s enter Jim's unlocked
cabin and presently issue forth, evidently convinced that the prey was
not there--had not been there! Then as stealthy as Indians they made
their way to the other cabin--Truedale's late shelter. They kept to the
bushes and the edge of the woods--they were like creeping animals until
they reached the shack; then, standing erect and close, they went in the
doorway. So near was the hiding place of Truedale and his companion
that they could hear the oaths of the hunters as they became aware that
their quarry had escaped.

"He's been here, all right!" It was Jed Martin who spoke.

"I reckon he's caught on," Peter Greyson drawled, "he's makin' for Jim
White. White ain't more'n fifteen miles back; we can cut him off, Jed,
'fore he reaches safety--the skunk!"

Then the two emerged from the cabin and strode boldly away.

"The others!" whispered Truedale--"will they come?"

"Wait!"

There was a stir--a trampling--but apparently the newcomers did not see
Martin and Greyson. There was a crackling of underbrush by feet no
longer feeling need of caution, then another space of silence before
safety was made sure for the two in the bushes.

At last Truedale dared to speak.

"Nella-Rose!" He looked down at the face upon his breast. She was
asleep--deeply, exhaustedly asleep!

Truedale shifted his position. He was cramped and aching; still the even
breathing did not break. He laid her down gently and put a heavy coat
about her--one that earlier she had carried from the cabin in her effort
to save him. He went to the house and grimly set to work. First he
lighted a fire; then he righted the chairs and brought about some order
from the chaos. He was no longer afraid of any man on God's earth; even
Jim White was relegated to the non-essentials. Truedale was merely a
primitive creature caring for his own! There was no turning back now--no
waiting upon conventions. When he had made ready he was going out to
bring his own to her home!

The sullen, soggy night, with its bursts of fury and periods of calm,
had settled down, apparently, to a drenching, businesslike rain. The
natives knew how to estimate such weather. By daylight the streams would
be raging rivers on whose currents trees and animals would be carried
ruthlessly to the lowlands. Roads would be obliterated and human beings
would seek shelter wherever they could find it.

But Truedale was spared the worry this knowledge might have brought him.
He c