he had slipped unobserved
into the office and read from his books--not the uncut novels--but the
well-thumbed copies of Browning and Southey; and as she read she
pondered.

She came upon many marked passages; and in her heart the unrest
continued, and she allowed her hands to stray over the coarse cloth of
his mackinaw, and once she threw herself upon his bunk and buried her
face in his blankets, and sobbed the dry, racking sobs of her deep
soul-hurt.

Then she had leaped to her feet and smoothed out the wrinkles in the
blankets, and stooped and straightened the row of boots and moccasins
along the base-log--and quickly disarranged them again for fear he
might remember how he left them--and rushed from the office.

Of these secret visits the members of the party knew nothing, but Daddy
Dunnigan, from the window of the cook-shack, took note of the girl's
comings and goings, and nodded sagely and chuckled to himself. For
Daddy Dunnigan, wise in the ways of women, had gathered much from the
talk of the impetuous youngster.

CHAPTER XL

CHARLIE GOES HUNTING

Blood River Jack halted suddenly in his journey from the bunk-house to
the grub-shack and sniffed the air.

He dropped the butt of his rifle to the hard-packed snow of the
clearing and glanced upward, where a thin sprinkling of stars winked
feebly in the first blush of morning.

The dark sky was cloudless, and the trees stood motionless in the
gloom, which slowly dissipated where the first faint light of
approaching day grayed the east. The air was dry and cold, but with no
sting of crispness. The chill of it was the uncomfortable, penetrating
chill that renders clothing inadequate, yet brings no tingle to the
exposed portions of the body.

Again the man sniffed the dead air and, swinging the rifle into the
crook of his elbow, continued toward the grub-shack.

Appleton and Sheridan accepted without remonstrance the guide's
prediction of a storm and retired to the "house," as the rooms in which
the party was quartered had come to be known--not entirely unthankful
for a day of rest.

The crew went into the timber, as usual; the guide retired to his bunk
for a good snooze; and young Charlie Manton, tiring of listening to
Daddy Dunnigan's yarns, prowled about the camp in search of amusement.

Entering the bunk-house, his attention was attracted by the loud
snoring of Blood River Jack, and his eye fell upon the half-breed's
rifle and cartridge-belt,