type of
man. But she had not once found him looking at her with the same
expression in his eyes that she had seen once over Jim Briggs' dining
table.

Night passed, and dawn ushered in a clearing sky. Ragged wisps of
clouds chased each other across the blue when they set out again.
Hazel walked the stiffness out of her muscles before she mounted. When
she did get on Silk, Roaring Bill increased his pace. He was
long-legged and light of foot, apparently tireless. She asked no
questions. What was the use? He would eventually come out somewhere.
She was resigned to wait.

After a time she began to puzzle, and the old uneasiness came back.
The last trailing banner of cloud vanished, and the sun rode clear in
an opal sky, smiling benignly down on the forested land. She was thus
enabled to locate the cardinal points of the compass. Wherefore she
took to gauging their course by the shadows. And the result was what
set her thinking. Over level and ridge and swampy hollow, Roaring Bill
drove straight north in an undeviating line. She recollected that the
point from which she had lost her way had lain northeast of Cariboo
Meadows. Even if they had swung in a circle, they could scarcely be
pointing for the town in that direction. For another hour Bill held to
the northern line as a needle holds to the pole. A swift rush of
misgiving seized her.

"Mr. Wagstaff!" she called sharply.

Roaring Bill stopped, and she rode Silk up past the pack horses.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded.

"Why, I'm taking you home--or trying to," he answered mildly.

"But you're going _north_," she declared. "You've been going north all
morning. I was north of Cariboo Meadows when I got lost. How can we
get back to Cariboo Meadows by going still farther north?"

"You're more of a woodsman than I imagined," Bill remarked gently. He
smiled up at her, and drew out his pipe and tobacco pouch.

She looked at him for a minute. "Do you know where we are now?" she
asked quietly.

He met her keen gaze calmly. "I do," he made laconic answer.

"Which way is Cariboo Meadows, then, and how far is it?" she demanded.

"General direction south," he replied slowly. "Fifty miles more or
less. Rather more than less."

"And you've been leading me straight north!" she cried. "Oh, what am I
going to do?"

"Keep right on going," Wagstaff answered.

"I won't--I won't!" she flashed. "I'll find my own way back. What
devilish im