ed a difficult matter, crippled as he was, to handle the horses,
but at length he got them into the stable, chinked the broken
feed-boxes as best he could, and removed the bridles, hanging them upon
the hames.

He closed the door and, securing his lantern, blankets, and
lunch-basket, made his way toward the old shack where he had spent his
first night in the timber land.

The sagging door swung half open, and upon the rough floor the
snow-water from the recent thaw had collected in puddles and frozen,
rendering the footing precarious.

Bill noted with satisfaction that there still remained a goodly portion
of the firewood which he had cut and carried in upon his previous
visit, and he soon had a fire roaring in the rusty stove.

He was in no hurry. He knew that any attempt to make away with the team
would be delayed until the thief believed him to be asleep, and his
plans were laid to the minutest detail.

Setting the lantern upon the table, he proceeded to eat his lunch,
after which he lighted his pipe, and for an hour smoked at the
fireside. In spite of the pain of his injured foot his mind wandered
back to the events of his first visit to the shack.

There, in the black shadow of the pile of firewood, lay the empty
whisky bottle where the Indian had tossed it after drinking the last
drop of its contents.

Carmody stared a long time at this silent reminder of his first serious
brush with King Alcohol, then, from the inner pocket of his mackinaw,
he drew the sealed packet and gazed for many minutes at the likeness of
the girl--dimming now from the rub of the coarse cloth of the pocket.

Suddenly a great longing came over him--a longing to see this girl, to
hear the soft accents of her voice and, above all, to tell her of his
great love for her, that in all the world there was no woman but her,
and that each day, and a hundred times each day, her dear face was
before his eyes, and in his ears, ringing above the mighty sounds of a
falling forest, was the soft, sweet sound of her voice.

He could not speak to her, but she could speak to him, even if it were
but a repetition of the words of the letters he already knew by heart,
but which had remained sealed in the envelope ever since the day he bid
farewell to Broadway--and to _her_.

His fingers fumbled at the flap of the heavy envelope. He could at
least feast his eyes upon the lines traced by her pen and press his
lips to the page where her little hand had r