. Hollister had watched him
swinging his ax on the woodpile, going off on those long tramps in the
bottom land. He might be within gunshot of the house at this moment.

Hollister found himself pitying this man. He found himself wondering
if it had always been that way with Myra, if she were the helpless
victim of her own senses. There were women like that. Plenty of them.
Men too. Sufferers from an overstimulated sexuality. He could not
doubt that. He suspected that he was touched with it himself.

What a muddle life was, Hollister reflected sadly, looking down from
the last opening before he plunged into the cedar grove that hid the
log cabin. Here, amid this wild beauty, this grandeur of mountain and
forest, this silent land virginal in its winter garment, human
passion, ancient as the hills themselves, functioned in the old, old
way.

But he did not expend much thought on mere generalizations. The
problem of Myra and her lovers was no longer his problem; their
passions and pains were not his. Hollister understood very clearly
that he had escaped an action that might have had far-reaching
consequences. He was concerned with his escape and also with the
possible recurrence of that strange obsession, or mood, or madness, or
whatever it was that had so warped his normal outlook that he could
harbor such thoughts and plan such deeds. He did not want to pass
through that furnace again.

He had had enough of the Toba Valley. No, he modified that. The valley
and the sentinel peaks that stood guard over it, the lowlands duskily
green and full of balsamy odors from the forest, was still a goodly
place to be. But old sins and sorrows and new, disturbing phases of
human passion were here at his elbow to dispel the restful peace he
had won for a little while. He must escape from that.

To go was not so simple as his coming. The river was frozen, that
watery highway closed. But he solved the problem by knowledge gained
in those casual wanderings along the ridge above the valley. He knew
a direct way of gaining the Inlet head on foot.

So he spent a last night before the fireplace, staring silently into
the dancing blaze, seeing strange visions in the glowing coals, lying
down to heavy, dreamless sleep at last in his bunk.

At daybreak he struck out westward along the great cliff that frowned
on the Big Bend, his blankets and a small emergency supply of food in
a bulky pack upon his shoulders. When the sheer face of the cli