it's sensible but because, now I've given away this much, I don't want to be separated from you till—till I've unpacked my heart to you!"
"And after you've done that," asked Douglas, "do you think I can ever let you go?"
"But I thought you were not going to spoil this moment by arguing about marriage!" exclaimed Judith.
"I'll not!" cried Douglas. "Truly, I'll not."
The Wolf Cub trotted importantly into the camp with a scrawny jack-rabbit dragging against his shaggy gray breast. Douglas gave a quick look at the sky.
"Judith, either we must put this place into shape for a night camp or we must strike out at once so as to get over the Pass to-night."
"We'd better break camp," said Judith. "It's getting frightfully cold and there's mighty little fodder left."
They fell to work swiftly, and before the Wolf Cub had half finished his meal they were on the march. Douglas led on Tom, followed by his pack-horse. Judith followed on the little wild mare. The crest of Black Devil hung over their heads, the purple of his front crosshatched by myriad crevisses filled with peacock-blue snow. The same strange blue snow had obliterated their trail, and Tom, his bloody flanks deep in the drifts, leaped and slid and turned, leaving a wake, Judith said, like that of a drunken elephant.
The drifts had blown clear of the narrow ridge down which poor Buster had slid. They dared not trust the horses here, but dismounted and crept gingerly across, the animals slipping and snorting behind them. They rested after the crossing, and Douglas saw that tears were frozen on Judith's lashes.
