herself that she could have
liked Roaring Bill Wagstaff very well if he had not violated what she
considered the rules of the game. And she had no mind to allow his
personality to sweep her off her feet in the same determined manner
that he had carried her into the wilderness. She was no longer afraid
of him. She occasionally forgot, in spite of herself, that she had a
deep-seated grievance against him. At such times the wild land, the
changing vistas the journey opened up, charmed her into genuine
enjoyment. She would find herself smiling at Bill's quaint tricks of
speech. Then she would recollect that she was, to all intents and
purposes, a prisoner, the captive of his bow and spear. That was
maddening.

After a lapse of time they dropped into another valley, and faced
westward to a mountain range which Bill told her was the Rockies. The
next day a snowstorm struck them. At daybreak the clouds were massed
overhead, lowering, and a dirty gray. An uncommon chill, a rawness of
atmosphere foretold the change. And shortly after they broke camp the
first snowflakes began to drift down, slowly at first, then more
rapidly, until the grayness of the sky and the misty woods were
enveloped in the white swirl of the storm. It was not particularly
cold. Bill wrapped her in a heavy canvas coat, and plodded on. Noon
passed, and he made no stop. If anything, he increased his pace.

Suddenly, late in the afternoon, they stepped out of the timber into a
little clearing, in which the blurred outline of a cabin showed under
the wide arms of a leafless tree.

The melting snow had soaked through the coat; her feet were wet with
the clinging flakes, and the chill of a lowering temperature had set
Hazel shivering.

Roaring Bill halted at the door and lifted her down from Silk's back
without the formality of asking her leave. He pulled the latchstring,
and led her in. Beside the rude stone fireplace wood and kindling were
piled in readiness for use. Bill kicked the door shut, dropped on his
knees, and started the fire. In five minutes a great blaze leaped and
crackled into the wide throat of the chimney. Then he piled on more
wood, and turned to her.

"This is the house that Jack built," he said, with a sober face and a
twinkle in his gray eyes. "This is the man that lives in the house
that Jack built. And this"--he pointed mischievously at her--"is the
woman who's going to love the man that lives in the house tha