They spoke of him further as "the
Englishman." There was a lot of other local knowledge bestowed upon
Hollister, but "the Englishman" and his wife--who was a "pippin" for
looks--were still in the forefront of his mind when the trail led him
out on the river bank a few hundred yards from their house. He passed
within forty feet of the door. Bland was chopping wood; Myra sat on a
log, her tawny hair gleaming in the sun. Bland bestowed upon Hollister
only a casual glance, as he strode past, and went on swinging his axe;
and Hollister looking impersonally at the woman, observed that she
stared with frank curiosity. He remembered that trait of hers. He had
often teased her about it in those days when it had been an impossible
conception that she could ever regard seriously any man but himself.
Men had always been sure of a very complete survey when they came
within Myra's range, and men had always fluttered about her like moths
drawn to a candle flame. She had that mysterious quality of attracting
men, pleasing them--and of making other girls hate her in the same
degree. She used to laugh about that.

"I can't help it if I'm popular," she used to say, with a mischievous
smile, and Hollister had fondly agreed with that. He remembered that
it flattered his vanity to have other men admire his wife. He had been
so sure of her affections, her loyalty, but that had passed like
melting snow, like dew under the morning sun. A little loneliness, a
few months of separation, had done the trick.

Hollister shrugged his shoulders. He had no feeling in the matter. She
could not possibly know him; she would not wish to know him if she
could. His problems were nowise related to her. But he knew too much
to be completely indifferent. His mind kept turning upon what her life
had been, and what it must be now. He was curious. What had become of
the money? Why did she and her English husband bury themselves in a
rude shack by a river that whispered down a lonely valley?

Hollister's mind thrust these people aside, put them out of
consideration, when he reached the flat and found his canoe where he
left it, his tiny silk tent suspended intact from the limb. He ranged
about the flat for an hour or so. He had an impression of it in his
mind from his winter camp there; also he had a description of it from
Doris, and her picture was clearer and more exact in detail than his.
He found the little falls that trickled down to a small creek that
spli