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,