"Your sister will be disappointed. She still hopes that when the novelty of all this has worn off, you will be ready to come back and make your home with her." She shook her head. "I never can do that again. I can’t help disapproving of Philip. The habit grows. I object to him more and more. We often quarrel—now." Forrest laughed softly. "Of course you do; of course. But the Judge," he went on gravely, "is miserable. He says if you won’t let him help you it isn’t necessary to bury yourself out here in the wilderness, in a nest of outlaws. If you are determined to be independent, you could teach or paint, or put your music to advantage in town." "Oh," she answered, "he doesn’t see. I was meant for a pioneer, Paul; it’s in the blood. You ought to understand. I love the great spaces, just as you do, and your life in the big out-of-doors." A soft enthusiasm shone in her face; she looked off absently at the tower. Her hands were clasped loosely on her knee, and the sunlight, sifting between the boughs of the fir, brought out the gold in her hair; the wind roughened it under her close velvet cap, and twisted it into minute spirals about her neck and ears. The young man watching her set his lips over a quick breath and turned his eyes away. She loved these things, yes, but as a bird loves light and air; not as he loved them, to work for them, to build, reclaim, spend himself for them, fight if the time came. No, not for one foolish moment could he expect it of her. "Was ever anything as nicely balanced as that tower?" he said. "To look like a touch would send it toppling and yet to withstand the gales that sweep these hills. But the eternal forces are busy around it; some day it will go." "It’s wonderful," she answered. "It looks like it had been built there to protect the gorge. What a stronghold it would make." "Stronghold? For whom?" "Why, for Pete Smith, Dick Slocum, any of them." "Who is Slocum?" She shook her head slowly. "I don’t really know. But he came in while we were at dinner the night before last. His clothes were torn and his hat gone, and there were twigs and needles clinging to his hair. He was very hungry. The sheriff and a posse were hunting him. They had passed up the trail half an hour before, and he hurried, scowling at every one, and before any one spoke was gone, taking part of the meal in his hands." "Freeport couldn’t be as bad as this. Own you were afraid." "Afraid? No, why should I have been? It was Dick Slocum who was frightened. He was running away. Mr. Myers said he had shot a man. But," she admitted grudgingly, "I was afraid of Pete Smith, and of the bear." "Smith?" He changed his position a little, dropping his arm and resting his shoulder against a rock. "What of Smith? I thought he was safe in the penitentiary."