o save it for him. She began climbing the young pine; she
fought wildly to get up into its branches; she was handicapped by the
rifle which she clung to desperately. She got the gun in a crotch above
her head; she pulled herself upward; she slipped, and tore the skin of
hands and arms; but hastening frantically she climbed up and up. She got
the rifle into her hands again, nearly dropped it, thrust it above her,
jammed it into a fork of a limb and kept on climbing. At last she was
where she could reach out and touch the swinging carcass. With King's
keen-edged butcher knife she hacked and cut at the frozen meat, panting
with every effort. The task seemed endless; the bear swung away from
her; a branch broke under her foot and she almost fell; she was sobbing
aloud brokenly before it was done, the tears rolling down her cheeks.
But at last there was the thud of the falling meat; below her it lay on
the snow crust. In wild haste she snatched her rifle; holding it in one
hand, afraid to let it slip out of her grasp for a moment, casting a
last fearful look in the direction whither the lion had gone, she began
slipping down. And in another moment, with the precious burden caught up
with the gun in her arms, she was running back up the ridge, her feet in
King's trail. _The home trail_!

She looked behind her at every step, picturing the snarling cat
springing out from every shadow, starting upward from every drift and
snow-bank. But she clutched her meat tight and struggled on up the
slope.

Her whole body was shaking; she closed her eyes, overcome with
faintness. There was a faint wind stirring and it cut like a knife,
probing through her garments where they were damp. She shivered and
struggled on and on. She felt that she could run all night without
stopping. She stumbled and fell and arose, panting and sobbing, and ran
on. She no longer looked behind her: she had fallen when she did that.
Again and again from far behind her came the clear, merciless scream of
the mountain-lion. Time passed; half-hour or hour or two hours, she had
little idea. Time itself was a nightmare of running, falling, rising,
staggering, running again until the blood pounded in her temples,
drummed in her ears. The cry came again, as near as before--nearer?
Throughout the night as she struggled on she could always fancy the
stealthy, silent feet following her, keeping time with her own. Cautious
now, would its caution slowly subside as its hunger