The next day he went out, but he was so
absolutely hopeless that he persuaded himself she would not come and
that he did not want her to come. He did not want to meet any human
being that he could think of--except his mother, and his punishment
was that he should never see her again. He had to walk for exercise,
and he might get a shot at a grouse. He was not going to meet Marion
at all. Let her stay at home, if she wanted to--he could stand it if
she could.

He tramped down the mountain toward the Basin. It was a dreary journey
at best, and today his perverse mood would not let him brighten it
with the hope of seeing Marion. She had fooled him the day before,
after she had promised to come, and he had carried that chunk of bear
meat all the way down from the cave, so now he was going to fool her.
If she came he would just let her stand around in the cold, and see
how funny it was to wait for some one who did not show up.

Near their last meeting place, on the brink of the deep gulley that
divided the Crystal Lake road from the first slope of Grizzly Peak, he
stopped, half tempted to turn back. She was keen-eyed, and he did not
want her to see him first. She should not have the chance, he
reflected, to think he was crazy about meeting her every day. If she
wanted to make it once a week, she wouldn't find him whining about it.
He moved warily on down to the place, his eyes searching every open
spot for a glimpse of her.

He got his glimpse just as she and Hank were climbing the side of the
gulley to the road. It was a glimpse that shocked him out of his
youthful self-pity and stood him face to face with a very real hurt.
They were climbing in plain sight, and so close to him that he could
hear Hank's drawling voice telling Marion that she was a cute one, all
right; he'd have to hand it to her for being a whole lot cuter than
he had sized her up to be. Uncouth praise it was, bald, insincere,
boorish. Jack heard Marion laugh, just as though she enjoyed Hank's
conversation and company--and all his anger at yesterday's apparent
slight seemed childish beside this hot, man's rage that filled him.

Any man walking beside Marion would have made him wild with jealousy;
but Hank Brown! Hank Brown, holding her by the arm, walking with her
more familiarly than Jack had ever ventured to do, for all their close
friendship! Calling her cute--why cute, in particular? Did Hank, by
any chance, refer to Marion's little strategies in g