"Can you snow-shoe? I thought rangers always rode horseback." He smiled. "You've been reading the opposition press. A forest ranger who is on the job has got to snow-shoe like a Canuck or else go down the valley after the snow begins to fall. It was five feet deep around my cabin last year. I hate to think of your being here alone. If one of you should be sick, it would be--tough. Unless you absolutely have to stay here, I advise you to go down the creek." "Perhaps our neighbors and not the snow will drive us out," she replied. "They've already served notice." He looked startled. "What do you mean by that?" Without answering, she went to the bookshelf and took down a folded sheet of paper. "Here is a letter I got yesterday," she explained, as she handed it to him. It was a rudely penciled note, but entirely plain in its message. "Spite of what the coroner found, most folks believe you killed Ed Watson," it began, abruptly. "Some of us don't blame you much. Others do, and they say no matter what the jury reports you've got to go. I don't like to see a woman abused, so you'd better take warning and pull out. Do it right away." It was signed, "A Friend." The ranger read this through twice before he spoke. "Did this come through the mail?" "Yes--addressed to me." He pretended to make light of it. "I wouldn't spend much time over that. It's only some smart Aleck's practical joke." "I don't think so," she soberly replied. "It reads to me like a sincere warning--from a woman. I haven't shown it to daddy yet, and I don't know whether to do so or not. I thought of going over to see you, but I was not sure of the way. I'm glad Providence sent you round to-day, for I am uncertain about what to do." "I'm a little uneasy about that warning myself," he confessed, after a pause. "I hear the Kitsong gang is bitterly dissatisfied with the result of the inquest thus far. They still insist on connecting you in some way with the shooting. Fact is, I came over to-day to see if they had made any new move." All the lightness had gone out of his face now, and in the girl's eyes the shadow deepened as she said: "It seems to me that I have drawn more than my share of trouble. I came out here hoping to find a sanctuary, and I seem to have fallen into a den of wolves. These people would hang me if they could. I don't understand their hate of us. They resent our being here. Sometimes I feel as if they were only trying to drive us from our little ranch." "Of course, all this talk of violence is nonsense," he vigorously went on. "They can make you a whole lot of discomfort, but you are in no danger." Her glance was again remote as she said: "I cannot take that murder case seriously. It all seems a thousand miles away from me now. And yet I am afraid for daddy's sake. Why connect me with it? Is there no other woman to accuse? Do you suppose a woman did the shooting? I don't."