yond; like a great, swollen
tongue reaching out toward the valley was this ridge, and she followed
it in spite of the tangled masses of young trees and bushes which she
must fight through to reach the more open timber. At least the danger
of falling trees and branches was not so great here, and the wind was
not quite so keen.

Behind her Mike followed doggedly, trailing her like a hound. Days
spent in watching, nights spent crouched and waiting had brought him
to the high pitch of desperation, that would stop at nothing which
seemed to his crazed brain necessary to save his life and his freedom.
Even the disdainful Murphy would have known the man was insane; but
Murphy was sitting warm and snug beside a small table with a glass
ready to his right hand, and Murphy was not worrying about Mike's
sanity, but about the next card that would fall before him. Murphy
thought how lucky he was to be in Quincy during this storm, instead of
cooped up in the little cabin with Mike, who would sit all day and
mumble, and never say anything worth listening to. So Mike kept to the
hunt--like a gentle-natured dog gone mad and dangerous and taking the
man-trail unhindered and unsuspected.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

GOLD OF REPENTANCE, SUNLIGHT OF LOVE AND A MAN GONE MAD

Marion was up at the foot of the last grilling climb, the steep
acclivity where manzanita shrubs locked arms and laughed at the
climber. Fearful of a sprained ankle like Kate's, she had watched
carefully where she set down her feet and had not considered that it
would be wise to choose just as carefully the route she should follow
to gain the top; so long as she was climbing in that general direction
she felt no uneasiness, because Taylor Rock topped it all, and she was
bound to come out somewhere close to the point at which she was
aiming.

But the wall of manzanita stopped her before she had penetrated a rod
into it. One solid mass blanketed with snow it looked to be when she
stepped carefully upon a rock and surveyed the slope. She had borne
too far to the right, away from the staggering rush of wind. She hated
to turn now and face the storm while she made her way around to the
line of timber, but she had no choice. So she retreated from the
manzanita and fought her way around it--finding it farther than she
had dreamed; finding, too, that the storm was a desperate thing, if
one had to face it for long in the open.

She made the timber, and stood leaning again