Joanne herself had piled wood on the fire, and in its glow they were dangerously illuminated.

With one of her hands she was still caressing his cheek.
"When will Donald return ?" she asked.
"Probably not until late," he replied, wondering what it was that had set a stone rolling down the side of the mountain nearest to them.

"He hunted until dark, and may wait for the moon to come up before he returns." "John----" "Yes, dear ?----" And mentally he measured the distance to the nearest clump of timber between them and the mountain.
"Let's build a big fire, and sit down on the pannier canvases." His eyes were still on the timber, and he was wondering what a man with a rifle, or even a pistol, might do at that space.

He made a good target, and MacDonald was probably several miles away.
"I've been thinking about the fire," he said.

"We must put it out, Joanne.
There are reasons why we should not let it burn.