Dale stood with face and arm upraised, and he watched Helen ride off the ledge to disappear in the forest.

That vast spruce slope seemed to have swallowed her.

She was gone! Slowly Dale lowered his arm with gesture expressive of a strange finality, an eloquent despair, of which he was unconscious.
He turned to the park, to his camp, and the many duties of a hunter.

The park did not seem the same, nor his home, nor his work.
"I reckon this feelin's natural," he soliloquized, resignedly, "but it's sure queer for me.

That's what comes of makin' friends.