en rode on, leaving
him behind to dress and pack the meat. The only other halt made was at
the crossing of the first water, a clear, swift brook, where both horses
and men drank thirstily. Here Burt caught up with his comrades.

They traversed glade and park, and wended a crooked trail through the
deepening forest, and climbed, bench after bench, to higher ground,
while the sun sloped to the westward, lower and redder. Sunset had gone,
and twilight was momentarily brightening to the afterglow when Anson,
breaking his silence of the afternoon, ordered a halt.

The place was wild, dismal, a shallow vale between dark slopes of
spruce. Grass, fire-wood, and water were there in abundance. All the
men were off, throwing saddles and packs, before the tired girl made an
effort to get down. Riggs, observing her, made a not ungentle move to
pull her off. She gave him a sounding slap with her gloved hand.

"Keep your paws to yourself," she said. No evidence of exhaustion was
there in her spirit.

Wilson had observed this by-play, but Anson had not.

"What come off?" he asked.

"Wal, the Honorable Gunman Riggs jest got caressed by the lady--as he
was doin' the elegant," replied Moze, who stood nearest.

"Jim, was you watchin'?" queried Anson. His curiosity had held through
the afternoon.

"He tried to yank her off an' she biffed him," replied Wilson.

"That Riggs is jest daffy or plain locoed," said Snake, in an aside to
Moze.

"Boss, you mean plain cussed. Mark my words, he'll hoodoo this outfit.
Jim was figgerin' correct."

"Hoodoo--" cursed Anson, under his breath.

Many hands made quick work. In a few moments a fire was burning
brightly, water was boiling, pots were steaming, the odor of venison
permeated the cool air. The girl had at last slipped off her saddle to
the ground, where she sat while Riggs led the horse away. She sat there
apparently forgotten, a pathetic droop to her head.

Wilson had taken an ax and was vigorously wielding it among the spruces.
One by one they fell with swish and soft crash. Then the sliding ring
of the ax told how he was slicing off the branches with long sweeps.
Presently he appeared in the semi-darkness, dragging half-trimmed
spruces behind him. He made several trips, the last of which was to
stagger under a huge burden of spruce boughs. These he spread under a
low, projecting branch of an aspen. Then he leaned the bushy spruces
slantingly against this branch on both sides, qui