for his cabin after that
first day and night in the scrub timber. The storm was still a thing of
terrific force out on the barren, but in the timber he was fairly well
sheltered. He was convinced the police patrol would find his cabin very
soon after the storm had worn itself out. Porter and Tavish did not
trouble him. But from Breault he knew there was no getting away.
Breault would nose out his cabin. And for that reason he was determined
to reach it first.

The second night he did not sleep. His mind was a wild thing--wild as a
_Loup-Garou_ seeking out its ghostly trails; it passed beyond his
mastery, keeping sleep away from him though he was dead tired. It
carried him back over all the steps of his outlawry, visioning for him
the score of times he had escaped, as he was narrowly escaping now; and
it pictured for him, like a creature of inquisition, the tightening net
ahead of him, the final futility of all his effort. And at last, as if
moved by pity to ease his suffering a little, it brought him back
vividly to the green valley, the flowers and the blue skies of Cragg's
Ridge--and Nada.

It was like a dream. At times he could scarcely assure himself that he
had actually lived those weeks and months of happiness down on the edge
of civilization; it seemed impossible that Nada had come like an Angel
into his life down there, and that she had loved him, even when he
confessed himself a fugitive from the law and had entreated him to take
her with him. He closed his eyes and that last roaring night of storm
at Cragg's Ridge was about him again. He was in the little old
Missioner's cabin, with thunder and lightning rending earth and sky
outside and Nada was in his arms, her lips against his, the piteous
heartbreak of despair in her eyes. Then he saw her--a moment later--a
crumpled heap down beside the chair, the disheveled glory of her hair
hiding her white face from him as he hesitated for a single instant
before opening the door and plunging out into the night.

With a cry he sprang up, dashing the vision from him, and threw fresh
fuel on the fire. And he cried out the same old thought to Peter.

"It would have been murder for us to bring her, _Pied-Bot_. It would have
been murder!"

He looked about him at the swirling chaos outside the rim of light made
by his fire and listened to the moaning of the wind over the treetops.
Beyond the circle of light the dry snow, which crunched like sand under
his feet, was lost