now--but, no, to suffer one must first love, and woman had not the
capacity to love. "To hell with them!" he cried aloud. "To hell with
my tame job! And to hell with Terrace City, and with the civilization
that calls a man from the wild places and sets him to selling women
baubles to deck themselves out in."

The jack-pine shadows reached far into the clearing as Oskar fastened
on his skis and headed back along the tote-road. It was not too
late--he was only twenty-five. He, too, would live like a man, would
go into the North, and henceforth only the outlands should know him.
He would resign Monday morning. The thought caused a pang of regret at
parting with McNabb.

Darkness found him still upon the tote-road. He emerged from the
jack-pines and paused at the long smooth hill, as was his wont, to look
down upon the brilliant lights of Terrace City. His momentum carried
him skimming across a flat meadow, and he slowed to a stand at the very
end of the main street where, in the white glare of an arc light he
removed his skis, and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Well, he would see her once more, arrayed in the coat of matched
sable--and he would carry the picture with him to far places where the
stars winked cold in the night sky.

Fully twenty minutes before time for the curtain Hedin was in his
place, tenth row on the middle aisle, eagerly scanning the patrons as
they were ushered to their seats. The theatre boasted only two boxes,
set just above the stage level, and Elsie Campbell had engaged them
both.