One place especially possessed for Gordon an irresistible attraction,--beyond the pass, down in the lowland between the mountains, where the brown of the marsh, dotted with many a quiet pond and reedy pool, stretched far away on either hand, far as the eye could reach, losing itself at last against the dim, smoky outline of the distant hills. The river, a narrow ribbon of brightest blue, flowing peacefully along through the valley in many a winding curve, spread gradually out, just under the shadow of Burnt Mountain, into a long, shallow, sedgy lagoon, the stopping place for innumerable hosts of chattering wild-fowl, winging their leisurely way along on their journey to the southward. Hither it was that Gordon loved to come, and hither it was, on a crisp fall afternoon, that he and Ethel Mason, driving over the mountain from Seneca, had come, intent upon the evening flight. The sun still hung, an hour high, above the horizon. A big green-headed mallard drake winged his way lazily from the marsh over toward the pond, noted with pleased interest the little flock of his companions feeding near the shore, turned, set his wings, and glided gently downward through the crisp, dry stillness of the keen October air. A puff of white smoke darted from the clump of reeds, there was a crack like the sharp snap of a whip lash; the drake's head jerked suddenly back over his body, and with a mighty splash fell stone dead into the quiet waters of the pond. The little ripples spread away until they touched the shore, a few feathers floated softly downward on to the quiet surface, the smoke wreathed slowly heavenward, dissolving against the clear blue sky, and all was still again. Lying back at ease in the little blind skilfully hidden on the shore, Gordon leisurely took the gun from the girl's hand, snapped it open, slipped in a fresh cartridge, and with a slow smile of admiration handed it back to her again. "Ethel," he said, "you certainly can shoot. I've never heard of a girl killing ducks the way you can. It's really remarkable." The girl nodded indifferently. "Yes," she answered listlessly; "I can shoot, and fish, and ride a horse, and cook, and keep house, and that's all. That makes a great life for a girl, doesn't it? And all the things I'd really like to do, the things that make any girl's life pleasant, why, I've never had a chance at one of them--and I suppose I never shall." Gordon gazed steadily at the girl as she sat looking out over the pond, the little sixteen-gage across her knees. For the hundredth time he noted the slender perfection of her lithe young figure, the faultless profile, the delicate, almost childlike beauty of every feature. And he did not take his eyes away.