"I can only stay a minute; I got a notion to walk this morning." There
was a cool deviltry in the slanting gaze with which she surveyed the
other woman.

"Seagreave, I'll bet," returned Mrs. Nitschkan frankly. "It ain't in
either you or Marthy Thomas to let a man alone. What possesses you,
anyway?"

Pearl continued to regard her with that subtle, burning, mocking look.
"Your kind can never know," she taunted.

"Mebbe," said Mrs. Nitschkan laconically, "but you're different from
Marthy. She's just mush. She'll be thinkin' now that she's cracked about
José. If it wasn't him it would be your father, and if there wasn't no
man up here at all, she'd hoist that crêpe veil on her head, stick a red
or blue bow at her neck and go swingin' down to camp, tryin' to persuade
herself an' me that all she went for was a package of tea or some bacon.
But you're different, always a yellin' about bein' free and yet always a
tryin' to get tangled up."

Again Pearl laughed wickedly. "You tramp woman! Why would you rather
hunt bear or mountain lions than shoot squirrels? Because there's danger
in it." She laughed mirthlessly. "I guess it's for the same reason that
I got to hunt the biggest game there is--man, and he hunts me."

Mrs. Nitschkan relighted her pipe. "Bob Flick's your best bet," she
remarked impersonally.

"Talk about guns and fishing rods and dogs, something you know about,"
said Pearl scornfully, touching the dozing dog lightly with her foot. He