CHAPTER IX.
THE TRYST It still lacked nearly an hour of the appointed time when Howland came to the secluded spot in the trail where he was to meet Meleese.
Concealed in the deep shadows of the bushes he seated himself on the end of a fallen spruce and loaded his pipe, taking care to light it with the flare of the match hidden in the hollow of his hands.

For the first time since his terrible experience in the coyote he found himself free to think, and more than ever he began to see the necessity of coolness and of judgment in what he was about to do.

Gradually, too, he fought himself back into his old faith in Meleese.

His blood was tingling at fever heat in his desire for vengeance, for the punishment of the human fiends who had attempted to blow him to atoms, and yet at the same time there was no bitterness in him toward the girl.

He was sure that she was an unwilling factor in the plot, and that she was doing all in her power to save him.