"If I can't catch the horse. I'm going now. If we can regain the blankets--by getting in rifle range of the horse--we might make some sort of shelter in the snow and last out until we can see our way and get our bearings. You don't know of any shelter--any cave or cabin where we might build a fire?" "No. There are some in the hills, but we can't see our way to find them." "I know. I should have thought of that. And you see, we can't build a fire here--everything is wet, and the snow is beginning to whirl so we couldn't keep it going. If we should stagger on all day in this storm and this snow, we couldn't endure the night." He smiled again. "And I want you to climb a tree--and stay there--until I come back." She looked at him dully. "What's the use, Bruce? You won't come back. You'll chase the thing until you die--I know you. You don't know when to give up. And if you want to come back--you couldn't find the way. I'm going with you." "No." Once more she started to disobey, but the grave displeasure in his eyes restrained her. "It's going to take all my strength to fight through that snow--I must go fast--and maybe life and death will have to depend on your strength at the end of the trail. You must save it--the little you have left. I can find my way back to you by following my own tracks--the snow won't fill them up so soon. And since I must take the rifle--to shoot the horse if I can't catch him--you must climb a tree. You know why." "Partly to hide from Simon if he comes this way. And partly--" "Because there's some danger in that thicket beyond!" he interrupted her. "The horse's terror was real--besides, you heard the sound. It might be only a puma. But it might be--the Killer. Swing your arms and struggle all you can to keep the blood flowing. I won't be gone long." He started to go, and she ran after him with outstretched arms. "Oh, Bruce," she cried, "come back soon--soon. Don't leave me to die alone. I'm not strong enough for that--" He whirled, took two paces back, and his arms went about her. He had forgotten his injury long since. He kissed her cool lips and smiled into her eyes. Then at once the flurries hid him. The girl climbed up into the branches of a fir tree. In the thicket beyond a great gray form tacked back and forth, trying to locate a scent that a second before he had caught but dimly and had lost. It was the Killer, and his temper was lost long ago in the whirling snow. His anger was upon him, partly from the discomfort of the storm, partly from the constant, gnawing pain of three bullet wounds in his powerful body. Besides, he realized the presence of his old and greatest enemy,--those tall, slight forms that had crossed him so many times, that had stung him with their bullets, and whose weakness he had learned.