for a few minutes, she
had tried to keep from him.

"They would have killed you?" she breathed.

"Perhaps they would only have given me a good scare," said Aldous. "But I
didn't have time to wait and find out. I was very anxious to see MacDonald
again. So I went through the window!"

"No, they would have killed you," said Joanne. "Perhaps I did wrong, Mr.
Aldous, but I confided--a little--in Peggy Blackton last night. She seemed
like a sister. I love her. And I wanted to confide in some one--a woman,
like her. It wasn't much, but I told her what happened at Miette: about
you, and Quade, and how I saw him at the station, and again--later,
following us. And then--she told me! Perhaps she didn't know how it was
frightening me, but she told me all about these men--Quade and Culver Rann.
And now I'm more afraid of Culver Rann than Quade, and I've never seen him.
They can't hurt me. But I'm afraid for you!"

At her words a joy that was like the heat of a fire leaped into his brain.

"For me?" he said. "Afraid--for me?"

"Yes. Why shouldn't I be, if I know that you are in danger?" she asked
quietly. "And now, since last night, and the discovery of your secret by
these men, I am terrified. Quade has followed you here. Mrs. Blackton told
me that Culver Rann was many times more dangerous than Quade. Only a little
while ago you told me you did not care for riches. Then why do you go for
this gold? Why do you run the risk? Why----"

He waited. The colour was flooding back into her face in an excited,
feverish flush. Her blue eyes were dark as thunder-clouds in their
earnestness.

"Don't you understand?" she went on. "It was because of me that you
incurred this deadly enmity of Quade's. If anything happens to you, I shall
hold myself responsible!"

"No, you will not be responsible," replied Aldous, steadying the tremble in
his voice. "Besides, nothing is going to happen. But you don't know how
happy you have made me by taking this sort of an interest in me. It--it
feels good," he laughed.

For a few paces he dropped behind her, where the overhead spruce boughs
left but the space for a single rider between. Then, again, he drew up
close beside her.

"I was going to tell you about this gold," he said. "It isn't the gold
we're going after."

He leaned over until his hand rested on her saddle-bow.

"Look ahead," he went on, a curious softness in his voice. "Look at
MacDonald!"

The first shattered rays of the sun were