They emerged from the woods, and Marion spurred Tuesday to the gallop, and Smythe came galloping behind. For some distance down the valley she made a point of keeping well ahead of him, by this means avoiding conversation, for which she was not prepared. Her eyes continually sought the dark, gaunt mass of rock that was then, little by little, breaking through the reek on Thunder Mountain. Philip would be up there soon. He had--how many hours the start of her? She checked Tuesday's gait, and let Smythe come up beside her. "What time was it when he passed the post-office?" she asked. "About eight o'clock." And now it was almost noon! She spurred her pony on. They turned the corner at Thompson's, galloping, and caught a glimpse of Mrs. Thompson in the doorway, with a look of wonder on her face. Two miles beyond they swerved without lessening their speed into a less-traveled road that presently was winding in and out among the timber, which opened at the end of another mile, and showed them Norton's ranch in its sheltered valley among the foothills. It was from Norton's, or near it, that the last word had come of Haig and Sunnysides; so there was no need to stop for confirmation of their direction. The valley narrowed to a gulch, and the forest came down on either side, and the road ahead of them was swallowed up in shade. Here, as if at the entrance to some unknown (for she had never been past Norton's, in all her rides about the Park), her purpose required that Marion should rid herself of Smythe. Moreover, there was Claire to be thought of; and she did not want Huntington to be riding up the trail after her that night. "Now, Mr. Smythe," she said, reining up in the first shadow of the woods, "I've something for you to do for me." "What is it?" he asked in surprise. "I want you to leave me now, and take a message to Mrs. Huntington." "But I can't--leave you." "Yes, you must." "But you're not going on alone!" "I'm not afraid. I've got my rifle. Besides, I'll be at Murray's before dark, and there, as you know, I shall be in good hands. But Claire will worry unless she knows where I am." "She'll worry just the same." "No. She knows Mrs. Murray very well." "But----" "Good-by, Mr. Smythe!" She reached her hand to him, and he took it reluctantly. "It's all wrong, Miss Gaylord!" he protested. "I'm convinced that I'm acting like a fool. If anything happens to you, I'll----" "Nothing will happen to me. Good-by!"