“A little dizzy,” he explained, trying to smile at her.  “They gave me a pretty hard crack on the head, Marge.  This air will set me right—­soon.”

He picked up the pack and followed her.  In the edge of the spruce a hundred yards from the Nest, Tara had been lying all the afternoon, nursing his wounds.

“I could see him from my window,” whispered Marge.

She went straight to him and began talking to him in a low voice.  Out of the darkness behind Tara came a growl.

“Baree, by thunder!” muttered David in amazement.

“He’s made up with the bear, Marge!  What do you think of that?”

At the sound of his voice Baree came to him and flattened himself at his feet.  David laid a hand on his head.

“Boy!” he whispered softly.  “And they said you were an outlaw, and would join the wolves....”

He saw the dark bulk of Tara rising out of the gloom, and the Girl was at his side.

“We are ready, Sakewawin.”

He spoke to her the thought that had been shaping itself in his mind.

“Why wouldn’t it be better to join Wapi and his Indians?” he asked, remembering Brokaw’s words.

“Because—­they are afraid of Hauck,” she replied quickly.  “There is but one way, Sakewawin—­to follow a narrow trail Tara and I have made, close to the foot of the range, until we come to the rock mountain.  Shall we risk the bundle on Tara’s back?”

“It is light.  I will carry it.”

“Then give me your hand, Sakewawin.”

There was again in her voice the joyous thrill of freedom and of confidence; he could hear for a moment the wild throb of her heart in its exultation at their escape, and with her warm little hand she gripped his fingers firmly and guided him into a sea of darkness.  The forest shut them in.  Not a ray fell upon them from out of the pale sky where the stars were beginning to glimmer faintly.  Behind them he could hear the heavy, padded footfall of the big grizzly, and he knew that Baree was very near.  After a little the Girl said, still in a whisper: 

“Does your head hurt you now, Sakewawin?”

“A bit.”

The trail was widening.  It was quite smooth for a space, but black.

She pressed his fingers.

“I believe all you have told me,” she said, as if making a confession.  “After you came to me in the cage—­and the fight—­I believed.  You must have loved me a great deal to risk all that for me.”

“Yes, a great deal, my child,” he answered.

Why did that dizziness persist in his head, he wondered?  For a moment he felt as if he were falling.

“A very great deal,” he added, trying to walk steadily at her side, his own voice sounding unreal and at a great distance from him.  “You see—­my child—­I didn’t have anything to love but your picture....”