She held out her hand and he took and held it, pressing it in his own.

He felt troubled about her, unwilling to leave her in the snowbound

wilderness with that young savage of the smouldering eyes.

"Good-bye," said Pierre behind him. His soft voice had a click.

Holliwell turned to him. "Good-bye, Landis. I shan't see either of you

till the spring. I wish you a good winter and I hope--" He broke off

and held out his hand. "Well," said he, "you're pretty far out of

every one's way here. Be good to each other."

"Damn your interference!" said Pierre's eyes, but he took the hand and

even escorted Holliwell to his horse.

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Snow came early and deep that winter. It fell for long, gray days and

nights, and then it came in hurricanes of drift, wrapping the cabin in

swirling white till only one window peered out and one gabled corner

cocked itself above the crust. Pierre had cut and stacked his winter

wood; he had sent his cows to a richer man's ranch for winter feeding.

There was very little for him to do. After he had brought in two

buckets of water from the well and had cut, for the day's consumption,

a piece of meat from his elk hanging outside against the wall, he had

only to sit and smoke, to read old magazines and papers, and to watch

Joan. Then the poisonous roots of his jealousy struck deep. Always his

brain, unaccustomed to physical idleness, was at work, falsely

interpreting her wistful silence--she was thinking of the parson,

hungry to read his books, longing for the open season and his coming

again to the ranch.

In December a man came in on snowshoes bringing "the mail"--one letter

for Pierre, a communication which brought heat to his face. The Forest

Service threatened him with a loss of land; it pointed to some flaw in

his title; part of his property, the most valuable part, had not yet

been surveyed.... Pierre looked up with set jaws, every fighting

instinct sharpened to hold what was his own.

"I hev put in two years' hard work on them acres," he told his

visitor, "an' I'm not plannin' to give them over to the first fool

favored by the Service. My title is as clean as my hand. It'll take

more'n thievery an' more'n spite to take it away from me."

"You better go to Robinson," advised the bearer of the letter; "can't

get after them fellers too soon. It's a country where you can easy

come by what you want, but where it ain't so easy to hold on to it. If

it ain't yer land, it's yer hosses; if it ain't yer hosses, it's yer

wife." He looked at Joan and laughed.




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