e violence or tenderness of
passion till there comes a psychic moment or a physical touch that
suddenly enwraps them like a flame. So it was with Burrell. The sweet
burden of this girl in his arms, the sense of her yielding lips, the
warmth of her caressing hands, momentarily unleashed a leaping pack of
mad desires, and it was she who finally drew herself away to remind him
smilingly that he was wasting time.

"My lips will be here when those mines are worked out," she said. "No,
no!" and she held him off as he came towards her again, insisting that
if they were going they must be off at once, and that he could have no
more kisses for the present. "But, of course, it is a long trip, and we
will have to sit down now and then to rest," she added, shyly; at which
he vowed that he was far from strong, and could not walk but a little
way at a time, yet even so, he declared, the trail would be too short,
even though it led to Canada.

"Then get your pack made up," she ordered, "for we must be well up
towards the head of Black Bear Creek before it grows dark enough to
camp."

Swiftly he made his preparations; a madness was upon him now, and he
took no pains to check or analyze the reasons for his decision. The
thought of her loveliness in his arms once more, far up among the
perfumed wooded heights, as the silent darkness stole upon them,
stirred in him such a fret to be gone that it was like a fever. He
slipped away to the barracks with instructions for his corporal, but
was back again in a moment. Finally he took up his burden of blanket
and food, then said to her:

"Well, are you ready, little one?"

"Yes, Meade," she answered, simply.

"And you are sure you won't regret it?"

"Not while you love me."

He kissed her again before they stepped out on the river trail that
wound along the bank. A hundred yards beyond they were hidden by the
groves of birch and fir.

Two hours later they paused where the foaming waters of Black Bear
Creek rioted down across a gravelled bar and into the silent, sweeping
river, standing at the entrance to a wooded, grass-grown valley, with
rolling hills and domes displayed at its head, while back of them lay
the town, six miles away, its low, squat buildings tiny and toy like,
but distinctly silhouetted against the evening sky.

"Is it not time to rest?" said the soldier, laughingly, yet with a look
of yearning in his misty eyes as he took the girlish figure in his
arms. But she only