the center of which flowed a
sizable river. This they followed north a matter of three days. On
the west the valley wall ran to a timbered ridge. Eastward the jagged
peaks of a snow-capped mountain chain pierced the sky.

Two hours from their noon camp on the fourth day in the valley Hazel
sighted some moving objects in the distance, angling up on the
timber-patched hillside. She watched them, at first uncertain whether
they were moose, which they had frequently encountered, or domestic
animals. Accustomed by now to gauging direction at a glance toward the
sun, she observed that these objects traveled south.

Presently, as the lines of their respective travel brought them nearer,
she made them out to be men, mounted, and accompanied by packs. She
counted the riders--five, and as many pack horses. One, she felt
certain, was a woman--whether white or red she could not tell.
But--there was safety in numbers. And they were going south.

Upon her first impulse she swung off Silk, and started for the
hillside, at an angle calculated to intercept the pack train. There
was a chance, and she was rapidly becoming inured to taking chances.
At a distance of a hundred yards, she looked back, half fearful that
Roaring Bill was at her heels. But he stood with his hands in his
pockets, watching her. She did not look again until she was half a
mile up the hill. Then he and his packs had vanished.

So, too, had the travelers that she was hurrying to meet. Off the
valley floor, she no longer commanded the same sweeping outlook. The
patches of timber intervened. As she kept on, she became more
uncertain. But she bore up the slope until satisfied that she was
parallel with where they should come out; then she stopped to rest.
After a few minutes she climbed farther, endeavoring to reach a point
whence she could see more of the slope. In so far had she absorbed
woodcraft that she now began watching for tracks. There were enough of
these, but they were the slender, triangle prints of the shy deer.
Nothing resembling the hoofmark of a horse rewarded her searching. And
before long, what with turning this way and that, she found herself on
a plateau where the pine and spruce stood like bristles in a brush, and
from whence she could see neither valley below nor hillside above.

She was growing tired. Her feet ached from climbing, and she was wet
with perspiration. She rested again, and tried calling. But her voice
sound