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shaven, and his hair brushed, added to the ghastliness. The whole picture was horribly vivid; the littlest details of it struck on the retinas of the two observers like blows--the oblong patch of sunlight cleaving the gloom of the shack inside the door; six muskrat pelts above the man's head, tacked to the logs to dry; an old foul pipe with a silver mounting, half fallen from his relaxed fingers and spilling ashes on the bench; his old-fashioned rifle leaning against the door-frame. Garth could have furnished the size, the style and the make of that gun. Natalie turned a stony face to Garth. "It is he," she whispered. Garth thought of an old photograph she had shown him of a dark-haired youth sitting on a horse, with a charming, imperious grace of body and feature, in which there was something godlike and unanswerable; and looking at this wreck of a man, toothless, bald and livid, he was struck with awe. "You have seen," he whispered to Natalie. "Let us ride back." She shook her head. "I must say what I came for," she said. "Will you dismount?" he asked. Natalie shuddered. "Never, here!" she whispered. In a moment she had commanded herself again. "Please speak to him," she said. "Mabyn!" called Garth peremptorily. The man's lids parted. Natalie was directly in front of him. As his sleep-stupefied eyes slowly took her in, he raised himself to an upright position, and struck his eyeballs sharply with his knuckles. Garth instinctively drew away a little. "A white woman!" muttered the man, lost in amazement. Natalie, her head slightly averted, sat her horse like a carven woman. Fear grew apace with wonder in Mabyn's eyes; his breath quickened; he ceaselessly passed his hand in front of his face. "Natalie!" he muttered, still in the toneless voice of one who sleeps. "Oh, my God! It's Natalie!" Grasping the edge of the bench, he pulled himself to his feet; and took a few uncertain steps toward her. He put out his hand fearfully. Natalie sharply reined back her horse. "Don't touch me!" she said. It broke the spell that held him--but not wholly. His hands dropped to his sides; a saner light appeared in his eyes; and he looked all around, as if to convince himself of the realness of his surroundings. On Garth his eyes lingered stupidly for a moment; then impatiently returned to Natalie. "If it's you, how did you get here?" he asked quietly enough--still bemused. "I came over the prairie,
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