He did not say any more then, but he gazed thoughtfully down upon the pale hunter, as if that strange individual was one infinitely to respect, but never to comprehend.
* * * * * Wade's wounds healed quickly; nevertheless, it was more than several days before he felt spirit enough to undertake the ride.

He had to return to White Slides, but he was reluctant to do so.

Memory of Jack Belllounds dragged at him, and when he drove it away it continually returned.

This feeling was almost equivalent to an augmentation of his gloomy foreboding, which ever hovered on the fringe of his consciousness.

But one morning he started early, and, riding very slowly, with many rests, he reached the Sage Valley cabin before sunset.
Moore saw him coming, yelled his delight and concern, and almost lifted him off the horse.