However, he knew that he could not leave the shadow of his possible guilt to cloud the lives of these two, just setting out on their long journey together. The possibilities of it for harm were far too great. The ocean of hot, youthful love was far too possible of disaster for an unnecessary threat to overshadow it.
No, he had refused the request of these two from the first moment when he had realized his duty by them, and now, after careful thought, his resolve remained unshaken.
Still, he was not without regret as he gazed out over that vast world he had learned to love so well. The thought of possibly never seeing it again hurt him. The wide valleys, the fair, green pastures, the frowning, mysterious woods with their utter silence, the butting crags with their barren crests, or snow-clad shoulders. They held him in a thrall of almost passionate devotion. They would indeed be hard to part with.
He looked away down the gaping jaws of the valley at the black crest of Devil's Hill. It was a point that never failed to attract him, and now more so than ever. Was it not round this hill that all his past efforts had been concentrated?
He studied it. Its weirdness held him. A heavy mist enveloped its crown, that steaming mist which ever hung above the suspended lake. It was denser now than usual. It had been growing denser for the last two days, and, in a vague way, he supposed that those internal fires which heated the water were glowing fiercer than usual. He glanced up at the sky, and almost for the first time realized the arduous efforts of the westering sun to penetrate the densely humid atmosphere. It was stiflingly hot, when usually the air possessed a distinct chill.
But these things possessed only a passing interest. The vagaries of the mountain atmosphere rarely concerned him. His vigorous body was quite impervious to its changes. He picked up his "catch" of pelts and shouldered them. They were few enough, and as he thought of the unusual scarcity of foxes the last few days he could not help feeling that the circumstance was only in keeping with the rest of the passing events of his life.
He made his way along the foot-path which wound its way through the pine bluff, in the midst of which the old fur fort lay hidden inside its mouldering stockade. He flung the pelts into the storeroom, and passed on to the house, wondering if Buck had returned from the camp, whither he knew he had been that day.