Straying tendrils of the girl’s light hair brushed his cheeks as bending forward he bore her upwards and away--away from the silent form in his yard, away from the valley and all its folks below, away from the invisible hand of the law which would soon be reaching for him. And with that loose hair against his rough cheeks, the strength of ten men was in him. With it came a new defiance. They might turn out the whole county after him, but before they caught him he would be in the next county. They might turn out the whole State to hound him, but he would cross the mountains--mountain after mountain if necessary--until he reached the next State. There were no limits to his horizon now. He was anchored by neither shack nor farm. They could take them both and be damned, but they would travel far before they took him or his woman. For all he knew, these hills and this forest continued indefinitely. A man could live in them indefinitely. And when they could not furnish him with what he needed, why, there were always settlements where a man with a rifle could secure what he wished. The higher Bud climbed, the less he had any consciousness of being a fugitive. It was more as though all his life he had been a prisoner and had just found freedom. His contact with civilization had done nothing but force upon him a series of inhibitions. Some one was always interfering with his rights. He was pulling away from all that. Where a small stream crossed the road, he turned sharp left into the woods. He was becoming impatient even with man-made paths. He followed the edge of the cut made by the running water, forcing his way through the bushes, sweeping aside the growth ahead of him with his long arm. Not a twig touched her face. Not a branch whipped her body. He was well out of the beaten track before any sign of consciousness began to return to the girl. The first indication she gave was something like a sigh and a feeble attempt to raise her head. Her eyes even then remained closed. And she made no struggle. But at once Bud lowered her to the leaf-strewn ground and went to the brook for water. Scooping up as much as his cupped hands would hold he returned and moistened her lips and bathed her forehead. The effect came quicker than he anticipated. Her eyes opened wide and she struggled to her elbow. “Hit’s only me, Roxie,” he said gently. It was only he. And as he spoke the words they were tempered with love. Through his steel-gray eyes there shone something of the gentle blue of the sky peering through the upper branches of the trees. It was only he. Big and brutal and coarse-featured and merciless as he was, there was the tenderness of a woman in his touch. Before her it was only he--only Bud. And had there been need he would have held out his right arm and drained into her veins every drop of his blood. “I don’t aim ter bother yuh,” he went on as she remained dumb. “Hit’s only me.”