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"Any time you like," he told her gently. "Vosper is putting up the linen tent for we three men, and I'll build a fire in front of it to keep us warm while we smoke. You must be tired." She smiled wanly. "I am tired, Bronson," she confessed. "And thank you, very much." She didn't notice the wave of color that flowed into his bronzed cheeks and the strange, jubilant light in his eyes.
"And what's the use of going farther. They haven't a chance on earth." They did, however, push on a short distance down the river. Lounsbury was of the opinion it was very far indeed. In reality it was not two hundred yards in all. And they halted once more to stare with frightened eyes at the stream. "It ain't the first this river's taken," Vosper told him.
The bundle was full of food, dried meat and canned goods and a small sack of flour. They were some of the supplies that to save himself the work of caring for, the faithless Vosper had discarded when, with Kenly, he had turned back from the river. At the end of three bitter days, Bill Bronson stood once more on the hill that looked down upon the old mining camp.
The idea was simply to keep them in formation till they were launched forth upon the trail. Vosper, the cook, led three horses with riding saddles at the end of the line. Virginia had changed to outing clothes when she emerged into the street, leaving her tailored suit in charge of the innkeeper. Bill beamed at her appearance. "Miss Tremont," he began, doing the honors, "this is Mr.
Vosper, who will cook the beans." Both nodded, the girl smiling rather impersonally, and Bill noticed a horrifying omission. Vosper actually lacked the intelligence to remove his hat! The first instinct of the woodsman was to march toward him and inflict physical violence for such an insult to his queen, but he caught himself in time.
He swung into the saddle, and they started forth upon the last hour of their day's journey. And Vosper made the only remark worth recording. "When I was in Saskatchewan last year," he began in a thin, far-carrying voice, "I must 'a shot a thousand grouse and didn't miss one." Virginia felt that she'd like to go back and shake him.
The warm, kindly liquor stole through her veins, and she dropped into heavy slumber. In the stress of that first hour after the disaster of the river, Lounsbury and Vosper had a chance to test the steel of which they were made. This was the time for inner strength, and courage, and beyond all things else, for self-discipline.
Bill reached to pet the black Buster, and the animal shied nervously. Virginia walked up to him and seized his bridle rein. In an instant she had vaulted into the saddle. He wheeled and plunged at first, but soon she quieted him. In none too good humor, Lounsbury made his selection, and Vosper took what was left. Bill led his animal to Virginia's side.
Vosper, his thews turning to mushroom stalks within him, could only follow, swearing hoarsely. At each break of the trees they would clamber down to the water's edge and look over the tumultuous wastes, and each time the twilight was deeper, the snow flurries heavier. And soon they came to a steep bank which they could not descend. "It's a death trip. I knew it was a death trip," Lounsbury moaned.
Again she called, unheard. Then she lashed her horse with the bridle rein. The animal strode down into the water. Vosper, his craven soul whimpering within him, had fallen to the last place in the line, but Lounsbury tried to seize her saddle as she pushed forward. "Where are you going, you little fool?" he cried. "Come back." The girl turned her head. Her face was white.
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