he would need to preserve
his strength. Yet he experienced no fear, no loss of confidence. Each
moment added to his faith in himself. Before noon he would be on his
way to the Mormon kingdom, by nightfall he would be upon its shores.
After that--

He examined the pistol that Winnsome had given him. There were five
shots in it and he smiled joyously as he saw that it had been loaded by
an experienced hand. It would be easy enough for him to find Strang. He
would not consider the woman--his wife. The king's wife! Like a flash
there occurred to him the incident of the battlefield. Was it this
woman--the woman who had begged him to spare the life of the prophet,
who had knelt beside him, and whispered in his ear, and kissed him? Had
that been her reward for the sacrifice she believed he had made for her
in the castle chamber? The thought of this woman, whose beauty and love
breathed the sweet purity of a flower and whose faith to her king and
master was still unbroken even in her hour of repudiation fell upon him
heavily. For there was no choice, no shadow of alternative. There was
but one way for him to break the bondage of the girl he loved.

For hours he trod steadily through the sand. The sun rose above him, hot
and blistering, and the dunes still stretched out ahead of him, like
winnows and hills and mountains of glittering glass. Gradually the
desert became narrower. Far ahead he could see where the forest came
down to the shore and his heart grew lighter. Half an hour later he
entered the margin of trees. Almost immediately he found signs of life.
A tree had been felled and cut into wood. A short distance beyond he
came suddenly upon a narrow path, beaten hard by the passing of feet,
and leading toward the lake. He had meant to rest under the shade of
these trees but now he forgot his fatigue. For a moment he hesitated.
Far back in the forest he heard the barking of a dog--but he turned in
the opposite direction. If there was a boat the path would take him to
it. Through a break in the trees he caught the green sweep of marsh rice
and his heart beat excitedly with hope. Where there was rice there were
wild-fowl, and surely where there were wild-fowl, there would be a punt
or a canoe! In his eagerness he ran, and where the path ended, the flags
and rice beaten into the mud and water, he stopped with an exultant cry.
At his feet was a canoe. It was wet, as though just drawn out of the
water, and a freshly used paddle