In a few minutes Thorpe appeared at the tent-flap and his wife followed him out.

Her loose hair rippled in billows of gold about her shoulders and she sat down on the sledge, close to Kazan, and began brushing it.

McCready came up behind her and fumbled among the packages on the sledge.

As if by accident one of his hands buried itself for an instant in the rich tresses that flowed down her back.

She did not at first feel the caressing touch of his fingers, and Thorpe's back was toward them.
Only Kazan saw the stealthy movement of the hand, the fondling clutch of the fingers in her hair, and the mad passion burning in the eyes of the man.