Philip rose slowly. He felt cold. He put on his coat and cap, and buckled on his revolver. His face was deadly white when he turned to MacDougall.
"She is over there to-night?"
"Sneaked in not half an hour ago, I saw her come out of the edge of the spruce."
"From the trail that leads out over the plain?"
"Yes."
Philip walked to the door.
"I'm going over to call on Thorpe," he said, quietly. "I may not be back for some time, Sandy."
In the deep shadows outside he stood gazing at the light in Thorpe's cabin. Then he walked slowly toward the spruce. He did not go to the door, but leaned with his back against the building, near one of the windows. The first shuddering sickness had gone from him. His temples throbbed. At the sound of a voice inside which was Thorpe's the chill in his blo
