hange. The man
who can't do that must suffer. He may even perish. And to cling to
life is the prime law. That's why it is a fundamental instinct that
makes a man want to run when he can no longer fight."

Hollister said nothing. He was always a good listener. He preferred to
hear what other men said, to weigh their words, rather than pour out
his own ideas. Lawanne sometimes liked to talk at great length, to
assume the oracular vein, to analyze actions and situations, to put
his finger on a particular motive and trace its origin, its most
remote causation. Mills seldom talked. It was strange to hear him
speak as he did now, to Lawanne.

Mills walked back through the flat with Hollister. They trudged
silently through the soft, new snow, the fresh fall which had enabled
Hollister to track and kill the big deer early that morning. The sun
was setting. Its last beam struck flashing on the white hills. The
back of the winter was broken, the March storms nearly at an end. In a
little while now, Hollister thought, the buds would be bursting, there
would be a new feel in the air, new fragrant smells arising in the
forest, spring freshets in the rivers, the wild duck flying north.
Time was on the wing, in ceaseless flight.

Mills broke into his reflections.

"Come up in the morning, will you, and check in what cedar I have
piled? I'm going to pull out."

"All right." Hollister looked his surprise at the abrupt decision.
"I'm sorry you're going."

Mills walked a few paces.

"Maybe it won't do me any good," he said. "I wonder if Lawanne is
right? It just struck me that he is. Anyway, I'm going to try his
recipe. Maybe I can kid myself into thinking everything's jake, that
the world's a fine sort of place and everything is always lovely. If I
could just myself think that--maybe a change of scenery will do the
trick. Lawanne's clever, isn't he? Nothing would fool him very long."

"I don't know," Hollister said. "Lawanne's a man with a pretty keen
mind and a lively imagination. He's more interested in why people do
things than in what they do. But I dare say he might fool himself as
well as the rest of us. For we all do, now and then."

"I guess it's the way a man's made," Mills reflected. "But it's rather
a new idea that a man can sort of make himself over if he puts his
mind to it. Still, it sounds reasonable. I'm going to give it a try.
I've got to."

But he did not say why he must. Nor did Hollister ask him. He thoug