And direction was the last thing in Dick Hilton's mind. For a long interval his thoughts were incoherent and the conflicting emotions they provoked were distressing. Being alone, made physically uncomfortable by the water seeping through his shoulders and breeches, sensing the steady movement of the animal under him, brought some order to his mental chaos and finally realization began to dawn. Yes, he had followed his strongest impulses; there could be no question about what he had done, but as for its wisdom: Ah, that was another matter, and he cursed himself for a fool, at first mentally, then under his breath and when the horse began mounting a steep incline, clattering over rocks with his unshod hoofs, Hilton halted him and looked about in foolish attempt to make out his whereabouts and said aloud: "Off the road. That's twice you've made an ass of yourself tonight!" There was nothing for him to do but go on and trust to the horse. He knew that this was not the highway but consoled himself that it might be a short cut to the Crossing. Small consolation and it was dissipated when they commenced a lurching descent with a wall of rock uncomfortably close to his right, so close that at times his knee scrubbed it smartly. He became alarmed for the horse went cautiously, head low, feeling his way over insecure footing. Once his fore feet slipped and he stopped short while loosened stones rolled before them on the trail and Hilton heard one strike far below to his left, and strike again and again, sounds growing fainter. He peered down into the gloom but could see nothing, hear nothing but the hiss of rain. An empty ache came into his viscera as he imagined the depths that might wait to that side. After a moment the horse went on, picking his way gingerly. Somewhere beyond or below he made out a light. It was a feeble glow and its location became a weird thing for lack of perceptive, but it cheered him. He was decidedly uncomfortable and his state of mind added to the physical need of warmth and shelter so he urged the horse on. Finally they reached a flat and he felt wet brush slapping at his legs as the horse, intent on the light himself, trotted forward. Their destination was a cabin. The glow finally resolved itself into cracks of light showing between logs and through a tarpaulin which hung across the doorway. Dick shouted. Movement inside; the curtain was drawn back and he rode blinking into the light, which he could see came from a fireplace. A woman stood outlined against the flare. "Who's there?" she asked sharply, and Dick stopped his horse. "My name is Hilton," he said, "but that won't do you much good. I'm a stranger and I'm off my way, I guess." The other did not reply as he dismounted and walked toward her. "Without a slicker," she said. "Come in." The first thing he saw inside was movement: A cartridge belt, swinging from a nail. A rifle leaned handily against the door casing.