felt
that he needed to be alone for a time to clear his mind. He left Stevens,
promising to return later to share a couple of blankets and a part of his
tepee, for he was determined to keep his promise to Joanne, and not return
to his own cabin, even though Quade had left Miette. He followed a moonlit
trail along the river to an abandoned surveyors' camp, knowing that he
would meet no one, and that in this direction he would have plenty of
unbroken quiet in which to get some sort of order out of the chaotic tangle
of events through which he had passed that day.

Aldous had employed a certain amount of caution, but until he had talked
with Stevens he had not believed that Quade, in his twofold desire to
avenge himself and possess Joanne, would go to the extraordinary ends
predicted by the packer. His point of view was now entirely changed. He
believed Stevens. He knew the man was not excitable. He was one of the
coolest heads in the mountains. And he had abundant nerve. Thought of
Stimson and Stimson's wife had sent the hot blood through Aldous like fire.
Was Stevens right in that detail? And was Quade actually planning the same
end for him and Joanne? Why had Quade stolen on ahead to Tete Jaune? Why
had he not waited for to-morrow's train?

He found himself walking swiftly along the road, where he had intended to
walk slowly--a hundred questions pounding through his brain. Suddenly a
thought came to him that stopped him in the trail, his unseeing eyes
staring down into the dark chasm of the river. After all, was it so strange
that Quade would do these things? Into his own life Joanne had come like a
wonderful dream-creature transformed into flesh and blood. He no longer
tried to evade the fact that he could not think without thinking of Joanne.
She had become a part of him. She had made him forget everything but her,
and in a few hours had sent into the dust of ruin his cynicism and
aloneness of a lifetime. If Joanne had come to him like this, making him
forget his work, filling him more and more with the thrilling desire to
fight for her, was it so very strange that a beast like Quade would
fight--in another way?

He went on down the trail, his hands clenched tightly. After all, it was
not fear of Quade or of what he might attempt that filled him with
uneasiness. It was Joanne herself, her strange quest, its final outcome.
With the thought that she was seeking for the man who was her husband, a
leaden hand seemed gr