vided skirt, loose blouse, and leggings. She had never
looked more beautiful to him. Her night's rest had restored the colour to
her soft cheeks and curved lips; and in her eyes, when she looked at him
again, there was a strange, glowing light that thrilled him. During the
next half-hour he almost forgot his telltale disfigurements. At breakfast
Paul and Peggy Blackton were beautifully oblivious of them. Once or twice
he saw in Joanne's clear eyes a look which made him suspect that she had
guessed very near to the truth.

MacDonald was prompt to the minute. Gray day, with its bars of golden tint,
was just creeping over the shoulders of the eastern mountains when he rode
up to the Blacktons'. The old hunter was standing close to the horse which
Joanne was to ride when Aldous brought her out. Joanne gave him her hand,
and for a moment MacDonald bowed his shaggy head over it. Five minutes
later they were trailing up the rough wagon-road, MacDonald in the lead,
and Joanne and Aldous behind, with the single pack horse between.

For several miles this wagon-trail reached back through the thick timber
that filled the bottom between the two ranges of mountains. They had
travelled but a short distance when Joanne drew her horse close in beside
Aldous.

"I want to know what happened last night," she said. "Will you tell me?"

Aldous met her eyes frankly. He had made up his mind that she would believe
only the truth, and he had decided to tell her at least a part of that. He
would lay his whole misadventure to the gold. Leaning over the pommel of
his saddle he recounted the occurrences of the night before, beginning with
his search for Quade and the half-breed, and his experience with the woman
who rode the bear. He left out nothing--except all mention of herself. He
described the events lightly, not omitting those parts which appealed to
him as being very near to comedy.

In spite of his effort to rob the affair of its serious aspect his recital
had a decided effect upon Joanne. For some time after he had finished one
of her small gloved hands clutched tightly at the pommel of her saddle; her
breath came more quickly; the colour had ebbed from her cheeks, and she
looked straight ahead, keeping her eyes from meeting his. He began to
believe that in some way she was convinced he had not told her the whole
truth, and was possibly displeased, when she again turned her face to him.
It was tense and white. In it was the fear which,