r I can see danger, if
there is any, an' I can do it best alone."

Aldous knew that in these last hours Donald MacDonald's judgment must be
final, and he made no objection to an arrangement which seemed to place the
old hunter under a more hazardous risk than his own. And he realized fully
that these were the last hours. For the first time he had seen MacDonald
fill his pockets with the finger-long cartridges for his rifle, and he had
noted how carefully he had looked at the breech of that rifle. Without
questioning, he had followed the mountaineer's example. There were fifty
spare cartridges in his own pockets. His .303 was freshly cleaned and
oiled. He had tested the mechanism of his automatic. MacDonald had watched
him, and both understood what such preparations meant as they set out on
this last day's journey into the North. They had not kept from Joanne the
fact that they would reach the end before night, and as they rode the
prescribed distance behind the old hunter Aldous wondered how much she
guessed, and what she knew. They had given her to understand that they were
beating out the rival party, but he believed that in spite of all their
efforts there was in Joanne's mind a comprehension which she did not reveal
in voice or look. To-day she was no different than yesterday, or the day
before, except that her cheeks were not so deeply flushed, and there was an
uneasy questing in her eyes. He believed that she sensed the nearness of
tragedy, that she was conscious of what they were now trying to hide from
her, and that she did not speak because she knew that he and MacDonald did
not want her to know. His heart throbbed with pride. Her courage inspired
him. And he noticed that she rode closer to him--always at his side through
that day.

Early in the afternoon MacDonald stopped on the crest of a swell in the
valley and waited for them. When they came up he was facing the north. He
did not look at them. For a few moments he did not speak. His hat was
pulled low, and his beard was twitching.

They looked ahead. At their feet the valley broadened until it was a mile
in width. Half a mile away a band of caribou were running for the cover of
a parklike clump of timber. MacDonald did not seem to notice them. He was
still looking steadily, and he was gazing at a mountain. It was a
tremendous mountain, a terrible-looking, ugly mountain, perhaps three miles
away. Aldous had never seen another like it. Its two huge shoulders