hes, Hazel realized more profoundly the blackness of a cloudy night
in the woods. Until her eyes accustomed themselves to the transition
from firelight to the gloom, she could see nothing but vague shapes
that she knew to be the horses, and another dim, moving object that was
Bill Wagstaff. Beyond that the inky canopy above and the forest
surrounding seemed a solid wall.

"It's going to be nasty traveling, Miss Weir," Roaring Bill spoke at
her elbow. "I'll walk and lead the packs. You ride Silk. He's
gentle. All you have to do is sit still, and he'll stay right behind
the packs. I'll help you mount."

If Hazel had still been inclined to insist on walking, she had no
chance to debate the question. Bill took her by the arm and led her up
beside the horse. It was a unique experience for her, this being
compelled to do things. No man had ever issued ultimatums to her.
Even Jack Barrow, with all an accepted lover's privileges, had never
calmly told her that she must do thus and so, and acted on the
supposition that his word was final. But here was Roaring Bill
Wagstaff telling her how to put her foot in the stirrup, putting her
for the first time in her life astride a horse, warning her to duck low
branches. In his mind there seemed to be no question as whether or not
she would ride. He had settled that.

Unused to mounting, she blundered at the first attempt, and flushed in
the dark at Bill's amused chuckle. The next instant he caught her
under the arms, and, with the leverage of her one foot in the stirrup,
set her gently in the seat of the saddle.

"You're such a little person," he said, "these stirrups are a mile too
long. Put your feet in the leather above--so. Now play follow your
leader. Give Silk his head."

He moved away. The blurred shapes of the pack horses forged ahead,
rustling in the dry grass, dry twigs snapping under foot. Obedient to
Bill's command, she let the reins dangle, and Silk followed close
behind his mates. Hazel lurched unsteadily at first, but presently she
caught the swinging motion and could maintain her balance without
holding stiffly to the saddle horn.

They crossed the small meadow and plunged into thick woods again. For
the greater part of the way Hazel could see nothing; she could tell
that Wagstaff and the pack horses moved before her by the sounds of
their progress, and that was all. Now and then low-hanging limbs
reached suddenly out of the dark, and touched