Her horse carried her on at a swift walk, but she did not have to draw rein to keep from passing Thornton.  His long stride was so smooth, regular, swift and tireless that it soon began to amaze her.  They had passed through the little valley in which Harte’s place stood, and entered a dark canon leading into the steeper hills.  The trail was uneven, and now and then very steep.  Yet Thornton pushed on steadily with no slowing in the swift gait, no sign to tell that he felt fatigue in muscles of back or legs.

“He must be made of iron,” she marvelled.

In an hour they had come to the top of a ridge, and Thornton stopped, tossing his saddle to the ground.  He had not once spoken since they left the Harte place.  Now with quick fingers he made his cigarette.  She stopped a dozen paces from him, and though one would have said that she was not looking at him, saw the flare of his match, glimpsed the hard set lines of his face, and knew that he would not speak until she had spoken.  And the lines of her own face grew hard, and she turned away from him, feeling a quick spurt of anger that she had so much as looked at him when he had not turned his eyes upon her.  He smoked his cigarette, swept up saddle and bridle, and moved on, striking over the ridge and down upon the other side.

It was perhaps ten minutes later when she saw, far off to the left, the glimmer of a light, lost it through the trees, found it again and knew that it told of some habitation.  They came abreast of a branch trail, leading toward the lighted window; the girl’s eager eyes found it readily, and then noted that Thornton was passing on as though he had seen neither light nor trail.  She spoke hurriedly, saying: 

“Isn’t that the place?  Where the light is?”

“No,” he told her colourlessly and without turning.  “That’s the Henry place.  We’re going on to Smith’s.”

“Why don’t we stop here?  It’s nearer.  And I’m tired.”

“We can stop and rest,” he replied.  “Then we had better go on.  It’s not very much further now.”

“But why not here?” she cried insistently in sudden irritation that upon all matters this man dictated to her and dictated so assuredly.  “One place is as good as another.”

“This one isn’t, Miss Waverly.  There’s a tough lot here, and there are no women among them.  So we’ll have to make it to Smith’s.  Do you want to rest a while?”

“No,” she cried sharply.  “Let’s hurry and get it over with!”

He inclined his head gravely and they went on.  And again her anger rose against this man who seemed over and over to wish to remind her that he was a gentleman.  As though she had forgotten any little incident connected with him!

Again they made their way through lights and shadows, down into ragged cuts in the hills, over knolls and ridges, through a forest where raindrops were still dripping from the thick leaves and where she knew that without him she never could have found her way.  And not once more did they speak to each other until, unexpectedly for her, they came out of the wood and fairly upon a squat cabin with a light running out to meet them through the square of a window.