ht, and that Donald MacDonald, in spite of all his years in the
mountains, had been fatally wrong. Their enemies had come down from the
north, and this break led to their hiding-place. Through it Joanne must
have been taken by her captors. As he made his way over the rocks, gaining
a little more of his strength with each step, his mind tried to picture the
situation that had now arisen between Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh. How
would Quade, who was mad for possession of Joanne, accept FitzHugh's claim
of ownership? Would he believe his partner? Would he even believe Joanne
if, to save herself from him, she told him FitzHugh was her husband? Even
if he believed them, _would he give her up?_ Would Quade allow Mortimer
FitzHugh to stand between him and the object for which he was willing to
sacrifice everything?

As Aldous asked himself these questions his blood ran hot and cold by
turns. And the answer to them drew a deep breath of fear and of anguish
from him as he tried again to run among the rocks. There could be but one
answer: Quade would fight. He would fight like a madman, and if this fight
had happened and FitzHugh had been killed Joanne had already gone utterly
and helplessly into his power. He believed that FitzHugh had not revealed
to Quade his relationship to Joanne while they were on the plain, and the
thought still more terrible came to him that he might not reveal it at all,
that he might repudiate Joanne even as she begged upon her knees for him to
save her. What a revenge it would be to see her helpless and broken in the
arms of Quade! And then, both being beasts----

He could think no farther. The sweat broke out on his face as he hobbled
faster over a level space. The sound of the water between the chasm walls
was now a thunder in his ears. He could not have heard a rifle-shot or a
scream a hundred yards away. The trail he was following had continually
grown narrower. It seemed to end a little ahead of him, and the fear that
he had come the wrong way after all filled him with dread. He came to the
face of the mountain wall, and then, to his left, he saw a crack that was
no wider than a man's body. In it there was sand, and the, sand was beaten
by footprints! He wormed his way through, and a moment later stood at the
edge of the chasm. Fifty feet above him a natural bridge of rock spanned
the huge cleft through which the stream was rushing. He crossed this,
exposing himself openly to a shot if it was guarde