, and satisfied his curiosity with explanations which could
never have been more matter-of-fact. He had been visited by two comrades
of his own rank, who contrived, with the best will in the world, by
deliberate avoidance of anything of an intimate nature, to display to
him their perfect knowledge of his domestic disaster.

All these things he had faced with a heart crying out for mercy, but
with an outward calm that left those whom he encountered guessing. And
something of the general opinion found expression in Superintendent
McDowell's remarks to his subordinate, who filled the office of
acting-adjutant.

"It seems to me, Syme, we needn't have worried a thing," he said.
"Allenwood isn't the feller to get up and shout any time. He's the sort
of boy to take a punch and come up for more. There's no woman got grip
enough on him to break him to small meat. I don't guess there's anything
could fix him that way--and after the way he made this last trip. He's
quite a feller when it comes to grit."

"Yes, sir." Syme smiled into his superior's keen face. "Maybe he doesn't
care. I've heard some fellers are that way after being married a few
years."

The cynicism of the younger man drew a responsive smile in reply. But it
also drew a very definite and decided shake of the head.

Whatever the general opinion, one man knew, one man had witnessed the
momentary baring of a man's soul torn with agony, in the candle-lit tent
on the banks of the Theton River. And now, had he been in Reindeer to
witness, he would have understood the reality of suffering under the
stern, almost forbidding front with which Steve confronted his little
world.

Not a sign did Steve give. His habitual, shadowy smile was ready when he
felt it to be due. He discussed everything that needed discussion with
the apparent interest of a mind wholly unabsorbed. He forced a
cheerfulness which carried conviction, and even drew forth such cynical
comments as those of Inspector Syme. But under it all the agony of mind
was something bordering on the insupportable.

The desolation of his outlook was appalling. And during his weary hours
of solitude the hopelessness of it stirred him to a bitterness that at
moments became almost insanely profane. Shadows, too, crept into his
mind. Ugly shadows that gained power with the passing of days. Had not
such shadows come he must have been more than human. But he was very
simply human, capable of the deepest passion subject t