oward the river. Its shouting voices, like the voices
of many giant things In brutal laughter, swelled and thundered ever
more distinct, ever more jeering. It seemed to her that there were ten
thousand Sledge Humes taunting her, sneering at the blind recklessness
of a mere woman. She knew that the blood had crept out of her face and
that she was afraid. And she knew that there is one thing in the
world, God-created, that is greater, stronger than fear.

"I have leaped distances greater than that before," she told herself
stubbornly.

"With certain death dragging at you if you missed?" the rude laughter
of the river through its rocky way taunted her.

Her skis were running slowly again; she had come to the level land once
more. She must make a little turn to avoid the thick grove through
which she had gone slowly last year after the rabbit. She must turn
upstream a little too. There were ten minutes of driving one ski after
the other, then the steep climb of another ridge, the last ridge lying
between her and the river. She climbed it swiftly, stubbornly and
unhesitatingly.

"If Wayne were coming to me would he hesitate?" she asked herself
angrily. "Because I am not a man am I a coward? Shall I fail him the
first time in our lives that he has need of me? Is a woman like that a
fit thing to be a strong man's wife?"

At the top of this last climb she paused. She was not afraid now. The
colour had come back into her face, her blood was running steadily.
She might be going to her death. Was death then so great a thing? Was
it as great as her love?

"If I were afraid now," she told herself quietly, "I should know that I
do not love Wayne as other women have loved other men. Then I should
not deserve to live to love him weakly."

From here she could not see MacKelvey, Hume and the others. She knew
that by this time they would have crossed the bridge. Then she tried
not to think of them. Briefly she studied the steep sloping sweep of
the snow, trying to mark the way she must go. She found the spot the
rabbit had chosen, the narrowest place with the far bank three or four
feet lower than the near bank. Frowningly seeking the detail of a
sheet of glaring white which seemed without mound or hollow but which
she knew was full of uneven ridges and sinks, she made out at last such
a ridge lying parallel to the river's edge and close to it. A log had
fallen there; she remembered having seen it in the summ