But the thought passed, for the demeanor of Ring and Whitie reassured him.

The horses had wandered away.
Under the clump of silver spruces a denser mantle of darkness, yet not so thick that Venter's night-practiced eyes could not catch the white oval of a still face.

He bent over it with a slight suspension of breath that was both caution lest he frighten her and chill uncertainty of feeling lest he find her dead.

But she slept, and he arose to renewed activity.
He packed his saddle-bags.

The dogs were hungry, they whined about him and nosed his busy hands; but he took no time to feed them nor to satisfy his own hunger.