y wrapped in her thick furs, even the pale, cold
light could not make her pallid.

The blowing hair was as warm as yellow sunshine to the heart of Pierre
le Rouge, and the color of her cheeks was as dear to him as the early
flowers of spring in the northland.

"I'm so happy, Pierre. I was never so happy."

And he said, with his eyes on the approaching ruin:

"It was your singing that brought me to you. Will you sing again?"

"I sang because I knew that when I sang the sound would carry farther
through the wind than if I called for help. What shall I sing for you
now, Pierre?"

"What you sang when I came to you."

And the light, sweet voice rose easily through the sweep of the wind.
She smiled as she sang, and the smile and music were all for Pierre, he
knew, and all the pathos of the climax was for him; but through the
last stanza of the song the rumble of the approaching death grew
louder, and as she ended he threw himself beside her and gathered her
into protecting arms.

She cried: "Pierre! What is it?"

"I must keep you warm; the snow will eat away your strength."

"No; it's more than that. Tell me, Pierre! You don't trust the power
of the cross?"

"Are you afraid?"

"Oh, no; I'm not afraid, Pierre."

"If one life would be enough, I'd give mine a thousand times. Mary, we
are to die."

A small arm slipped around his neck--a cold hand pressed against his
cheek.

"Pierre."

"Yes."

The thunder broke above them with a mighty roaring.

"You have no fear."

"Mary, if I had died alone I would have dropped down to hell under my
sins; but, with your arm around me, you'll take me with you. Hold me
close."

"With all my heart, Pierre. See--I'm not afraid. It is like going to
sleep. What wonderful dreams we'll have!"

And then the black mass of the landslide swept upon them.

CHAPTER IX

RIDERS OF THE SILENCES

Down all the length of the mountain-desert and across its width of
rocks and mountains and valleys and stern plateaus there is a saying:
"You can tell a man by the horse he rides." For most other important
things are apt to go by opposites, which is the usual way in which a
man selects his wife. With dogs, for instance--a quiet man is apt to
want an active dog, and a tractable fellow may keep the most vicious of
wolf-dogs.

But when it comes to a horse, a man's heart speaks for itself, and if
he has sufficient knowledge of the king of beasts he will choose a
sympath