There was little reason for a fire; but he built it, and for fifteen minutes added pitch-heavy fagots of storm-killed jack-pine and spruce to it, until the flames leapt a dozen feet into the air.

Half a dozen times he was impelled to return to the grave and assist MacDonald in his gruesome task.

But he knew that MacDonald had meant that he should stay with Joanne.

If he returned, she might follow.
He was surprised at the quickness with which MacDonald performed his work.
Not more than half an hour had passed when a low whistle drew his eyes to a clump of dwarf spruce back in the timber.

The mountaineer was standing there, holding something in his hand.