Gill set her teeth. Why not walk on or, a better plan, return to the warmth and friendliness of the big cabin. Of a sudden she felt lonely and vaguely uneasy here in the silent woods, the silence broken only by the cry of a small animal in pain. Yet the pain could not continue indefinitely, and in any event she could soon be out of sight and hearing. Gill’s eyes dropped toward the ground. Immediately in her path she beheld a heavy stick, from which the snow had blown away, leaving it exposed to her gaze. A second only she hesitated, then picking it up discovered that the end was round and thick as a bludgeon. She knew that her eye and her aim were unswerving, yet the prospect of a moment’s swift action made her sick and faint. The next Gill lifted her cudgel. With a quick stroke between the eyes that were fastened half fearfully, half trustfully upon her own, the little creature’s suffering was ended. Afterwards, absurd as it seemed to her, Gill could not walk on at once. Instead she leaned against a nearby tree, closing her eyes to avoid the spectacle before her. She could hunt without especial emotion or regret, when her aim was steady and there was no suggestion of long pain or suffering afterwards. But to kill, as she had felt herself forced to do in the last few moments, had upset her in the most acute fashion. Gill opened her eyes when she heard some one coming toward her. “You seem to appear only when I am in the act of taking a life, Mr. Drain,” she exclaimed with poorly concealed bitterness, allowing her state of mind to find expression in the tone of her voice. “I am sorry to have you a witness to what I have just done and yet I felt it was unavoidable.” “You have only accomplished what I have been trying to find courage to do this last half hour, Miss Gilchrist. But you do look used up. My little cabin is not an eighth of a mile away, won’t you come in and rest for a moment? I am sure your friends will not object. I am fairly intimate with most of them except you. Somehow we never seem to meet when I am at Tahawus cabin.” CHAPTER IX The Poet’s Corner The little pine house had only two rooms, one a small bed-room, the other serving as kitchen, dining-room and living-room. As there was no furnace and a wood fire would afford insufficient heat, an old-fashioned stove extended its stove pipe up the fireplace chimney. This stove, packed tight with small chunks of wood, was now red hot and on top a kettle was pouring forth a thin stream of steam. Allan Drain kneeled down. “You’ll allow me to take off your snowshoes so you can be more comfortable? I envy you your skill in being able to manage them as I have been struggling for several weeks without success. Please don’t mind the small amount of snow you have brought into the room. I am not a particular housekeeper.” Gill glanced about the room.