virginia yet. He didn't know of
her wound, or his security would have seemed all the more complete.
Virginia might yet listen to reason and accompany him down to the Yuga.
He had only to wait till dawn.

But Harold's thought was not entirely clear. The fury in his brain and
the madness in his blood distorted it,--just a little. Otherwise he
might have conceived of some error in his plans. He would have been a
little more careful, a little less sure. His insane and devastating
longing for vengeance, as well as his late drunkenness, cost him the
fine but essential edge of his self-mastery.

Slowly the stars faded, the first ghostly light came stealing from the
east. The blood began to leap once more in his veins. Already it was
almost light enough to shoot. Then his straining eyes saw Bill emerge
from the cabin.

Every nerve in his body seemed to jerk and thrill with renewed
excitement. Yet there wasn't a chance to shoot. The light was dim; the
shadows of the spruce trees hid the woodsman's figure swiftly. He was
gone; the cabin was left unoccupied except for Virginia. And for all
that she had shot so straight to save Bill's life, there was nothing to
fear from her. Her fury was passed by now; he thought he knew her well
enough to know that she wouldn't shoot him