t a gentleman," he said. "I'm just plain man. And lonesome
sometimes for a mate, as nature has ordained to be the way of flesh."

"Get a squaw, then," she sneered. "I've heard that such people as you
do that."

"Not me," he returned, unruffled. "I want a woman of my own kind."

"Heaven save _me_ from that classification!" she observed, with
emphasis on the pronoun.

"Yes?" he drawled. "Well, there's no profit in arguing that point.
Let's be getting on."

He reached for the lead rope of the nearest pack horse.

Hazel urged Silk up a step. "Mr. Wagstaff," she cried, "I must go
back."

"You can't go back without me," he said. "And I'm not traveling that
way, thank you."

"Please--oh, please!" she begged forlornly.

Roaring Bill's face hardened. "I will not," he said flatly. "I'm
going to play the game my way. And I'll play fair. That's the only
promise I will make."

She took a look at the encompassing woods, and her heart sank at facing
those shadowy stretches alone and unguided. The truth of his statement
that she would never reach Cariboo Meadows forced itself home. There
was but the one way out, and her woman's wit would have to save her.

"Go on, then," she gritted, in a swift surge of anger. "I am afraid to
face this country alone. I admit my helplessness. But so help me
Heaven, I'll make you pay for this dirty trick! You're not a man!
You're a cur--a miserable, contemptible scoundrel!"

"Whew!" Roaring Bill laughed. "Those are pretty names. Just the same,
I admire your grit. Well, here we go!"

He took up the lead rope, and went on without even looking back to see
if she followed. If he had made the slightest attempt to force her to
come, if he had betrayed the least uncertainty as to whether she would
come, Hazel would have swung down from the saddle and set her face
stubbornly southward in sheer defiance of him. But such is the
peculiar complexity of a woman that she took one longing glance
backward, and then fell in behind the packs. She was weighted down
with dread of the unknown, boiling over with rage at the man who swung
light-footed in the lead; but nevertheless she followed him.

CHAPTER IX

THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT

All the rest of that day they bore steadily northward. Hazel had no
idea of Bill Wagstaff's destination. She was too bitter against him to
ask, after admitting that she could not face the wilderness alone.
Between going it alone and accompany