ld of the high altitudes nipped;
the breath of the gaunt horses hung in steam.

At the head of the little cavalcade Gavin led the way down a sloping
shoulder into the valley. Blake followed, uncertain what to do. When the
valley opened Gavin pulled up.

"Here's where we break, Blake."

"All right," he replied sullenly. "Go ahead. I'm not stopping you."

"I said we broke here."

"I've got to get out of these mountains, haven't I? This is the only
way."

"You wanted to quit us," said Gavin, "and now you have to."

"All right," Blake replied. "I'll quit you, if you want it that way."

Without a word of farewell his brothers rode on. Blake watched them go.
Their wordless contempt had stung him, and he hated them. He hoped
sincerely that they would be caught.

His own immediate plans were simple. He would ride a few miles off the
trail till Bush and his posse went by. Then he would make up his mind
just what to do. He might take the back trail when they had gone on. He
would see.

He took care to leave the trail on rocky ground. The thin snow which
still lay was unfortunate, but did not greatly matter once he was off
the trail. In an hour or two it would be gone. He rode for a mile, which
for his purpose was as good as five or ten, and dismounting let his
horse feed. He found a place where the sun struck warmly, filled his
pipe and lay down, his back against a rock.

He counted the money which Gavin had thrown him. It amounted to more
than two thousand dollars. That would help some. He was better off than
if he had stayed with his brothers. Lord, yes! He was safe as a church.

His eyes half-closed, he enjoyed his pipe, thinking things over. He made
a mess of that Mackay business. When you came right down to it, he
should not have laid hands on Faith. But he would have had the deeds out
of her if Garland had not weakened. But for Garland there would have
been no necessity for this get-away. Garland had got him into the thing.
Damn Garland! And damn women! They were all fools. Take that klootch.
How the devil could she expect a white man to marry her? She wasn't bad
for a klootch, but as a wife--good night!

The pipe had lost its flavor. Blake tapped it out, rose, and started
back with an involuntary cry. Just back of the rock against which he
had been leaning stood Paul Sam.

The old Indian raised his rifle.

"S'pose you move," he said, "you go mimaloos." Blake froze into
immobility. "You go mimaloos, anywa