But it was not the sort of suspicion to cool the thrill in his blood or frighten him, for he was quite ready to concede that Mary Standish was a fugitive, and that her flight from Seattle had been in the face of a desperate necessity.

What had happened aboard ship was further proof, and her presence at his range a final one.

Forces had driven her which it had been impossible for her to combat, and in desperation she had come to him for refuge.

She had chosen him out of all the world to help her; she believed in him; she had faith that with him no harm could come, and his muscles tightened with sudden desire to fight for her.
In these moments he became conscious of the evening song of the tundras and the soft splendor of the miles reaching out ahead of them.

He strained his eyes to catch another glimpse of the mounted figures when they came up out of hollows to the clough-tops, but the lacy veils of evening were drawing closer, and he looked in vain.