A thrill of wild exultation came to her.

She cried: "Look back, McGurk! Your gun is gone, your horse is gone; you're weaker than a woman in the mountains!" Yet he went on without turning, not with the hurried step of a coward, but still as one stunned.

Then, sitting quietly in the saddle, she forgot McGurk and remembered Pierre.

He was happy by this time with the girl of the yellow hair; there was nothing remaining to her from him except the ominous cross which touched cold against her breast.
That he had abandoned as he had abandoned her.
What, then, was left for her?
The horse of an outlaw for her to ride; the heart of an outlaw in her breast.
She touched the white horse with the spurs and went at a reckless gallop, weaving back and forth among the boulders down the gorge.

For she was riding away from the past.
The dawn came as she trotted out into a widening valley of the Old Crow.