"Maybe," she said slowly, "your ankle is broken. I'll send somebody from Ghost Lake to find you. But whether you've a broken bone or not you'll not go very far, Quintana.... After I'm gone you'll be able to free yourself. But you can't get away. You'll be followed and caught.... So if you can walk at all you'd better go in to Ghost Lake and give yourself up.... It's that or starvation.... You've got a watch.... Don't stir or touch that trap for half an hour.... And that's all." As she moved away toward the Drowned Valley trail she looked back at him. His face was bloodless but his black eyes blazed. "If ever you come into this forest again," she said, "my father will surely kill you." To her horror Quintana slowly grinned at her. Then, still grinning, he placed the forefinger of his left hand between his teeth and bit it. Whatever he meant by the gesture it seemed unclean, horrible; and the girl hurried on, seized with an overwhelming loathing through which a sort of terror pulsated like evil premonition in a heavy and tortured heart. Straight into the fire of dawn she sped. A pale primrose light glimmered through the woods; trees, bushes, undergrowth turned a dusky purple. Already the few small clouds overhead were edged with fiery rose. Then, of a sudden, a shaft of flame played over the forest. The sun had risen. Hastening, she searched the soft path for any imprint of her father's foot. And even in the vain search she hoped to find him at home--hurried on burdened with two rifles and a pack, still all nervous and aquiver from her encounter with Quintana. Surely, surely, she thought, if he had missed Quintana in Drowned Valley he would not linger in that ghastly place; he'd come home, call in his men, take counsel perhaps---- * * * * * Mist over Star Pond was dissolving to a golden powder in the blinding glory of the sun. The eastern window-panes in Clinch's Dump glittered as though the rooms inside were all on fire. Down through withered weeds and scrub she hurried, ran across the grass to the kitchen door which swung ajar under its porch. "Dad!" she called, "Dad!" Only her own frightened voice echoed in the empty house. She climbed the stairs to his room. The bed lay undisturbed as she had made it. He was not in any of the rooms; there were no signs of him. Slowly she descended to the kitchen. He was not there. The food she had prepared for him had become cold on a chilled range. For a long while she stood staring through the window at the sunlight outside. Probably, since Quintana had eluded him, he'd come home for something to eat.... Surely, now that Quintana had escaped, Clinch would come back for some breakfast. Eve slipped the pack from her back and laid it on the kitchen table. There was kindling in the wood-box. She shook down the cinders, laid a fire, soaked it with kerosene, lighted it, filled the kettle with fresh water.