But what did he know about her beyond the fact that her name was Joanne
Gray, and that the on-sweeping Horde had brought her into his life as
mysteriously as a storm might have flung him a bit of down from a swan's
breast? Where had she come from? And why was she going to Tête Jaune? It
must be some important motive was taking her to a place like Tête Jaune,
the rail-end, a place of several thousand men, with its crude muscle and
brawn and the seven passions of man. It was an impossible place for a young
and beautiful woman unprotected. If Joanne had known any one among the
engineers or contractors, or had she possessed a letter of introduction to
them, the tense lines would not have gathered so deeply about the corners
of Aldous' mouth. But these men whose brains were behind the Horde--the
engineers and the contractors--knew what women alone and unprotected meant
at Tête Jaune. Such women floated in with the Horde. And Joanne was going
in with the Horde. There lay the peril--and the mystery of it.

So engrossed was Aldous in his thoughts that he had come very quietly to
the cabin door. It was Joanne's voice that roused him. Sweet and low she
was singing a few lines from a song which he had never heard.

She stopped when Aldous appeared at the door. It seemed to him that her
eyes were a deeper, more wonderful blue as she looked up at him, and
smiled. She had found a towel for an apron, and was peeling potatoes.

"You will have some unusual excuses to make very soon," she greeted him.
"We had a visitor while you were gone. I was washing the potatoes when I
looked up to find a pair of the fiercest, reddest moustaches I have ever
seen, ornamenting the doorway. The man had two eyes that seemed about to
fall out when he saw me. He popped away like a rabbit--and--and--there's
something he left behind in his haste!"