So she ran back again and threw the reins over the horn of the saddle; he should be free to wander where he chose through the free mountains, but as for her, she knew very certainly now that she would never mount that saddle again, or control that triumphant steed with the touch of her hands on the reins.

She put her arms around his neck and drew his head down close.
There was a dignity in that parting, for it was the burning of her bridges behind her.

She drew back, the horse followed her a pace, but she raised a silent hand in the night and halted him; a moment later she was lost among the boulders.
It was rather slow work to stalk that camp-fire, for the big boulders cut off the sight of the red eye time and again, and she had to make little, cautious detours before she found it again, but she kept steadily at her work.

Once she stopped, her blood running cold, for she thought that she heard a faint voice blown up the canyon on the wind: "McGurk!" For half a minute she stood frozen, listening, but the sound was not repeated, and she went on again with greater haste.

So she came at last in view of a hollow in the side of the gorge.