right perspective. It is always so. Another incident
that seemed trivial in passing will loom up behind us like a cliff on the
horizon. And it is so with people. The man who held the foreground through
sheer egoism sinks to his proper place in obscurity, while a little,
white-faced woman we knew for a day stands out of the past like a
monument."

His brows clouded; he turned from the lantern light to look off again to
the shrouded mountain tops. "And looking back," he added, "the man you
thought you knew better than the rest, the partner, friend, to whom, when
you were reminded and it suited your convenience, you were ready to do a
service, stands out from the shadows clearly defined. It is under the test
of those high lights behind that his character shines. You wonder at his
greatness. His personality takes a stronger, closer hold, and you would
give the rest of your life just to go back and travel the old, hard road
again with him."

There was a long silence, broken once more by that far, wailing cry on the
wind. Miss Armitage started. She laid her hand on Tisdale's shoulder, the
nearest object, in a tightening grip, while for a breathless moment she
leaned forward, trying to penetrate the darkness of the gorge. The action
seemed to remind him of her presence, and he turned to look at her.
"Frightened again?" he asked.

Her hand fell; she settled back in her seat. "N-o, not very much, but it
took me off guard. It sounds so desolate, so--so--supernatural; like the
cry of a doomed soul."

Tisdale smiled. "That describes it, but you never have heard it at close
range."

She shivered; her glance moved again in apprehension to the
night-enshrouded Pass. "Have you, Mr. Tisdale?"

"Yes, lonesome nights by a mountain camp-fire, with just the wind piping
down a ravine, or a cataract breaking over a spur to fill the interlude."

"Oh, that must have been terrifying," and the shiver crept into her voice.
"But what did you do?"

"Why, I hurried to pull the embers together and throw on more spruce
boughs. A cougar is cautious around a fire."

There was another silence, then, "I was thinking of your little,
white-faced woman," said Miss Armitage. "She baffles me. Was she your
bravest woman or just your anemone? Would you mind telling me?"

"So you were thinking of her. That's odd; so was I." Tisdale changed his
position, turning to lean on the edge of the porch with his elbow resting
on the floor. "But it was that Gordo