ternly. And she had always been gay and ready; a
little thrilled, perhaps, as by a chance strain of music. But now--she
could hardly breathe. Now she was frightened. She did not know why; she
could not understand the sense of it; she only knew that she was afraid.
Of what? Nor did she know that. She only knew that here were Gloria
Gaynor and Mark King, man and girl--man and woman--set apart from the
world, lifted above it, clear-cut figures upon a pinnacle piercing the
infinite blue of the heavens, and that a mystery was unfolding before
them. She had a wild wish to stop the flight of time, to thrust it back
upon itself, to have the present not the present but to avoid the Now by
racing back into the serenity of Just A Little While Ago. Ten minutes
ago--anything but this electric, terrifying moment when Mark King, a
surge of emotion upon him, was about to say: "I love you."

"Look!" Gloria started and, forgetful of the strange conflict of
emotions within her, clutched at his sleeve. "A man--here;----"

"Swen Brodie!" muttered King angrily.

Brodie had just clambered up the ridge and came into view only when his
head and bulky shoulders were upthrust beyond a boulder. He came on
until he topped the boulder, standing fully revealed upon its flattish
top, the butt of his rifle resting on his boot. Gloria was suddenly
afraid with a new sort of fear. Though this man was not near enough for
her to see the dancing evil of his little eyes, she saw the brutish face
in full relief against the sky, and marked the jeer on the ugly mouth.
Her one wild thought was that Brodie would murder them both, shoot them
both down in cold blood. She shuddered. King was unarmed; Brodie hated
King as only a man of Brodie's kind, bestial and cruel, could hate. She
remembered what her father had told her; of the death of Andy Parker.
She began tugging at King.

"Take me away!" she gasped. And then, with a terrified look over her
shoulder: "Oh, he is terrible!"

Perhaps Brodie heard. The stiff wind blew her words away from her lips,
tossing them toward him.

"Steady, Gloria," said King in a low voice. "I'll take you away. But we
needn't hurry. He won't hurt you." And, to further soothe her, he added:
"He'd be afraid to shoot, were he minded to. The noise of the gun, you
know. And he doesn't know how many there are with us, or how close they
are. Come, we'll go this way."

He turned his back square on Brodie and with his hand firm on Gloria's