The Hunted Woman

une. He was bewildered over a number of things, and felt that he needed to be alone for a time to clear his mind. He left Stevens, promising to return later to share

uld meet no one, and that in this direction he would have plenty of unbroken quiet in which to

packer. His point of view was now entirely changed. He believed Stevens. He knew the man was not excitable. He was one of the coolest heads in the mountains. And he had abundant nerve. Thought of Stimson and Stimson's wife had sen

uade would do these things? Into his own life Joanne had come like a wonderful dream-creature transformed into flesh and blood. He no longer tried to evade the fact that he could not think without thinking of Joanne. She had become a part of him. She had made him forget everything but her, and i

ht that she was seeking for the man who was her husband, a leaden hand seemed gripping at his heart. He tried to shake it off, but it was like a sickness. To believe that she had been the wife of another man or that she could e

y found Joanne's husband alive at Tête Jaune-what then? He turned back, retracing his steps over the trail, a feeling of resentment-of hatred for the man he had never seen-slowly taking the place of the oppressive thing that had turned his heart sick within him. Then, in a flash, came the memory of Joanne's words-words in which, white-faced and trembling, she had confessed that her anxiety was not that she would find him dead, but

ched the office at night that Stevens had been correct in his information. Quade had gone to Tête Jaune. Although it was eleven o'clock, Aldous proceeded in the direction of the engineers' camp, still another quarter of

t from which to push forward the fight against mountain and wilderness, both by river and rail. He was, in a way, accountable for the existence of Tête Jaune just where it did exist, and he knew more ab

, his red face and bald cranium shining in the lamplight. A strange fury blazed in his eyes as he greeted his visitor. He began

he matter

"If it wasn't enough do you think I'd b

le trundle over there, sleeping like a baby. I don't know of any one who c

ke me feel funny over. You h

word,

his pockets and the big,

chum it an hour at a time, and I'd pet her like a dog. Why, damn it, man, I thought more of that bear than I did of any human in these regions! And she got so fond of me she didn't leave to den up until January. This spring she came out with two cubs, an'

ven't sh

er. I wish to God they h

ineer subsided

hen she was licking up the sugar touched it off. An' I can't do anything, damn 'em! Bears ain't protected. The government of this

e clenched, and his round, plump body

n' I ain't had a fight in twenty years. Instead of fighting like men, a dozen of them grabbed hold of me, chucked me into a blanket, an' boun

egan pacing back and forth across the ro

ntry. But they're not. They belong to the C.N.R. They're out of my reach

as you said, he was too thick with Quade. You told him that right before Quade's face. Tibbits is now foreman of that grading gang over there. Two and two make four, you know. Tibbits-Quade-the blown-up bear. Quade do

er was one of Quade's deadliest enemies. He sat down close to Aldous again. His eyes burned deep back.

ldous," he said. "Some d

shall I,

tared into the

ou

us n

ink it will stop this side of death for Quade and Culver Rann-or me. I mean that quite literally. I don't see how more than one side can co

hem all, afoot

direct me to what I mu

of relighting his pipe. For a

last. "A great many graves-and many of them unmarked. If it's

d Aldous. "It's the grave of a man who had quite an unusual

eller, puffing out fresh volume

fore the steel reached there," added Aldous. "He was on a hunting

back and forth across the room, a habit that had

phrey. Old Yellowhead John-Tête Jaune, they called him-died years before that, and no one knows where his grave is. We had five men die before the steel came, but there wasn't a FitzHugh among 'em. Crabby-old Crabby Tompkins, a trapper, is

faced Aldous. His brea

oot of it, with a lake no bigger than this camp, and an old cabin which Yellowhead himself must have built fifty years ago. There's a blind canyon runs out of it, short

us jumped to his feet a

ure of it

sit

ress his excitement. The engineer s

Quade?" he asked. "The man died bef

o the table. "But I think you'll know quite soon. For the present, I

d paper. Keller seated hims

ave can have to do with Quade," he sa

il to the Saw Tooth Mountain as he sketched it, step by step, on a sheet of offic

ong, and-thank

Peter Keller sat for so

ave to make him so happy," he grumbled, listening to

had ever known. For he knew that Peter Keller was not a man to make a statement of which he was not sure. Mortimer FitzHugh was dead. His bones lay under the sl

sed the railroad tracks, and buried himself in the bush beyond. A quart