Rising, Bud glanced at Allston. He looked at him as he might a dead branch--with no more pity, with no more regret. The damned furriner’s cheeks were not as pink as they had once been. He had shot true this time. A squirrel chattered. Bud came to alert. This was the end in one sense, but it was only the beginning in another. This man was motionless, but his very immobility brought a new danger. He would lie there one hour, two hours, perhaps three hours. He would make no sound. He would not move a finger. And yet all the while he would be calling--calling with a voice that might be heard throughout the county. The dead are not as helpless as they seem. Allston would be missed, in time, down at the bungalow. Some one would wonder where he was and go to a neighbor and make him wonder too. They would go together to a third neighbor until the hue and cry was raised. Then they would all swarm up here together. Bud’s wild eyes turned to the shack. He could not stay in there. However tight he might bar the doors, the searchers would beat them down. His home was no longer his home. He had killed more things than one when he shot from behind the spring-house. But at that he had not killed everything. He himself was still alive and Roxie was still alive. And back of him lay the hills still alive--the tangled hills that he knew as a squirrel knows them. Once in their shelter he would still have some sort of chance. With Roxie by his side he might have hours--even days--days that would count for years. Bud went back and picked up his rifle. He would need that now more than ever. Moving swiftly and definitely, he entered the shack and spreading a blanket on the floor hastily tossed into it the tinned goods he had lately bought, a small bag of flour, a can of coffee, some sugar, salt, a frying-pan, and coffee-pot. Drawing the four corners together he tied them in a knot and throwing the bundle over his shoulder came out. Allston still lay on the ground quite motionless. So too did Roxie. But there was a difference--a significant difference. As far as Bud was concerned, Allston now stood only for the past, while Roxie still stood for the future. Until death the future persists in full strength, whatever limitations are put around it. Bud stooped and placed his hands upon the girl. Her body was warm and the touch of it magnetized him. Lifting her easily he swung her upon his back, her head and arms over his right shoulder. So for hours he had carried burdens heavier than she. His provisions and rifle he seized in his left hand. With long, noiseless strides, he crossed the log to the road, turned to the right, and began to climb the rocky trail.