to the heights above to see what lay beyond. He refrained, however, as
the afternoon was fast wearing away, and he had a heavy load to carry
back to camp. Retracing his steps to the brook, he walked up the
ravine until he came to the spot where the grizzly was lying, half
buried beneath the rocks and earth.

"Too bad, old chap," he remarked, as he looked down upon the brute.
"But, then, it served you right. You attacked the innocent and
defenseless, little thinking that such swift vengeance was so near.
You were little different, however, from certain two-legged brutes who
tried the same game to their own sorrow. You did me a great favor
to-day, though, and it's too bad I had to shoot you. I would like to
take your skin and keep it as a souvenir of this day. Guess I'll have
to come back for it as I cannot carry it now. And, besides, I shall
need a shovel to dig you out of that heap."

It was later than usual when Reynolds reached camp. The way was long
and the sheep he carried was heavy. But his step was light and his
heart happy. He had met Glen, had talked with her, looked into her
eyes, and felt the firm pressure of her hand. Fate was kind to him, he
reasoned, and it augured well for the future.

He was tired and hungry when he reached his little tent on the bank of
the creek. A supper of broiled lamb, sour-dough bread, stewed dried
fruit, and tea greatly refreshed him. He then lighted his pipe, and
stretching himself out upon his blankets, meditated upon all that had
taken place during the afternoon. It was good to lie there and rest
with deep silence all around, the vision of Glen before him, and the
remembrance of her voice and the touch of her hand. He wondered how
and when he should see her again. He was determined that it must be