Still unable to comprehend where she was or what had happened, she made a tentative attempt to move, only to wince as the pains, borne of her struggle and of lying on the bare ground, seized her. Stiff and sore, weakened, with head throbbing and stabbing, the whole horrible adventure came back to her. She tried to rise, but she was totally helpless and her least movement gave her excruciating pain. Her head covering had been laid aside before she had begun preparation of supper the night before, and her colorless and strangely brilliant hair, all tumbled and loose, lay around her head and over her shoulders in great waves and billows, tinged with blue and red lights against the snow. Her face, delicately flushed with fever, was wildly beautiful, and her eyes were burning with somber, terrible light deep in their depths. It was this face that Jim Banker looked down upon as he came back from the creek, unkempt, dirty. It was these eyes he met as he stooped over her with his lunatic chuckle. He winced backward as though she had struck him, and his face contorted with sudden panic. He cowered away from her and covered his own eyes. "Don't you look at me like that! I never done nothing!" he whined. "Canaille!" said Solange. Her voice was a mere whisper but it fairly singed with scorn. Fearless, she stared at him and he could not meet her gaze. His gusty mood changed and he began to curse her. She heard more foulness from him in the next five minutes than all the delirium of wounded soldiers during five years of war had produced for her. She saw a soul laid bare before her in all its unutterable vileness. Yet she did not flinch, nor did a single symptom of panic or fear cross her face. Once, for a second, he ceased his mouthing, abruptly. His head went up and he bent an ear to the wind as though listening to something infinitely far away. "Singin'!" he muttered, as though in awe. "Hear that! 'Louisiana! Louisiana Lou!'" Then he cackled. "Louisiana singin'. I hear him. Louisiana--who killed French Pete. He, he!" After a while he tired, subsiding into mutterings. He got breakfast, bringing to her some of the mess he cooked. She ate it, though it nauseated her, determining that she would endeavor to keep her strength for future struggles. While she choked down the food the prospector sat near her, but not looking at her, and talked. "You an' me'll talk pretty, honey. Old Jim ain't goin' to hurt you if you're reasonable. Just tell old Jim what the writin' says and old Jim'll be right nice to you. We'll go an' find the gold, you and me. You'll tell old Jim, won't you?" His horrible pleading fell on stony ears, and he changed his tune. "You ain't a-goin' tell old Jim? Well, that's too bad. Old Jim hates to do it, pretty, but old Jim's got to know. If you won't tell him, he'll have to find out anyhow. Know how he'll do it?" She remained silent.