But there was at least the consolation about it that within a short time the uncertainty of his life would be ended; the hopes either crushed forever, or realized, that-- "Ba'tiste!" They were in the snowsheds at Crestline, and Houston had pointed excitedly toward a window of the west-bound train, just pulling past them on the way down the slope.

A woman was there, a woman who had turned her head sharply, but with not enough speed to prevent a sight of her by the French-Canadian who glanced quickly and gasped: "The Judas!" Houston leaped from his seat and ran to the vestibule of the car, but in vain.

It was closed; already the other last coach of the other train was pulling past and gaining headway with the easier grade.

Wondering, he returned to his seat beside his partner.
"It was she, Ba'tiste," came with conviction.

"I got a good look at her before she noticed me.